Hello Dear Readers!
Robert is explaining to me how to crush an ice cube with a shop fan. It's fascinating. I can hear Matt singing Jackie to sleep upstairs. She had a total nap fail day so I'm hopeful she'll fall asleep quickly and maybe hubby and I can get a few waking minutes to ourselves on this glorious Mother's Day. Jackie has been all boobs all day, as she is wont to be, and my boys have been fun and charming. I got to do some yard work - I like yard work, as long as someone with some actual competence shows me what to do - before the rain came, and then I got to have a yummy burger and absurd quantity of delicious french fries for dinner. And a glass of rioja. Yum. And a cookie. Health food. Really. The day started with the requested Moonstruck Chocolates at my plate, after hubby made French toast for dinner. I got a present that Robert made at preschool, which is of course the best thing ever.
I hope each of you has had a wonderful day of celebrating motherhood, or celebrating your mother, or mothering yourself, or something else nurturing and cuddly.
Also, this isn't about motherhood particularly, but I think this post is very brave and illuminating. She is often totally pants peeing funny, too. Mood disorders, depression, and other mental illnesses are badly understood and really awful to experience. I am taking a moment from my calorie-laden Mother's Day celebration to send gratitude for my improving health (including a shout-out to the inventor of Zoloft), and to remember all those who are still struggling.
Robert just made me another present and Matt stuck his head out to wonder why I'm not getting Robert ready for bed yet. Off to change a poopy diaper!
Much love,
Suzi
UPDATE: Matt points out that he made French Toast for breakfast, not dinner. I was typing this post AFTER the glass of wine, thank you, and while trying to encourage Robert not to be afraid to poop, but to please hurry up and finish doing so as it was past bedtime. I lead a glamorous existence, people.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Tweet Tweet! And a quick whine.
Hello dear readers!
I have started tweeting! It's fun. I don't entirely get it yet. But if you are so inclined, check out @suzisboobjuice.
Also, a quick complaint. I have, probably, torn the meniscus in my knee. I'm not entirely sure what that is, but despite excellent improvement via physical therapy, it's looking more and more like I might end up with surgery. I figure it can't be worse than a c-section so I'm not really worried about the procedure. But I don't want to deal with some surgeon's idea of what is a reasonable impingement on my nursing relationship with Jackie. So I'm basically off kickboxing until Jackie weans. Unless I decide otherwise. Meanwhile we'll keep at the physical therapy until it isn't helping anymore and hope that maybe it's not really a torn meniscus after all... But really, can you just see the conversation with me and the surgeon?
"No narcotics, no general anesthesia, and no industrial-strength antibiotics."
"Uh, no surgery."
"Okay, see you next year."
Not worth the copay.
Sigh.
Anyway this is my chance to work on my biking again!
Much love,
Suzi
I have started tweeting! It's fun. I don't entirely get it yet. But if you are so inclined, check out @suzisboobjuice.
Also, a quick complaint. I have, probably, torn the meniscus in my knee. I'm not entirely sure what that is, but despite excellent improvement via physical therapy, it's looking more and more like I might end up with surgery. I figure it can't be worse than a c-section so I'm not really worried about the procedure. But I don't want to deal with some surgeon's idea of what is a reasonable impingement on my nursing relationship with Jackie. So I'm basically off kickboxing until Jackie weans. Unless I decide otherwise. Meanwhile we'll keep at the physical therapy until it isn't helping anymore and hope that maybe it's not really a torn meniscus after all... But really, can you just see the conversation with me and the surgeon?
"No narcotics, no general anesthesia, and no industrial-strength antibiotics."
"Uh, no surgery."
"Okay, see you next year."
Not worth the copay.
Sigh.
Anyway this is my chance to work on my biking again!
Much love,
Suzi
Friday, May 3, 2013
The Big Transitions
Hello dear boobjuicers and friends,
I am forgoing my usual exclamation point because I have some sad news. My beloved father-in-law passed away on April 23, after a nearly five year battle with colon cancer. He was a wonderful man; an accomplished scientist and business man, a treasured mentor, a kind and loving husband and father and grandfather, and a delightful host. He is and will be sorely missed.
Birth and death are the two biggest transitions I can think of. Becoming a parent is pretty huge but I think even the most exhausted of us will acknowledge it's not quite as big a change as ceasing to be alive. Similarly to birth, I think death is feared and poorly understood in our culture. Okay, probably fair to say that death is feared in many or maybe even most cultures. But in terms of setting, attitude, comfort - it's something we often get rather wrong.
Gary died at home, in the house he and my mother-in-law had custom built to face the sunset over the lake. His son and daughter were with him at the end, and he had received many visits and communications of love and gratitude in his final days. He had hospice care to keep him as comfortable as possible, and was no longer receiving the aggressive medical treatments that many of us dread. He didn't want a drawn-out ending with months of uselessness and misery, and thankfully he didn't have that.
My father died in a hospital, but he too was surrounded by love and caring. I was holding one of his hands, and my mother was snuggled up next to him in his hospital bed (she got very adept at balancing on about 1/3 of a hospital bed and doing crossword puzzles during his 15 month battle with colon cancer). (By the way, colon cancer and me - not buds.) The wonderful things my mom said to him in his final moments, which I don't feel at liberty to repeat but they were so sweet and inspiring, were a lovely acknowledgement of the amazing life he had lived. He managed to squeeze my hand just a tiny bit, so I knew he heard me rattling off a list of people who loved him through my tears. A very dignified nurse was holding his other hand, ostensibly to monitor his pulse, but since Dad had a pacemaker, he had a pulse for a while after he was gone. So I think the nurse was really just holding his hand. When dad was clearly gone, the nurse removed his glasses, slowly wiped a tear from each eye, and put Dad's hand down.
No IVs, no shock paddles or injections to bring him back like in ER episodes. Just let him slip away and rest, and trust that wherever he is now, he is in no pain, and has nothing to fear any longer. My faith has become a big question mark over the years, but I do know that the soul or spirit is real, and that the laws of physics say you cannot destroy matter or energy, only convert them to the other or to another form of one or the other. I've stated that poorly, but my point is, in one way or another, Gary and my Dad are still here. They are clearly present in the impact they have had on those who survive them. I think they are here in another way, in the energy present in the universe that we cannot see or understand but only feel and trust and respect, even revere.
Birth and death are sacred. We must make the person at the center of the transition feel as comfortable and loved as possible. And we must help each other through these difficult transitions as gently as we possibly can.
Be well and love one another fiercely, my dear readers.
With joyful tears of remembrance and grief,
Suzi
I am forgoing my usual exclamation point because I have some sad news. My beloved father-in-law passed away on April 23, after a nearly five year battle with colon cancer. He was a wonderful man; an accomplished scientist and business man, a treasured mentor, a kind and loving husband and father and grandfather, and a delightful host. He is and will be sorely missed.
Birth and death are the two biggest transitions I can think of. Becoming a parent is pretty huge but I think even the most exhausted of us will acknowledge it's not quite as big a change as ceasing to be alive. Similarly to birth, I think death is feared and poorly understood in our culture. Okay, probably fair to say that death is feared in many or maybe even most cultures. But in terms of setting, attitude, comfort - it's something we often get rather wrong.
Gary died at home, in the house he and my mother-in-law had custom built to face the sunset over the lake. His son and daughter were with him at the end, and he had received many visits and communications of love and gratitude in his final days. He had hospice care to keep him as comfortable as possible, and was no longer receiving the aggressive medical treatments that many of us dread. He didn't want a drawn-out ending with months of uselessness and misery, and thankfully he didn't have that.
My father died in a hospital, but he too was surrounded by love and caring. I was holding one of his hands, and my mother was snuggled up next to him in his hospital bed (she got very adept at balancing on about 1/3 of a hospital bed and doing crossword puzzles during his 15 month battle with colon cancer). (By the way, colon cancer and me - not buds.) The wonderful things my mom said to him in his final moments, which I don't feel at liberty to repeat but they were so sweet and inspiring, were a lovely acknowledgement of the amazing life he had lived. He managed to squeeze my hand just a tiny bit, so I knew he heard me rattling off a list of people who loved him through my tears. A very dignified nurse was holding his other hand, ostensibly to monitor his pulse, but since Dad had a pacemaker, he had a pulse for a while after he was gone. So I think the nurse was really just holding his hand. When dad was clearly gone, the nurse removed his glasses, slowly wiped a tear from each eye, and put Dad's hand down.
No IVs, no shock paddles or injections to bring him back like in ER episodes. Just let him slip away and rest, and trust that wherever he is now, he is in no pain, and has nothing to fear any longer. My faith has become a big question mark over the years, but I do know that the soul or spirit is real, and that the laws of physics say you cannot destroy matter or energy, only convert them to the other or to another form of one or the other. I've stated that poorly, but my point is, in one way or another, Gary and my Dad are still here. They are clearly present in the impact they have had on those who survive them. I think they are here in another way, in the energy present in the universe that we cannot see or understand but only feel and trust and respect, even revere.
Birth and death are sacred. We must make the person at the center of the transition feel as comfortable and loved as possible. And we must help each other through these difficult transitions as gently as we possibly can.
Be well and love one another fiercely, my dear readers.
With joyful tears of remembrance and grief,
Suzi
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