Social Gracious

A Late Night Call About Papa

The phone rang at just before 11 one night this week; it was my sister.  We have reached the age where phone calls after ten are usually not good.  My sister asked me if I was awake, then she asked if UberGeek was nearby, then she asked if I was sure I was awake; I'm almost never asleep before 11PM.  I wanted her to spit it out but didn't want to be rude and interrupt, I knew what was coming in a sort of awful way.

My mom had called her; my Papa had a major brain bleed, they thought this was going to be the end.  Papa also suffers from leukemia, diabetes, and has had several prior strokes over the last few years.  Still, until the last six months he was very sharp and had been doing quite well.  Over the last day or so my Papa has been made comfortable and he is headed home with palliative care.  I am thankful he will not have to spend the rest of his time in a hospital.

UberGeek and I had been alternating making the trip up to Virginia to visit every so many weeks.  We both noticed a decline in Papa's level of functioning since Christmas.  He used to look forward to my cooking and always took an interest in going outside on the porch.  During my last visit, he slept most of the time and I could not get him to go outside at all; he hardly ate anything.  I guess I knew it was coming, I just didn't anticipate that it would be this soon.

Papa was my grandmother's second husband, her first, my mother's father, died before I was born.  Although he was not my grandfather by blood, it isn't blood that makes a relationship.  My grandmother says that she was dating him when my mother was pregnant with me and she told him he had to marry her because I was going to need a grandfather.  If you knew my grandmother, you'd know there probably wasn't much point arguing with her.  During my high school years I lived with my grandparents for over two years and we were very close. 

Sometime soon my grandfather will probably leave this earth; his body has been failing him now for quite a while.  I have many good memories though, and I believe that he will have a new life he won't need that body for.  I pray that my grandmother, who suffers from the cruel disease of Alzheimers, will be able to join him and leave behind the prison her mind has become.  Although I'm not really sure how that will work out since she has her first husband too; I'm guessing all that stuff is small potatoes where they are going.

 

Grandma, Papa and Me

The Tubal Ligation Vacation

I am at about that age when birth control pills begin to come with a black box warning.  So, if I take them, reportedly I am at a higher risk of having a clotted leg that will have to be removed, or my head will explode in a ghastly way.  Because of this, UberGeek and I have begun the earnest discussion of what to do in order to prevent the creation of any new Divas or Eddies. 

If things had been just a little different, this all would have been solved when Diva and Eddie were born.  Although I planned for a natural childbirth, I informed my OB that should things not work out, and he had to give me a c-section, he was to go ahead and tie the old tubes in a BIG FAT knot.  He gave me a kind look, the sort he probably gives to all of his crazy, hormone addled, 8 months pregnant with twins patients, and told me, "Kristie, you are so young, let's just wait until the time comes, you might change your mind."  That is when I grabbed him by the collar, pulled him so close to me that he could smell the frozen cream puffs on my breath, and told him that if he didn't do it I would take hold of the sterile tubing and do it myself.  I'm making that part up, actually, but it did happen in my mind. In reality, I just smiled at him and said, "OK, but I am telling you, I do not ever want to be pregnant again."  "There are other options" he replied calmly.

Now my children are five, and although I would like one more child, I am still very sure that I do not want to be pregnant again.  I had enough complications to last for a lifetime the first pregnancy, and I am not willing to roll the dice again; it's not fair to Eddie or Diva.  Recently, I approached UberGeek about making things permanent.  Among his close counterparts, he is one of the "Last of the Mohicans" so to speak, the few unclipped.  Whenever I mention the prospect of a vasectomy, UberGeek's eyes get wide, then I can tell that his mind starts churning, and this is what he comes up with, "I'm not getting one of those, they don't work." 

UberGeek is of course referring to a friend who got a vasectomy from a prominent urologist.  The man has super sperm; this is a couple who can stand too close to each other on a wet floor, then she gets pregnant.  He had the vasectomy; they didn't quite get the final count back, and welcomed a final child to their beautiful family.  He had to get the procedure performed a second time, reportedly this is the only similar case in the surgeon's career.  

We, on the other hand, are not that couple, but it is a good excuse for UberGeek.  After a year of attempting to convince him that a vasectomy would be in everyone's best interest, I told him I would get a tubal ligation.  I have vague memories of people getting them years ago, days were spent recuperating, and so I let UberGeek know that it would be a long recovery.  I had visions of a couple days at the beautiful new Mayo Clinic hospital with a flat screen TV, IV drugs, clean sheets, my own nurse and a lot of magazines.  This would be followed by a couple days of quiet time at home while the kids were off at school. 

Off I went to see my primary care physician, who I have known for ten years.  I told him that UberGeek, who is also his patient, was being stubborn about the vasectomy and that I was thinking of a tubal.  I wanted to know how much of a recovery at Mayo I would get.  He laughed, then said, "Seriously Kristie? We replace portions of people's intestines as an outpatient procedure, you are so not getting any time in the hospital; it's an outpatient procedure." 

Outpatient is a whole different ballgame.  Outpatient means I will return home after something painful and have to slog around trying to keep the house tidy, wash the dishes, answer questions, fold laundry and watch tumbleweeds of animal hair go by.  I won't want to let it all pile up for a couple days while I relax and recover.  UberGeek will be wound tight trying to keep the kids busy; there won't be anyone to wait on me, so I will attempt to do too much too soon.  I know how it will go.  It's much better that he get the vasectomy because I am better equipped to wait on him and the kids all at once; women are better at multitasking, at least in this family.

There will be no tubal ligation vacation, time to pursue other options.

Hey, Dummy, Are You Listening? It's Me, God

  At my office, there are very few people with young children, hence, when 5:00 rolls around the place is still humming with activity.  I typically try to come in by 8 and leave around 5 or come in at 730 and leave around 430 or so.  My office mates tend to come in later and leave later.  This doesn't generally work for me because my kids want to eat dinner by 6 and go to bed at 730.  If I leave at exactly 5, get home at 530, then I can get dinner on the table by 6 and we can spend an hour together before they go to bed.  If I stay later, I am taking time from the kids so I'd rather log in later from home after they are in bed if I need to.  Still, I always feel as if there is a contest to see who can sit at their desk the latest in the evenings at the office.  I am forever getting these reminder calls from UberGeek at 5:05 inquiring as to whether I have departed, then 5:10, then 5:15.  He usually leaves around 4:30 from work as his office is a ghost town by 5.  UberGeek is always on me to just come on home to be with them.  Still, I feel weird heading off down the hallway when everyone else sits fixed in front of their terminals.

Sometimes God speaks to you, but in my case, apparently God has to repeat the message, more than once.  When I was in my early twenties my stepmother, Lynn, died of cancer at the age of 44.  At the time, both of her biological children, my brother and sister, were under the age of six.  Before they were born, Lynn's work was everything to her, she was published in a number of academic journals, loved teaching, lecturing and traveling.  I still remember the assorted lab frogs living on the back porch during the summer.  Once my brother and sister were born, work was no longer everything to Lynnie, and she simply would not commit her time in a way she once had.  She was still a very passionate person about nursing, about biology and about research, she simply could not give it twenty four hours a day as she had for nearly fifteen years. 

In hindsight, it was a good thing Lynnie was so dedicated to her family, she certainly didn't know she would be given so little time with them.  I remember not long after her terminal cancer diagnosis she said to me, "Kristie, this will be the thing that kills me, but I want the treatment to give me more time.  I can't die yet, the kids are just too little."  They were too little; when I think about it now, it crushes my heart to know what that did to her, having to leave them without a choice.  The treatment did buy her more time, she was given a prognosis of a few months and she lived about a year.

I am 35 years old, nine years younger than my stepmother when she died.  My children are the age that her oldest child was when she died.  Although I often miss her, and I ache for my brother and sister, I also realize that I learned one of the most beautiful lessons in my life from her.  Today, I was editing a website at work and I came across this quote from Stephen Covey, "Most people struggle with life balance simply because they haven't really paid the price to decide what is really important to them."   I was around to watch that price be paid.  As I read that quote, I started reflecting; I have been given a similar message in several different ways, from several sources lately, so perhaps my ear should be perking up.

A couple weekends ago, I was in church and the focus of the sermon was Psalm 39:4, "Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life."  The pastor continued to talk about the power of that reading, that our days are numbered, that we only get one chance, one chance to be a child, one chance to be a teen, one chance to be a young adult, there is no going back. "You have made my days but a hands breadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life, is but a breath."  I could feel emotion well up inside me as I squeezed UberGeek's hand as he sat next to me in the pew.  OK God, I'm listening; be patient with me, sometimes I'm a slow learner.

The Heartburn Diet

This was a tough week, for a couple reasons, but in general, I wasn't expecting it to be complicated by a digestive condition I have not experienced since I was nine months pregnant with twins who crowded most of my vital and not so vital organs.  Friday, Web Warrior Princess, UberGeek and I hit Tommy's for pizza. The Princess and I ordered a gluten free  pizza with pepperoni, olives and mushrooms, I couldn't wait to dig in! Since she has celiac disease, there aren't that many spots to enjoy pizza. UberGeek ordered a slice of regular pizza with pepperoni.

We were chatting away, and I was enjoying the company; I usually bring lunch so it was nice to be out of the office.  Our pizza was delivered and we dug into the steaming slices.  I have to say that this crust was amazing, and just like any other pizza, except maybe a little crisper. Although it was delicious, after just a few bites, I felt uncomfortably full. I was really hungry and it was very good, so I managed to eat two pieces anyway.  My lack of gusto delighted Web Warrior Princess who managed to down the rest of our tiny pizza. Then, my stomach started to ache, although it was not too painful.  We finished our pizza and dashed out into the rain to finish the workday.

That evening UberGeek decided to make breakfast for dinner, waffles and bacon.  I took a few bites and the pain was unbearable, as if fire was shooting through me.  I couldn't even finish my pecan waffle and slice of bacon. UberGeek's waffles are heavenly and I was desperate to eat mine, and hungry and I just couldn't eat it.  I was doubled over at the table and UberGeek had to dash out to the Walgreens to pick up a selection of products that promised to relieve my pain; I consumed them with gusto.

All day today I have been desperate to eat, but each bite is agony. I made the family buttermilk pancakes with chocolate chips and couldn't eat them myself, it was devastating. The fact that I have a marathon coming up in a week worries me even more.  This is not a good time for me not to be able to eat what I need to eat. UberGeek has tried several times to suggest the Emergency Department at nearby Mayo Clinic, but the thought of walking in a place meant for Emergencies when I have heartburn is mortifying.  I think I'll wait until Monday and see my primary care doctor.  Until then, Gaviscon, Zantac and I are very close friends.

Diagnosis Old

The last time I did the South Beach Diet was over five years ago. I tipped the scales at a hefty 118 which for me at the time was totally unacceptable. So, a friend and I decided to try the diet and drop a few pounds quickly. Of course I forced UberGeek to go along with me. I quickly dropped nine pounds following the diet relatively strictly and going to the gym five days a week. UberGeek dropped 20, cheating all the way. Mission accomplished.

Fast forward five years, after a vacation during which UberGeek and I stuffed ourselves with fried Grouper sandwiches, frozen rum runners and all manner of other delicacies I tipped the scales at 125. I don't normally weigh myself but tight jeans necessitate a reality check. 125 is a weight I don't think I have ever been at except during and six months after pregnancy. I know that to most people that doesn't sound heavy but at just under 5'2" it's actually pushing toward an unhealthy BMI. With a family history of heart disease I prefer to keep things on the safe side. So, I decided I would do South Beach again and drop it off in a couple weeks.

Ummm, yeah, except I'm not 29 anymore, I'm 35 and apparently you don't just drop 10 lb as easily. I have been just as strict (only very occasional cheating) and have been working out and still the needle on the scale has moved just four depressing pounds in almost two weeks. I am sick of eating salads, cauliflower fake mashed potatoes and stir fry vegetables I tell you.  I want my brown rice and whole grain pasta, fruit, bread, CARBS!  So, because I have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis which results in weight gain sometimes and also occasionally in me being more tired than usual I decided in my mind that surely this was the issue, perhaps a change in my medication was necessary. A flare up of thyroid disease causing my thighs to stand their ample ground.  I called Mayo to make an appointment with my primary care physician.

Walking into his office I waited for just a couple minutes before Dr. M arrived. We have a good relationship, he's UberGeek's physician too and has been for many years. The first time we met I was 25, in grad school and newly married to UberGeek. I tagged along on a visit so I could meet Dr. M who, at the time, was also the physician head of IT where UberGeek worked. I demanded a promise that UberGeek would live to be 100 and received instructions in return to force UberGeek to stop eating fries and drinking soda.  It was a deal, with a HIPAA release on file for each other we are both able to tattle freely to Dr. M. "He is still eating the fries, Dr. M, and he hasn't run in two months" I will report.  I don't know that Dr. M ever says anything specifically to UberGeek but just the fact that I've tattled causes the running shoes to appear at the front door once more.

Dr. M. has watched our relationship mature from young marrieds, to harried parents, he saw my ghastly postpartum state (mental and physical), he requests pictures of our twins and occasionally gets a visit from them. So when he comes in there is usually some brief small talk. The door opens and I tell him what I am there for, "I cannot seem to drop more than three or four pounds" I tell him, "I am wondering if my thyroid is acting up." "If it's not that, then I am worried that it is just because I am getting old" I joke.  "I am tired of eating salads and nuts and the needle on the scale staying put." Yes, he says, that is what I am always telling my 60 year old patients, things slow down and you just can't eat as much as you used to as you age. I don't put quotes around that statement because he might not have worded it exactly like that, but that was the gist of it. At that moment I thought, oh my God, I will get to eat less and less every day until I die if I want to stay thin. This really sucks. I said a prayer (silently) that my thyroid was really messed up. Dr. M sent me for labwork down the hall just after my appointment.

Thursday the nurse called to give me the results, "Your thyroid results are normal" she said in a cheerful voice. Diagnosis=old.

Jacksonville Beach Paddle Boarding

Yesterday we decided to skip church in favor of heading to the beach. Diva's dance recital had taken up all of Saturday and we enjoyed it thoroughly. We were unable to attend Saturday evening service though due to the festivities and Sunday morning dawned beautiful, clear, and a perfect beach day. The kids pounced on us in bed around 6:45, late by their standards, and demanded to know what the day held. UberGeek rolled over, looked at me, then them. He announced that we would be going to the beach. Who was I to argue? No better place to worship what God has to offer than the ocean.

We packed up the minivan and headed to the beach. I have lived near the water my entire life and have spent much of my life on the beach. As children, my sister and I were swathed in sunscreen, had lunches packed and were expected to entertain ourselves for entire days at the shore. There is nothing I like better, nothing my sister likes better and nothing my mom likes better than a day at the beach. My mother and her brother both were surfers, as was I in earlier years. It turns out that my kids love the beach too.

Yesterday we were playing around in the shallow water, having a good time when a paddle boarder came in, watching his friends finish up out in the breaking waves. I pointed out his board to Eddie Haskell and explained what it was. The owner of the board heard me and offered to let him stand on it. D iva of course also had to get in on the act. As I watched them I felt a tightening in my chest. Not just of pride for my kids balancing on their wobbly legs, but also of longing, for the days that I was a surfer and not the suburban mom in a tankini and a sunhat, loaded in sunscreen and about to get back in a minivan. Rather for the days that I was the adventurer, cruising the coastline, other countries and places, riding waves and flying in impossibly small planes. Those days are gone but maybe sometime I'll figure out how to surf again. Perhaps Diva and Eddie Haskell will want to learn.

Till Death Do Us Part

Yesterday was big for us, we headed out to celebrate the joining of two lives, til death do us part. Our friends Hillary and Eric got married. She was an absolutely breathtaking bride and he was choked up waiting for her to come down the aisle. She didn't disappoint, looking radiant and thrilled to be heading up the aisle toward her groom. It was a lovely ceremony and there was a party bus complete with a beer stocked cooler waiting to take everyone to the reception.

I love weddings, they remind me of my own, although it is hard to believe that it has been almost nine years since UberGeek and I tied the knot. I am reminded of the sacredness of our vows when I hear them repeated by friends or loved ones in a church. UberGeek and I had a good sized wedding, one that we paid for primarily by ourselves. For that reason, I think that we appreciated it more. We have never regretted the investment.

So many days it is hard to have that loving feeling toward each other, kids bickering hour after hour, load after load of laundry to do, dishes to unload, a mound of ironing, baseboard to paint, bills to pay, grass to cut, garage to clean, back porch to spray, you know the drill. There are many many days I wonder how I can go on at all. Not because I have a bad husband or a bad marriage but because the prospect of the overwhelming load I carry is so heavy I am momentarily blinded by the impossibility of it all. It is like that dream where you are swimming toward the shore and it just keeps moving farther away the closer you get and you get so tired you just want to stop swimming. Do you have that dream?

When I feel blinded like that I am glad to have my wedding album and I am even happier that we had a good photographer to capture those moments. Looking at that clear, bright love we had for each other on that day reminds me of what we are still building although we are momentarily side tracked by life. I look at the albums from the early years of our marriage of trips taken, adventures had and remember that we are still the same people under our harried exteriors. I console myself with the knowledge that my children are growing older and things are getting easier, one day we will find time for each other again. Our feelings for each other never changed, we are still very much in love, the lives around our feelings changed. I miss my husband, even though he is right next to me.

For Whom the Triangle Tolls

 

Ever since I was a toddler my mother remembers me waking up early, not 8AM early but 5:30AM early. I would walk into my mother's bedroom, put my little hands on either side of her face and say, "P-cakes mommy, p-cakes." My mother says this went on for a number of years, although she encouraged me to wake up later it never happened. At sleepovers this was a curse, while others slept in I was wide awake by 6AM, bored and staring at everyone else, trying desperately to be quiet.

It wasn't until I was in college that I learned to take a nap in the afternoon and also learned the pleasures of sleeping late in the morning, mostly due to alcohol. Still, at that age I could stay up late to party and wake up early to go to work or class without too much damage. Sometimes I went to class, worked one table waiting job, then worked a second midnight table waiting job and went to sleep at sunrise only to do it all again in the morning. I didn't have much except my time and a talent at waiting tables to earn money for school or life, so that's what I did.

This is not the case today, I'm 34, and I can't get up. Something happened when my children were born, a gatekeeper was awoken and that gatekeeper of my somnolence says, "sister, you are tired, you cannot wake up this early, turn back over and go back to sleep." Prior to my children's birth I got up at 5 every morning to lift weights or do cardio. I simply cannot wake up anymore. It's not that I occasionally sleep in until 6:30, it seems to be a strong bodily need that keeps me from waking up before 6, ever. I have set my clock for 5AM many times to go to the gym or run and I always sleep past it's noisy clang. Even my Saturday morning running group that leaves at 6 or 7 is a struggle, at least it helps that I know a group is waiting for me, if it wasn't for that I'd probably ignore that alarm too.

To top it all off I am a a night owl, I love the late hours, past 11, when the house is quiet and it's just me and the hum of a quiet computer, good book or Tivo'ed show that UberGeek doesn't care for. Nip Tuck or Real Housewives of New York City, mmmmm, guilty pleasures. It used to be that I could stay up however late I wanted and still wake up early, by 6 at the latest. Not anymore, now I know I will pay for my night owl ways.

When I go for my primary care appointments I am assessed for changes in eating and sleeping habits. They ask about being overly tired in one of their standard questionnaires, something about having trouble waking. I fill it out honestly and it always makes them ask me the follow up question to make sure I don't have some sort of serious disease making me tired. Then I explain that I have 4 year old twins, a full time job, I teach part time and I run long distance races on a regular basis. They drop the line of questioining pretty quickly after a quick check of the thyroid levels and other bloodwork. Apparently my exhaustion makes perfect sense.

On Sundays, before church, UberGeek allows me to sleep in until 8, which is very late in our world. It is an unbelievable luxury that I am so grateful for. Somehow it fills my reservoir enough to make it through another week. I so hope he continues to allow it for the foreseeable future!

I had an early morning coffee meeting today and I needed to be up fairly early. As usual, I was exhausted, buried in the comforter, praying for mercy from the alarm clock. UberGeek had already allowed me "second shower" rights which gave me ten extra minutes to sleep. I was snoozing away when I heard a loud and startling clanging sound. I crawled out of the bed and slunk to the living room to see what the commotion was. The kiddos had taken it upon themselves to start a two person band with only their triangles as instruments. Finally, an alarm that works for me!