Since I've been out of work for my back injury I've had lots of down time; to much if you ask me but who am I to disagree with doctors orders? One thing that I've been doing to pass the time is watching documentary's. Primarily on health and wellness, diet, juicing, and an occasional miscellaneous. One of the films I watched was called " Crazy, Sexy, Cancer", now I don't have cancer but I was obsessed with this film and primarily the films writer/star Kris Carr. She was diagnosed with cancer at age 31, a rare form that is slow growing that lives in her liver and lungs; she had her whole life ahead of her and she took this information and changed her life. Her cancer is incurable; but stable. She eats well, does yoga, and lives in the moment. This got me thinking; why don't I have cancer? I certainly have a terrible diet, my favorite "food" is diet coke and I do not live in the moment. I'm always worrying about my kids and yoga is just something I envision myself doing but don't actually get myself away from my morning coffee to do it.
I did have Tom go out and buy me a juicer. I made one this morning and it was heaven! It had kale, apples, grapes, and carrots. I must admit it took more time cleaning the machine then it did making the juice but who says a healthy lifestyle is simple? The new year is in front of us and my plan for 2013 is to stay on track; eat my veggies, stay away from meat and just live in the moment. As I said in a previous post; I want to be a healthy rock star Grandma to Milo not a disabled one. My take away from this blog is not to change your life instantly; that never works but maybe just take baby steps. My baby step for today was to bury my diet coke. Seriously, I could have had a memorial for it; that's how much it meant to me!
Right now I am living in this moment, I have my new grandson at my side, a husband that would give me the world, and fabulous kids. Now it's time to give them and myself the person that has been inside me for some time but I kept chasing her away. Bring on 2013!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Milo
The first time I saw Milo, my first grandchild he was only minutes old. He looked like your typical newborn except he had something extra unique about him; he was my first grandchild. He had that perfect newborn appearance, the kind I see all the time after a birth that I've attended but his was different. He looked like he glowed, he had an expression on his face that stated, I'm here; and I'm ready world! His parents looked incredible; my son Tommy owned the proud papa role with great vigor! The moment he cut his sons cord was a memory I will never forget.
When I entered the room; Milo's mother; Cayla announced his name to me...."Welcome your new grandson Milo Thomas!" We didn't know what they were planning on naming him and the suspense was killing me! The name fit him perfectly; and also them as a couple. During Cayla's pregnancy they threw that name out a few times and it kept coming back to me in my mind. I just knew it would be his namesake. Cayla did amazing and the infamous Ina May was mentioned several times during her labor.
Since his birth I have been out of work due to a work injury. I'm missing being in the labor room, I'm missing the emotions that exude out of every pore of every person that enters the birth zone. I'm missing the smells..(yes, I said smells), the laughs, joys, and tears of the mother's seeing their hard work coming to a major climax. Helping mother's get their infants to breast for the first time, or just bearing witness to the most monumental moment of their lives. I often think back to my own birth experiences and ponder that I won't be going through birth again. How to wrap my brain around the idea that I am now a grandmother and have moved on from being the birth Momma. Tom has been over the moon being a grandfather; already looking ahead to big wheels and future movies he can bring him to. The joys of this stage in my life can not be stated in words....but I believe all Mom's would like to bottle up some of the days gone by and just hit replay; even if it's just for a day to snug and play with their babies, toddlers, and so on...How many times have I said to my kids.."couldn't you just stay this age forever??"
Saturday, August 11, 2012
My 27 year old self
The day will soon come when I can move again. I will ride a bike, speed walk, or even just sit without worrrying about losing these babies. How is it at the age of twenty-seven that I became responsible for other peoples' most vaulable belongings. I had no idea that it would entail sleepless nights. Yes, I had other pregnancies but this one was different, this one almost an out of body experience. These were not my children they were someone else's. Two boys the ultrasound tech said, two boys that seemed to have all their parts. Two parents that have placed all their trust in me. We became pregnant on the second try, they had wanted it so badly that when we met for the first time my husband didn't know how to react. It always came so easy for us; our chidren were discussed only moments before they were conceived and then there they were, our little blessings.
The soon to be mom has been so kind to me. She has made it so during those long nights when I am unable to sleep I can read one of the many books she has purchased for me, uplifting books, she says, "It's good for the babies to have you calm." She checks up on me to make sure that I'm eating everything I should. Why would she assume that I wouldn't eat properly? The stress sometimes of doing something wrong is overwelming.
Bed rest began at twenty-six weeks gestation. The contractions started as if these little guys were saying they wanted out now. Did they sense I wasn't their mother? Could they feel that this wasn't their home? The doctor gave me tocolytics and IV hydration and sent me home with instructions to not move unless I was getting up to the bathroom. "What about my children?" I asked They answered me more with a look than an answer. The look said, well, you got yourself into this, figure it out. My husband was the answer. He cooked, cleaned, and brought the kids to daycare before he went to work. Did he ever wonder what I was thinking when I said "Honey, I love being pregnant, how about we help an infertile couple?" He's not a complainer, which is helpful because if he was I'm not sure what I would do with myself.
I'm wondering if these days go on forever just to make me think that this pregnancy will. Don't get me wrong; I'm excited to see these little ones that I have gotten to know in a way that is more like a passing acquaintance than anything maternal. I could be the aunt...Aunt Carrie. That sounds just right.
Their father is a kind man, around fifty-one, a pulmonary doctor, who has very kind eyes and weeps every time he sees me. He has a lovely spirit that I find myself drawn to. There is a part of me that knows we are not in their league. I am not an educated women, my husband is a chef who could write cookbooks with Emeril Lagasse but our finacial status does not compare to theirs. I often think of becoming a nurse, sitting here with my hands on my engorged abdomen. I think, why can't I become a nurse? I have a supportive husband, we're done having our children. Then something shifts in me and I change my constantly fleeting mind. No one in my family went to college, this is a ridiculous dream.
I feel the babies moving all the time now. They are growing big and our weekly ultrasounds show them to be getting closer. I am getting increasingly excited to see their parents faces when they arrive. I think about how their birth will be. Will I have a cesarean section or will I have them natural like my children? I'm not that concerned as long as in the end everyone is happy and healthy. It's important that their mom is happy, I see the way she looks at me sometimes. She has such a deep sadness in her that I pray will vanish once she see her children.
I can hear my little ones running around downstairs as I sit here in the little nest that I have created waiting for the grand due date. I will see these children as they grow, their parents have promised us this. My own little ones don't really understand what's going on. At five and two they are wrapped up in their innocent worls of Thomas the train, dinosaurs, and Pokemon.
I'm going to close this journal now and dream of a day soon to come when I can be a Mommy again to my own children, and pass on the gift of motherhood to someone who I hope will cherish it as much as I do.
The soon to be mom has been so kind to me. She has made it so during those long nights when I am unable to sleep I can read one of the many books she has purchased for me, uplifting books, she says, "It's good for the babies to have you calm." She checks up on me to make sure that I'm eating everything I should. Why would she assume that I wouldn't eat properly? The stress sometimes of doing something wrong is overwelming.
Bed rest began at twenty-six weeks gestation. The contractions started as if these little guys were saying they wanted out now. Did they sense I wasn't their mother? Could they feel that this wasn't their home? The doctor gave me tocolytics and IV hydration and sent me home with instructions to not move unless I was getting up to the bathroom. "What about my children?" I asked They answered me more with a look than an answer. The look said, well, you got yourself into this, figure it out. My husband was the answer. He cooked, cleaned, and brought the kids to daycare before he went to work. Did he ever wonder what I was thinking when I said "Honey, I love being pregnant, how about we help an infertile couple?" He's not a complainer, which is helpful because if he was I'm not sure what I would do with myself.
I'm wondering if these days go on forever just to make me think that this pregnancy will. Don't get me wrong; I'm excited to see these little ones that I have gotten to know in a way that is more like a passing acquaintance than anything maternal. I could be the aunt...Aunt Carrie. That sounds just right.
Their father is a kind man, around fifty-one, a pulmonary doctor, who has very kind eyes and weeps every time he sees me. He has a lovely spirit that I find myself drawn to. There is a part of me that knows we are not in their league. I am not an educated women, my husband is a chef who could write cookbooks with Emeril Lagasse but our finacial status does not compare to theirs. I often think of becoming a nurse, sitting here with my hands on my engorged abdomen. I think, why can't I become a nurse? I have a supportive husband, we're done having our children. Then something shifts in me and I change my constantly fleeting mind. No one in my family went to college, this is a ridiculous dream.
I feel the babies moving all the time now. They are growing big and our weekly ultrasounds show them to be getting closer. I am getting increasingly excited to see their parents faces when they arrive. I think about how their birth will be. Will I have a cesarean section or will I have them natural like my children? I'm not that concerned as long as in the end everyone is happy and healthy. It's important that their mom is happy, I see the way she looks at me sometimes. She has such a deep sadness in her that I pray will vanish once she see her children.
I can hear my little ones running around downstairs as I sit here in the little nest that I have created waiting for the grand due date. I will see these children as they grow, their parents have promised us this. My own little ones don't really understand what's going on. At five and two they are wrapped up in their innocent worls of Thomas the train, dinosaurs, and Pokemon.
I'm going to close this journal now and dream of a day soon to come when I can be a Mommy again to my own children, and pass on the gift of motherhood to someone who I hope will cherish it as much as I do.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
The next stage
I'm wondering when it actually happened. When did I go from mother of four; up in the early morning with constant ear infections, water requests, "just a little story mom", snuggle time, disney movies, three year old tantrums, to...becoming a grandmother? Yes, it's exciting to say the least but also a bit shall I say unreal? Surreal?
The idea of becoming a grandmother at 41 is a bit banana's but in the best possible way. Like eating a banana spit with extra chocolate sauce, and then not having to work out for hours from quilt. I'm looking on the bright side, I'm young, I'll be the cool hip Grandma that knows all about pop culture but without trying to hard to attain the title, cool. I'll go by Grandma, not Carrie. Why do people do that? Is it that their thinking that going by their name doesn't make it so? Do they think father time will just stop the clock if they declare themselves by anything other then what they are.What ever, that's their choice but I'm going to rock the Grandma title.
Did I tell you it's a boy! I can already guess at what he'll look like, he'll have this amazing combo of my son and his mother.He'll have this little nose and big blue eyes, he'll maybe love dinasaurs as much as his father, he may sing like a broadway star like his mother. He may just be something entirely different but that's what's so exciting about life, it's fun to guess, but better to actually let time happen. Let your child or grandchild become who they probably already are when their still in the womb, and gladly be able to bear witness to it.
The idea of becoming a grandmother at 41 is a bit banana's but in the best possible way. Like eating a banana spit with extra chocolate sauce, and then not having to work out for hours from quilt. I'm looking on the bright side, I'm young, I'll be the cool hip Grandma that knows all about pop culture but without trying to hard to attain the title, cool. I'll go by Grandma, not Carrie. Why do people do that? Is it that their thinking that going by their name doesn't make it so? Do they think father time will just stop the clock if they declare themselves by anything other then what they are.What ever, that's their choice but I'm going to rock the Grandma title.
Did I tell you it's a boy! I can already guess at what he'll look like, he'll have this amazing combo of my son and his mother.He'll have this little nose and big blue eyes, he'll maybe love dinasaurs as much as his father, he may sing like a broadway star like his mother. He may just be something entirely different but that's what's so exciting about life, it's fun to guess, but better to actually let time happen. Let your child or grandchild become who they probably already are when their still in the womb, and gladly be able to bear witness to it.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Guest blogger! Very moving story...a must read!
A Village of Love: Overcoming Cancer and Embracing Life
I’m sure you have heard the expression that it takes a village to raise a child. It’s a saying I truly came to trust during my struggle to overcome cancer after the birth of my first child. My family and I were surrounded by a village of loving relationships.
My daughter Lily was born August 4, 2005, after a mostly uneventful pregnancy. Our village of love at once surrounded us. My parents, my husband’s family, and many, many friends came by to meet our Lily and wish us well. Things were going great. Nothing could prepare us for the storm that was about to come.
Within a month of returning to work full time, things began to go downhill for me. I started feeling tired, breathless, with no energy. These symptoms could all be attributed to being a new mom; still I felt that something was really wrong. On November 21, 2005, just 3 1/2 short months after Lily came into our lives, I was diagnosed with malignant pleural mesothelioma, a cancer in the lining of the lung, caused primarily by asbestos exposure. I had unknowingly been exposed to asbestos as a child. Some 30 years later, I was diagnosed with mesothelioma. I was told I had 15 months to live if I did nothing. I looked at my husband and daughter and knew I must do something to save my life.
The treatment option that I chose was the most drastic available, a surgery called extrapleural pneumenectomy that required the removal of my left lung. My husband and I flew to Boston and I had the surgery performed on February 2, 2005. I then spent 18 days recovering in the hospital, with another 2 months recovery before starting chemotherapy and then radiation.
Meanwhile, Lily lived with my parents in South Dakota. They had their own village of loving friends that came out to help them. Young married women that I used to babysit for when I was a teen, volunteered to babysit for Lily while my parents worked full time. Churchgoers, who I grew up with in my hometown, surrounded my parents with love and support. My baby girl learned to eat her first foods and roll and scoot around.
Back in Boston, we made new friends and surrounded ourselves with amazing people going through the same cancer ordeal. We managed each day through the support and love of people surrounding us. I watched my daughter's progress through grainy black and white copies of pictures my mom emailed and my husband printed off on a community printer for me. My nurses would come and check on the new pictures and ooh and aah over her, just like I did, while trying not to cry. She was the reason I was there. She was the reason I was fighting for my life. She was in the best hands possible.
Now, years later, I embrace what life throws at me. I really believe this quote: “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.” As dire as my diagnosis of cancer was, part of the good that came from it was a village of love that helped me to become the grateful person I am today.
I’m sure you have heard the expression that it takes a village to raise a child. It’s a saying I truly came to trust during my struggle to overcome cancer after the birth of my first child. My family and I were surrounded by a village of loving relationships.
My daughter Lily was born August 4, 2005, after a mostly uneventful pregnancy. Our village of love at once surrounded us. My parents, my husband’s family, and many, many friends came by to meet our Lily and wish us well. Things were going great. Nothing could prepare us for the storm that was about to come.
Within a month of returning to work full time, things began to go downhill for me. I started feeling tired, breathless, with no energy. These symptoms could all be attributed to being a new mom; still I felt that something was really wrong. On November 21, 2005, just 3 1/2 short months after Lily came into our lives, I was diagnosed with malignant pleural mesothelioma, a cancer in the lining of the lung, caused primarily by asbestos exposure. I had unknowingly been exposed to asbestos as a child. Some 30 years later, I was diagnosed with mesothelioma. I was told I had 15 months to live if I did nothing. I looked at my husband and daughter and knew I must do something to save my life.
The treatment option that I chose was the most drastic available, a surgery called extrapleural pneumenectomy that required the removal of my left lung. My husband and I flew to Boston and I had the surgery performed on February 2, 2005. I then spent 18 days recovering in the hospital, with another 2 months recovery before starting chemotherapy and then radiation.
Meanwhile, Lily lived with my parents in South Dakota. They had their own village of loving friends that came out to help them. Young married women that I used to babysit for when I was a teen, volunteered to babysit for Lily while my parents worked full time. Churchgoers, who I grew up with in my hometown, surrounded my parents with love and support. My baby girl learned to eat her first foods and roll and scoot around.
Back in Boston, we made new friends and surrounded ourselves with amazing people going through the same cancer ordeal. We managed each day through the support and love of people surrounding us. I watched my daughter's progress through grainy black and white copies of pictures my mom emailed and my husband printed off on a community printer for me. My nurses would come and check on the new pictures and ooh and aah over her, just like I did, while trying not to cry. She was the reason I was there. She was the reason I was fighting for my life. She was in the best hands possible.
Now, years later, I embrace what life throws at me. I really believe this quote: “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.” As dire as my diagnosis of cancer was, part of the good that came from it was a village of love that helped me to become the grateful person I am today.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Marilyn...what a suprise
I recently watched the movie "My Week with Marilyn" starring Michelle Williams, most of you have probably heard of it or seen it. Michelle Williams got an Oscar nod for her performance of Marilyn Monroe based on two books by Colin Clark. What's relevent for me about this is how interested I quickly became on the life of Marilyn Monroe. Never before did I pay much notice to her life. In fact she died in 1962 many years before my birth but what struck me in the film was all the mental illness that plaqued her.
The film pushed me to run out and get the best reviewed biography to date on Marilyn Monroe, The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe, written by J. Randy Taraborrelli. I haven't been able to put it down (except of course to study for finals.). So why does she interest me? As stated earlier it's her mental illness that made her so vulnurable and mysterious that on my further "investigation" makes her a legend. Of course she was beautiful, that's clear but it wasn't her beauty. That doens't impress me, although she used her beauty to her full advantage. It's that she managed to pull herself up the ladder with for the most part a full blown mental illness that (at the point in the book that I'm at) was never properly diagnosed. Her mother and grandmother as well suffered, her mother Gladys who was in and out of state hospitals for depression and various other mental illness epidodes.
Again, I go back to my own life as most of us do when something touches us. Both Marilyn's grandmother and mother appeared to have had postpartum depression which if not diagnosed and treated can turn into major depressive disorder. My own mother has mental illness as well as some other family members. I myself suffered from postpartum depression from my second child on, I knew enough about what was going on with myself; since as stated many times in my blog women's health has always been an important subject for me and prior to nursing school I read everything I could get my hands on regarding pregnany, birth, and the postpartum period.
What is endearing to me about Marilyn or maybe I should say what I connect to is how much I can relate to her childhood experiences. Of course I have no idea what her fame felt like, I can appreciate if not feel a total bond with her over our similar experiences. Mental illness needs to be viewed as much more than someone feeling a bit sad. It can ruin lives, not just the one afflicted but a whole family. Some how our county needs to look over our whole mental health system. People get lost in the shuffle of the cost of health care, kids get lost because when they look into their parent's eyes and all they see is darkness. It's a domino affect as well as a biological one. Clearly, we can see that when we look at Marilyn Monroe's family line.Just food for thought....
The film pushed me to run out and get the best reviewed biography to date on Marilyn Monroe, The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe, written by J. Randy Taraborrelli. I haven't been able to put it down (except of course to study for finals.). So why does she interest me? As stated earlier it's her mental illness that made her so vulnurable and mysterious that on my further "investigation" makes her a legend. Of course she was beautiful, that's clear but it wasn't her beauty. That doens't impress me, although she used her beauty to her full advantage. It's that she managed to pull herself up the ladder with for the most part a full blown mental illness that (at the point in the book that I'm at) was never properly diagnosed. Her mother and grandmother as well suffered, her mother Gladys who was in and out of state hospitals for depression and various other mental illness epidodes.
Again, I go back to my own life as most of us do when something touches us. Both Marilyn's grandmother and mother appeared to have had postpartum depression which if not diagnosed and treated can turn into major depressive disorder. My own mother has mental illness as well as some other family members. I myself suffered from postpartum depression from my second child on, I knew enough about what was going on with myself; since as stated many times in my blog women's health has always been an important subject for me and prior to nursing school I read everything I could get my hands on regarding pregnany, birth, and the postpartum period.
What is endearing to me about Marilyn or maybe I should say what I connect to is how much I can relate to her childhood experiences. Of course I have no idea what her fame felt like, I can appreciate if not feel a total bond with her over our similar experiences. Mental illness needs to be viewed as much more than someone feeling a bit sad. It can ruin lives, not just the one afflicted but a whole family. Some how our county needs to look over our whole mental health system. People get lost in the shuffle of the cost of health care, kids get lost because when they look into their parent's eyes and all they see is darkness. It's a domino affect as well as a biological one. Clearly, we can see that when we look at Marilyn Monroe's family line.Just food for thought....
Saturday, April 21, 2012
It's off to work I go
I've been thinking a lot about my career. Well, I don't like to sound formal, I've been thinking a lot about my job. I'm back in school going for my BSN in nursing. I have my RN so this isn't as big a leep as the latter. Non the less it's a quest I'm on and I'm enjoying it greatly. I'm taking a major certification this summer and going for my IBCLC, which means I'm going to be a lactation consultant. Lactation education and assistance is a major part of my job so no big leep except paying the 550.00 for the exam. My question to myself is...then what? Do I just sit back and enjoy my life? Relish the fine art of relaxation? Maybe vacation a bit more? Or do I go on and get my masters in nursing and teach? My family would say, in the most supportive tone, "Mom/Hon, it's totally up to you!" Giving emphasis to the "totally". My 80's girl has to come out sometime!
I recently went to a baby shower for one of our midwives at "The Birthplace", I arrived and looked at all the women who followed the same path I did. These are the women that I see at night, every night and we back each other up with everything we have.We know what the other needs sometimes without even asking. We share magical moments together, and we get to do this! We actually get paid to do this amazing thing we do. Support, assist ,educate, and care for women and their families in labor and the postpartum period. So once I was out of my reviere I thought their wasn't a doubt in my mind that these women are an extension of my family. We ended the party with a blessing for the newest birthplace arrival, we all lite a candle and said a blessing a wish for the midwife and the new life inside her. It was an incredable day.
So now I'm not going to speak of any particular night at work but I must say that just the environment at our little birthplace would make the most uptight/conservative person warm and fuzzy. My friends and fellow RN's love, breath, and live birth. We're good at what we do and it shows in our patients faces. Becoming a nurse was no short of a miracle for me. Being raised by a very sick grandmother and a very mentally unstable mother it would have looked bleak for me way back in my childhood. But, I believe nursing was a drive and I wasn't going to be held back from that. What ever I decide to do after I get this degree I do know one thing, caring for women and their families is my future.
I recently went to a baby shower for one of our midwives at "The Birthplace", I arrived and looked at all the women who followed the same path I did. These are the women that I see at night, every night and we back each other up with everything we have.We know what the other needs sometimes without even asking. We share magical moments together, and we get to do this! We actually get paid to do this amazing thing we do. Support, assist ,educate, and care for women and their families in labor and the postpartum period. So once I was out of my reviere I thought their wasn't a doubt in my mind that these women are an extension of my family. We ended the party with a blessing for the newest birthplace arrival, we all lite a candle and said a blessing a wish for the midwife and the new life inside her. It was an incredable day.
So now I'm not going to speak of any particular night at work but I must say that just the environment at our little birthplace would make the most uptight/conservative person warm and fuzzy. My friends and fellow RN's love, breath, and live birth. We're good at what we do and it shows in our patients faces. Becoming a nurse was no short of a miracle for me. Being raised by a very sick grandmother and a very mentally unstable mother it would have looked bleak for me way back in my childhood. But, I believe nursing was a drive and I wasn't going to be held back from that. What ever I decide to do after I get this degree I do know one thing, caring for women and their families is my future.
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