Friday, March 8, 2013
Laura's Chapters: Mom and Dad - Missed Call
Laura's Chapters: Mom and Dad - Missed Call: Mornings are a bit nuts in our household. I'll be honest. This morning when our phone rang at 7:30 as John was pulling out of the driv...
Mom and Dad - Missed Call
Mornings are a bit nuts in our household. I'll be honest.
This morning when our phone rang at 7:30 as John was pulling out of the driveway, and it was my mom, what little sliver of childhood that I had left ended.
"Hello, Laura. This is your mother." It's how pretty much every conversation that I've had with my mom via phone has started since I left for college. Formal, tight, controlled. "Everything is okay..." Now that was new.
My dad had a heart attack last night. There, I said it. Not as dramatic as what you see on television, or what we knew as a "heart attack" back when I was in grade school or high school, but a heart attack nonetheless. Listening to my mom trying to give filtered details and assure me that everything was okay, I felt myself slipping from the little girl that I transition to whenever I talk with her, to a woman who needed to take in information, be in control, and deal with whatever was coming next.
She talked about how Dad was smart enough to realize what was happening and call 911. How quickly the EMT's arrived and whisked him away. How she wished that he had been taken to Huron Valley hospital instead of Henry Ford because she had to drive through not one, but two round-abouts, and she hated the round-abouts. In fact, she hated them so much that when she finally left the hospital at 3:00 AM, so took the long way home so that she wouldn't have to drive through them. Lots of detail. Minimal information.
Katrina looked at me with big eyes throughout my conversation. Intuitive enough to know that something was wrong, and mature enough to want to help me more than need me in that moment. "It's okay, mommy. Grandpa will be okay!"
I managed to get enough details from my mom to call the hospital myself and get an update. Minor heart attack. Everything is under control, but he'll need to be on medication and make some diet and exercise changes moving forward. This is his official wake-up call.
His, and mine.
Parents are mortal - I've just never had to see mine as such until this moment. I asked my mother as an adult friend more than a daughter if she was okay, and if she needed anything. She didn't know how to respond. (And I didn't expect her to.) I called the hospital to talk with my dad and hear for myself what he was telling me, and what he wasn't telling me - but as an adult, not a child. I am confident that this was indeed a wake-up and that this time, it will be okay. I'm thankful for the wake-up. Thankful because it puts things back into perspective for me, and pushes me to encourage more engagement between my family and my parents, on shared terms, rather than mom's terms. Thankful because it reminds me to enjoy what I have, and not put off until tomorrow things that I should say and do today. Thankful mostly because he's my dad, and I've always been a daddy's girl. I adore him in every way, and rather than me losing him, God reminded me that I have him, and I should enjoy him.
The shift from child to adult was long overdue, as was the appreciation of my dad, and mom. I hope that it is years before I have another, "Mom and Dad - Missed Call" show up on my cell phone early in the morning.
This morning when our phone rang at 7:30 as John was pulling out of the driveway, and it was my mom, what little sliver of childhood that I had left ended.
"Hello, Laura. This is your mother." It's how pretty much every conversation that I've had with my mom via phone has started since I left for college. Formal, tight, controlled. "Everything is okay..." Now that was new.
My dad had a heart attack last night. There, I said it. Not as dramatic as what you see on television, or what we knew as a "heart attack" back when I was in grade school or high school, but a heart attack nonetheless. Listening to my mom trying to give filtered details and assure me that everything was okay, I felt myself slipping from the little girl that I transition to whenever I talk with her, to a woman who needed to take in information, be in control, and deal with whatever was coming next.
She talked about how Dad was smart enough to realize what was happening and call 911. How quickly the EMT's arrived and whisked him away. How she wished that he had been taken to Huron Valley hospital instead of Henry Ford because she had to drive through not one, but two round-abouts, and she hated the round-abouts. In fact, she hated them so much that when she finally left the hospital at 3:00 AM, so took the long way home so that she wouldn't have to drive through them. Lots of detail. Minimal information.
Katrina looked at me with big eyes throughout my conversation. Intuitive enough to know that something was wrong, and mature enough to want to help me more than need me in that moment. "It's okay, mommy. Grandpa will be okay!"
I managed to get enough details from my mom to call the hospital myself and get an update. Minor heart attack. Everything is under control, but he'll need to be on medication and make some diet and exercise changes moving forward. This is his official wake-up call.
His, and mine.
Parents are mortal - I've just never had to see mine as such until this moment. I asked my mother as an adult friend more than a daughter if she was okay, and if she needed anything. She didn't know how to respond. (And I didn't expect her to.) I called the hospital to talk with my dad and hear for myself what he was telling me, and what he wasn't telling me - but as an adult, not a child. I am confident that this was indeed a wake-up and that this time, it will be okay. I'm thankful for the wake-up. Thankful because it puts things back into perspective for me, and pushes me to encourage more engagement between my family and my parents, on shared terms, rather than mom's terms. Thankful because it reminds me to enjoy what I have, and not put off until tomorrow things that I should say and do today. Thankful mostly because he's my dad, and I've always been a daddy's girl. I adore him in every way, and rather than me losing him, God reminded me that I have him, and I should enjoy him.
The shift from child to adult was long overdue, as was the appreciation of my dad, and mom. I hope that it is years before I have another, "Mom and Dad - Missed Call" show up on my cell phone early in the morning.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Giants are all around you - just dying to be noticed.
I have vague memories of my grandparents. Any of them. For the most part, all but my Grandma Culbertson died before my 6th birthday. What's intriguing to me is how ginormous they still are in my memories 40 years later.
Birthday's in Lake Leelanau sitting at the dining room table with my Grandfather Schrems: "If you don't eat the ice cream first, your cake will get soggy. But then again, if you eat the cake first, your ice cream will melt!" An impossible dilemma at any age - let along four or five! I still have fuzzy photographs in my head of a gigantic bald man with glasses smiling at us while issuing the dilemma. Waiting to see how we would solve the puzzle.
Each of my grandparents were giants in my life for one reason or the other.
Grandma and Grandpa Schrems because we saw them infrequently, they smoked cigarettes (which at a young age I knew was very, very bad!), had this very cool curved couch, a bathroom stall in their basement AND a stuffed-animal turtle big enough that we could ride it like a horse! They became more gigantic after they died in a fire somewhere between my 5th and 6th birthday when my brother, sister and I would spend what seemed like days trying to entertain ourselves in law libraries of some Saginaw law firm while my parents worked through whatever they were working through.
Grandma and Grandpa Culbertson were giants as well. Grandpa was a fireman with an awesome fire hat in his basement in Covington, Kentucky that we would argue over who got to wear next. He also did wood working - one of the few hobbies I recall my father getting excited about doing and/or talking about as I grew from childhood to adulthood. As a fireman, he was larger than life. As a grandpa, awe inspiring with his wood shop in the basement of their home and his mammoth persona. This man ran into danger while others ran out! He too died somewhere between my 5th and 6th birthdays after chopping wood in the backyard days after being released from the hospital after recovering from a heart attack.
I bring up these giants not to bum people out - primarily my siblings and relatives - but because I now view the giants around me from my daughters perspective.
Her teachers, school principals and latch-key care givers have been giants in her life for as long as she has memory. "Chatty Grandma," as Grandma AmRhein is known in our house. And cousin Griffin - because if your parents won't / can't get a big brother for her, Griff is the most awesomest big brother a girl could have in the whole wide world. Her Uncle Pete who swung her like the pendulum of a clock until she grew too big, but will still give giant bear hugs and snuggle in with her. Her BFF Samantha, and Sam's mom Christy, who have become like a second family to her. Stepping back, these are the types of giants I would have chosen for her. (As if I had a choice. Which, by the way, I don't!) They found their way into her life in spite of anything I might have done.
My daughter is pretty amazing. She makes exceptional choices in her friendships, activities and how she engages with others she likes, and those she likes not-so-much. She has an aura that draws others to her like a moth to a flame. Her Giants enter and exit her life as if directed by some sort of script - just the right person at just the right time. They seem to need her as much as she needs them.
I know that I am a better parent at forty-something than I would have been in my twenties when the world revolved around me. But then, if I take a step back, Katrina is as important to me as one of the Giants in my life as I hope to be in hers when she looks back decades from now and thinks of who influenced her life in the most important of ways.
Here is to hoping, and knowing, that anyone I consider a friend is a Giant in someones life at some point.
Peace.
Birthday's in Lake Leelanau sitting at the dining room table with my Grandfather Schrems: "If you don't eat the ice cream first, your cake will get soggy. But then again, if you eat the cake first, your ice cream will melt!" An impossible dilemma at any age - let along four or five! I still have fuzzy photographs in my head of a gigantic bald man with glasses smiling at us while issuing the dilemma. Waiting to see how we would solve the puzzle.
Each of my grandparents were giants in my life for one reason or the other.
Grandma and Grandpa Schrems because we saw them infrequently, they smoked cigarettes (which at a young age I knew was very, very bad!), had this very cool curved couch, a bathroom stall in their basement AND a stuffed-animal turtle big enough that we could ride it like a horse! They became more gigantic after they died in a fire somewhere between my 5th and 6th birthday when my brother, sister and I would spend what seemed like days trying to entertain ourselves in law libraries of some Saginaw law firm while my parents worked through whatever they were working through.
Grandma and Grandpa Culbertson were giants as well. Grandpa was a fireman with an awesome fire hat in his basement in Covington, Kentucky that we would argue over who got to wear next. He also did wood working - one of the few hobbies I recall my father getting excited about doing and/or talking about as I grew from childhood to adulthood. As a fireman, he was larger than life. As a grandpa, awe inspiring with his wood shop in the basement of their home and his mammoth persona. This man ran into danger while others ran out! He too died somewhere between my 5th and 6th birthdays after chopping wood in the backyard days after being released from the hospital after recovering from a heart attack.
I bring up these giants not to bum people out - primarily my siblings and relatives - but because I now view the giants around me from my daughters perspective.
Her teachers, school principals and latch-key care givers have been giants in her life for as long as she has memory. "Chatty Grandma," as Grandma AmRhein is known in our house. And cousin Griffin - because if your parents won't / can't get a big brother for her, Griff is the most awesomest big brother a girl could have in the whole wide world. Her Uncle Pete who swung her like the pendulum of a clock until she grew too big, but will still give giant bear hugs and snuggle in with her. Her BFF Samantha, and Sam's mom Christy, who have become like a second family to her. Stepping back, these are the types of giants I would have chosen for her. (As if I had a choice. Which, by the way, I don't!) They found their way into her life in spite of anything I might have done.
My daughter is pretty amazing. She makes exceptional choices in her friendships, activities and how she engages with others she likes, and those she likes not-so-much. She has an aura that draws others to her like a moth to a flame. Her Giants enter and exit her life as if directed by some sort of script - just the right person at just the right time. They seem to need her as much as she needs them.
I know that I am a better parent at forty-something than I would have been in my twenties when the world revolved around me. But then, if I take a step back, Katrina is as important to me as one of the Giants in my life as I hope to be in hers when she looks back decades from now and thinks of who influenced her life in the most important of ways.
Here is to hoping, and knowing, that anyone I consider a friend is a Giant in someones life at some point.
Peace.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
When there is no answer to the question, "Why?"
Yesterday an unthinkable act of selfish cowardice occured. A gunman forced his way into an elementary school and began to shoot. Efficiently. Randomly. Deadly. As a human being I was moved to tears. As a parent I felt my breath leave my body. Oh my God.
When it was all said and done, the actual act took a mere few minutes. And in those few minutes, 27 people lost their lives - 20 of which were children between the ages of 5 and 10. But this single act of cowardice by a disturbed individual will impact others lives forever.
I'm not here to pass judgement on him. Many will. What he did is beyond my imagination or ability to understand. Many more will pass judgement on his parents in an attempt to find an answer to an unanswerable question. "Why?"
It is the children, their families and the responders that I cry for. And I do cry, everytime I read another update on the internet. I cry because I feel for them, and I somehow imagine myself in a similar situation and know the extent of what I would do for my own daughter, and what I know her teachers and caregivers would do for her in a similar situation - as did many adults in the school that day. I also feel guilt in a strange way. Call it survivors guilt, but I thank God that it wasn't my child, or her school. At least not today.
I can not begin to imagine the anguish that the responders must have felt as they ran through the school building seeking the shooter, leading survivors to safety, and seeing the children who likely looked with trust and confusion at the person who came through their classroom door in their final moments of life. "Why?"
I can only imagine the anguish that parents and siblings felt as they met at the firehouse to collect their child, and the relief that their child, or children, where okay. And the unimaginable horror of those parents whose children where not there, and where not okay. To add insult to injury, they had to wait hopelessly and helplessly until their childs body was released to hold them one more time and apologize for not being there to protect them, always. A promise that I make every morning and every night to my own daughter. "I will not let anything bad happen to you."
I can only imagine what the world has lost with some of these little souls. Future leaders, teachers, mothers and fathers. Little lives who still had lives to live. Not fair. "Why?"
It is difficult to believe in God these days, just in watching everything that is happening in the world. And yet, I do.
It is difficult to trust that a majority of the people in the world are good and mean well. And yet, I do.
Forgiveness isn't mine to give - this horrible unimaginable act isn't mine to forgive, as I know none of the victims personally. Understanding maybe, but I don't have it to give right now.
I had a friend in highschool who died unexpectedly. It was my first time dealing with death when I was truly old enough to get it. Another friend give several of us this poem that I have kept with me to this day. I read it every once in awhile - probably more so as a parent, and with it I find peace.
I'll lend you for a little time a child of mine," He said.
For you to love - while he lives
And mourn for when he's dead.
When it was all said and done, the actual act took a mere few minutes. And in those few minutes, 27 people lost their lives - 20 of which were children between the ages of 5 and 10. But this single act of cowardice by a disturbed individual will impact others lives forever.
I'm not here to pass judgement on him. Many will. What he did is beyond my imagination or ability to understand. Many more will pass judgement on his parents in an attempt to find an answer to an unanswerable question. "Why?"
It is the children, their families and the responders that I cry for. And I do cry, everytime I read another update on the internet. I cry because I feel for them, and I somehow imagine myself in a similar situation and know the extent of what I would do for my own daughter, and what I know her teachers and caregivers would do for her in a similar situation - as did many adults in the school that day. I also feel guilt in a strange way. Call it survivors guilt, but I thank God that it wasn't my child, or her school. At least not today.
I can not begin to imagine the anguish that the responders must have felt as they ran through the school building seeking the shooter, leading survivors to safety, and seeing the children who likely looked with trust and confusion at the person who came through their classroom door in their final moments of life. "Why?"
I can only imagine the anguish that parents and siblings felt as they met at the firehouse to collect their child, and the relief that their child, or children, where okay. And the unimaginable horror of those parents whose children where not there, and where not okay. To add insult to injury, they had to wait hopelessly and helplessly until their childs body was released to hold them one more time and apologize for not being there to protect them, always. A promise that I make every morning and every night to my own daughter. "I will not let anything bad happen to you."
I can only imagine what the world has lost with some of these little souls. Future leaders, teachers, mothers and fathers. Little lives who still had lives to live. Not fair. "Why?"
It is difficult to believe in God these days, just in watching everything that is happening in the world. And yet, I do.
It is difficult to trust that a majority of the people in the world are good and mean well. And yet, I do.
Forgiveness isn't mine to give - this horrible unimaginable act isn't mine to forgive, as I know none of the victims personally. Understanding maybe, but I don't have it to give right now.
I had a friend in highschool who died unexpectedly. It was my first time dealing with death when I was truly old enough to get it. Another friend give several of us this poem that I have kept with me to this day. I read it every once in awhile - probably more so as a parent, and with it I find peace.
I'll lend you for a little time a child of mine," He said.
For you to love - while he lives
And mourn for when he's dead.
It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call him back,
Take care of him for Me?
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call him back,
Take care of him for Me?
He'll bring his smiles to gladden you,
And should this stay be brief
You'll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief.
And should this stay be brief
You'll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief.
I cannot promise he will stay,
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
I've looked this world over
In search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd
Life's lanes, I have selected you.
In search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd
Life's lanes, I have selected you.
Now will you give him all your love,
Nor count the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call to
Take him back again?"
Nor count the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call to
Take him back again?"
I fancied that I heard them say,
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.
We'll shelter him with tenderness,
We'll love him while we may,
And for the happiness we've known
Forever grateful stay.
God bless the families and all of those so personally touched by the tragedy yesterday in Newtown, Connecticut. And for all of us touched because we are good and we do care, I hope that you can find some comfort and hug your loved ones and little tighter and TELL THEM how much you love them, how much you need them, and that they have made your life better by being in it.
"Why?" Because it matters.
We'll shelter him with tenderness,
We'll love him while we may,
And for the happiness we've known
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for him
Much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that come
And try to understand."
Much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that come
And try to understand."
God bless the families and all of those so personally touched by the tragedy yesterday in Newtown, Connecticut. And for all of us touched because we are good and we do care, I hope that you can find some comfort and hug your loved ones and little tighter and TELL THEM how much you love them, how much you need them, and that they have made your life better by being in it.
"Why?" Because it matters.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Memories are the stories you share...
Katrina, my daughter, rolls her eyes toward the heavens every time that John and I share a moment from early in our relationship for the seventeen hundred billionth time.
"Moooommmmmmmmmmm! Really? You are going to tell that story again? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh mmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy goodness!"
The fact of the matter is that memories are the unexpected adventures we have every day that leave imprints on our hearts. The stories we tell time and time again. They may change a bit - depending on the audience and the telling - but they define us, and those we invite to our inner circle.
As a child, my memories are of cherry orchards and Sleeping Bear Dunes. Camp Run-A-Muck and cousins and Lake Leelanau. (And that we avoid Traverse City at Cherry Festival time, no matter what!)
My husband, John, tells stories of great trips to exotic islands where he and his brother Mike tackle various adolescent rights-of-passage, from island exploring to dos cerveza por favor to local parties filled with music, food and magic.
John and I have chosen to focus on family experiences more so than "stuff."
Since before she could walk we've had our daughter, Katrina, on planes, trains and automobiles, seeing the world from China to Florida to St. Lucia and Turks and Caicos. She won't remember many of her early adventures, but she is a seasoned traveler, easily navigating security, passport control, unidentifiable food and a trooper at baggage claim.
As important as her world travels is her connection with family. As an only child, we've worked hard to ensure that she has an emotional connection with cousins, that we create a safe environment for friends, and that her definition of "family" extends beyond Webster's.
My hope is that she will continue to embrace, and will share with her children, the magic of Camp Chark and our heritage of tie-dyed t-shirts and sweatshirts. That her Lord of the Flies type antics lakeside with whittled sticks stabbing dead fish will be a story that she'll share for a lifetime. That s'mores and campfires and movies projected on walls and summer time visits with her future college roommate, Madison Grant, will be something that causes a smile to light her face. That days of "I'm booooorrrrrreeeeeedddd!!!!" with her current BFF and blood sister, Samantha, will be a case in point with her own children who will undoubtedly utter the same desperate plea.
Today we went to her cousin Emily's high school graduation party. Katrina and Emily could be sisters. They are clearly cousins. The party itself may not be a memory for her - but most definitely her jumping off of the floating dock at the Yacht Club into the deep, dark waters of Muskegon Lake will be as the time she further conquered her fears and jumped into the unknown. Or coming home and finding a peacock - yes, a peacock, wandering the cul de sac in front of our house. My hope is that she looks back and tells stories of her childhood starting with, "Oh - that's the summer I ..." and launches into a fit of giggles as she tries to get her stories out in a way as meaningful to her audience as it is to her. I think that we are raising her to have such memories - we are certainly are creating our own versions that we'll tell her friends in years to come from our perspective!
So - I've warned John that I am convinced I'll have full blown memory loss by the time I hit 50. Seriously, I can barely remember people's names, how to spell words and other mundane day-to-day things. But - my memories of good times as a child, early adult hood, and my life with John and Katrina are certainly still vivid. This may cause me to blog more to capture them so that Katrina has them to enjoy and share later in life before I lose them completely. But everyday I find some special moment that makes me smile, laugh aloud, or want to write down so I don't forget to share it, embellish it, or preserve it - because memories are the stories that you share with the people you care about the most.
Wishing everyone memorable days, and a most memorable summer!
Peace Out!
"Moooommmmmmmmmmm! Really? You are going to tell that story again? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh mmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy goodness!"
The fact of the matter is that memories are the unexpected adventures we have every day that leave imprints on our hearts. The stories we tell time and time again. They may change a bit - depending on the audience and the telling - but they define us, and those we invite to our inner circle.
As a child, my memories are of cherry orchards and Sleeping Bear Dunes. Camp Run-A-Muck and cousins and Lake Leelanau. (And that we avoid Traverse City at Cherry Festival time, no matter what!)
My husband, John, tells stories of great trips to exotic islands where he and his brother Mike tackle various adolescent rights-of-passage, from island exploring to dos cerveza por favor to local parties filled with music, food and magic.
John and I have chosen to focus on family experiences more so than "stuff."
Since before she could walk we've had our daughter, Katrina, on planes, trains and automobiles, seeing the world from China to Florida to St. Lucia and Turks and Caicos. She won't remember many of her early adventures, but she is a seasoned traveler, easily navigating security, passport control, unidentifiable food and a trooper at baggage claim.
As important as her world travels is her connection with family. As an only child, we've worked hard to ensure that she has an emotional connection with cousins, that we create a safe environment for friends, and that her definition of "family" extends beyond Webster's.
My hope is that she will continue to embrace, and will share with her children, the magic of Camp Chark and our heritage of tie-dyed t-shirts and sweatshirts. That her Lord of the Flies type antics lakeside with whittled sticks stabbing dead fish will be a story that she'll share for a lifetime. That s'mores and campfires and movies projected on walls and summer time visits with her future college roommate, Madison Grant, will be something that causes a smile to light her face. That days of "I'm booooorrrrrreeeeeedddd!!!!" with her current BFF and blood sister, Samantha, will be a case in point with her own children who will undoubtedly utter the same desperate plea.
Today we went to her cousin Emily's high school graduation party. Katrina and Emily could be sisters. They are clearly cousins. The party itself may not be a memory for her - but most definitely her jumping off of the floating dock at the Yacht Club into the deep, dark waters of Muskegon Lake will be as the time she further conquered her fears and jumped into the unknown. Or coming home and finding a peacock - yes, a peacock, wandering the cul de sac in front of our house. My hope is that she looks back and tells stories of her childhood starting with, "Oh - that's the summer I ..." and launches into a fit of giggles as she tries to get her stories out in a way as meaningful to her audience as it is to her. I think that we are raising her to have such memories - we are certainly are creating our own versions that we'll tell her friends in years to come from our perspective!
So - I've warned John that I am convinced I'll have full blown memory loss by the time I hit 50. Seriously, I can barely remember people's names, how to spell words and other mundane day-to-day things. But - my memories of good times as a child, early adult hood, and my life with John and Katrina are certainly still vivid. This may cause me to blog more to capture them so that Katrina has them to enjoy and share later in life before I lose them completely. But everyday I find some special moment that makes me smile, laugh aloud, or want to write down so I don't forget to share it, embellish it, or preserve it - because memories are the stories that you share with the people you care about the most.
Wishing everyone memorable days, and a most memorable summer!
Peace Out!
Saturday, April 14, 2012
God must have created dogs after he made man....
And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so. And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good. Genesis - The Creation of Heaven and Earth
Koko - our middle dog-child - is sick. Really sick.
Earlier this week, after months of expressing concern over how she wasn't getting any better, we were told that there was nothing that could be done. That the humane thing to do would be to put her down and give her peace.
Fortunately for Koko, John is a fighter of the status quo, and an advocate for the underdog. While her prognosis is "guarded", Koko has a fighting chance of making it her decision when her time is, rather than someone elses decision.
Diagnosed with colon cancer, Koko is home resting "comfortably", awaiting test results so that we, John, myself and Katrina, can be an informed voice for her. When she is ready to fight no more, we will respect that. But fight she has, so fight we will! At a young nine-years old, (56 in dog years), Koko has more puppy and more life left in her than people 1/2 her years in people years.
We should have seen this coming!
Why didn't we! In doing my research now, I see how the symptoms of Chrons, or colonitis mimic the symptoms of colon cancer. Both are bad, but with proper treatment, colonitis should clear up or be managed in 2-3 weeks. Our Koko has been sick for 6 months!
Dogs don't know how to do anything BUT love!
Koko has always been an incredible sensitive, aware dog. More so than most people that I know. Her first concern is that the people SHE cares about are happy and okay - even before herself. Yes, she feels like shit right now...but her people are scared and sad, and she needs to take care of that before all other! She's a better person than I'll ever be!
Rough Beginnings...
Koko is our first rescue dog. I watched her run unsupervised in the marina and down the hill below our home when I was 6 months pregnant with Katrina. Coaxing her to finally come to me late on a cold, rainy, fall day - our fate with Koko was sealed. A scrawny, scared puppy - we tried half-heartedly to find her owners, knowing based on her reaction to us, that they had treated her like crap to begin with. We found a temporary home with "Santa Clause" only to have her returned 2 days later because she was "more than we can handle." I don't know what's different about John and I than others - but we tolerate more with rescue animals. Bring out the good in them, and help them move past the bad. That wasn't easy with Koko - but she wouldn't be the dog she is today without the patience, love and understanding of some key people in her life throughout her first year of life.
If you are still in it to win it, we're here for you!
Selfishly speaking, I am not yet ready to imagine a world without my Koko Puff. A black shadow of a lab that follows me throughout the house, serves as my alarm clock and counter balances the crazy antics of an insane (literally) almost 12-year old chocolate lab, puppy-ness of a 2-year old border collie and tolerates (indeed!) the teenage girl like mood swings of two female cats. Life without Kokie is unimaginable.
That being said, she is one of ours, and with that, John and I will fight for her until she tells us that she is ready to stop. Being a chemo and cancer survivor myself, I understand, at least on one level, what she is going through and, with that, won't complain about the every hour, on the hour, potty attempts throughout the night or her intense fatigue that hits out of the blue. Been there. Done that. What can I help you with, sister?!
Dogs are better people, than people...
I know that she hurts, and sometimes questions why. But Koko never complains. They shaved her tummy. They shaved her wrists and put needles in them. They pushed water up her bootie to get her to poop. She has to digest nasty tasting antibiotic pills so that she doesn't get "sicker." She can't poop, at least poop as we know poop, no matter how hard she tries.
She endures her current fate with every bit of grace, dignity and love that she can muster. She only looks at me with love and appreciation that I am somehow trying to make things better for her. Can you image doing that yourself? I wonder!
I haven't blogged in awhile. My apologies. We all go through stages in our lives that we want to talk about, or aren't ready to talk about. Post China wasn't something that I was ready to talk about.
Koko is someone that I NEED to blog about. Because she is an amazing dog. Because she is an amazing being. Because sometimes I just need to write to get my own head around things. Because it is my responsibility to write to help others NOT have to experience the bad things. If I could offer one little bit of advice....
Colon Cancer in Dogs...Things to Watch For...
Koko has chapters yet to be written - and I'll share them here as they unfold.
In the meantime, hug your pet, acknowledge that they are better beings than you, and watch for the signs. Animals may not vocalize what they are going through, but they do tell you things! Hind sight sucks when it ends in cancer.
Peace Out
Koko - our middle dog-child - is sick. Really sick.
Earlier this week, after months of expressing concern over how she wasn't getting any better, we were told that there was nothing that could be done. That the humane thing to do would be to put her down and give her peace.
Fortunately for Koko, John is a fighter of the status quo, and an advocate for the underdog. While her prognosis is "guarded", Koko has a fighting chance of making it her decision when her time is, rather than someone elses decision.
Diagnosed with colon cancer, Koko is home resting "comfortably", awaiting test results so that we, John, myself and Katrina, can be an informed voice for her. When she is ready to fight no more, we will respect that. But fight she has, so fight we will! At a young nine-years old, (56 in dog years), Koko has more puppy and more life left in her than people 1/2 her years in people years.
We should have seen this coming!
Why didn't we! In doing my research now, I see how the symptoms of Chrons, or colonitis mimic the symptoms of colon cancer. Both are bad, but with proper treatment, colonitis should clear up or be managed in 2-3 weeks. Our Koko has been sick for 6 months!
Dogs don't know how to do anything BUT love!
Koko has always been an incredible sensitive, aware dog. More so than most people that I know. Her first concern is that the people SHE cares about are happy and okay - even before herself. Yes, she feels like shit right now...but her people are scared and sad, and she needs to take care of that before all other! She's a better person than I'll ever be!
Rough Beginnings...
Koko is our first rescue dog. I watched her run unsupervised in the marina and down the hill below our home when I was 6 months pregnant with Katrina. Coaxing her to finally come to me late on a cold, rainy, fall day - our fate with Koko was sealed. A scrawny, scared puppy - we tried half-heartedly to find her owners, knowing based on her reaction to us, that they had treated her like crap to begin with. We found a temporary home with "Santa Clause" only to have her returned 2 days later because she was "more than we can handle." I don't know what's different about John and I than others - but we tolerate more with rescue animals. Bring out the good in them, and help them move past the bad. That wasn't easy with Koko - but she wouldn't be the dog she is today without the patience, love and understanding of some key people in her life throughout her first year of life.
If you are still in it to win it, we're here for you!
Selfishly speaking, I am not yet ready to imagine a world without my Koko Puff. A black shadow of a lab that follows me throughout the house, serves as my alarm clock and counter balances the crazy antics of an insane (literally) almost 12-year old chocolate lab, puppy-ness of a 2-year old border collie and tolerates (indeed!) the teenage girl like mood swings of two female cats. Life without Kokie is unimaginable.
That being said, she is one of ours, and with that, John and I will fight for her until she tells us that she is ready to stop. Being a chemo and cancer survivor myself, I understand, at least on one level, what she is going through and, with that, won't complain about the every hour, on the hour, potty attempts throughout the night or her intense fatigue that hits out of the blue. Been there. Done that. What can I help you with, sister?!
Dogs are better people, than people...
I know that she hurts, and sometimes questions why. But Koko never complains. They shaved her tummy. They shaved her wrists and put needles in them. They pushed water up her bootie to get her to poop. She has to digest nasty tasting antibiotic pills so that she doesn't get "sicker." She can't poop, at least poop as we know poop, no matter how hard she tries.
She endures her current fate with every bit of grace, dignity and love that she can muster. She only looks at me with love and appreciation that I am somehow trying to make things better for her. Can you image doing that yourself? I wonder!
I haven't blogged in awhile. My apologies. We all go through stages in our lives that we want to talk about, or aren't ready to talk about. Post China wasn't something that I was ready to talk about.
Koko is someone that I NEED to blog about. Because she is an amazing dog. Because she is an amazing being. Because sometimes I just need to write to get my own head around things. Because it is my responsibility to write to help others NOT have to experience the bad things. If I could offer one little bit of advice....
Colon Cancer in Dogs...Things to Watch For...
- If there is blood of mucous present in your dogs stool
- If your dog is straining to go potty...
- Vomiting - your dog is no longer keeping food down
- Significant / quick weight loss - this is bad!
Koko has chapters yet to be written - and I'll share them here as they unfold.
In the meantime, hug your pet, acknowledge that they are better beings than you, and watch for the signs. Animals may not vocalize what they are going through, but they do tell you things! Hind sight sucks when it ends in cancer.
Peace Out
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Nothing is ever simple - The Story of "Batty"
I don't consider myself to be a "drama queen." Expressive - but not dramatic. Drama implies some sort of life-or-death situation over acted both on-screen and in life. I just choose to make things more entertaining and colorful! For those of you with younger girls - a bit more "Fancy Nancy," if you will.
Boring Story:
A bat gets in the house at night, forcing us to relocate to a bat-free bedroom.
Expressive Story:
Several Saturday's ago I was awakened at approximately 2:07AM by the swish of wings zooming over my head. (See - isn't this better?!) Me, Katrina, 3 dogs and at least 1 cat were sleeping in the "snug pit" - our basement sectional couch all pushed in to one big bed of lady-power on weekends. (John is welcome to join - but that much estrogen is a lot for a man to absorb!) I watched the dark shape soar around me for about 5 minutes to confirm that I wasn't dreaming (I have a history of seeing things in my sleep) before tossing the covers over my daughter and sneaking upstairs to wake the man of the house.
There's A WHAT in the house
"John!" I hissed,"There's a bat in the basement!" "Did you check with the man in the closet first?" he asked. Funny guy. (And yes, I've awakened him before CONVINCED that there was a man in the closet. It's a wonder the poor man gets any sleep!) He got out of bed to humor me, primarily, and we headed back downstairs. I kept low. John didn't, (He didn't believe me!), and was rewarded with a near hit to the face on one of the bats milk runs along the length of the basement. We managed to wrap Katrina up in a blanket and crawl back upstairs to the "safe zone" with dogs. In looking back I saw the bat embattled with one of the cats in a crazed dance of swoop, jump and jab. Go Shadow!
Now a boring story person would hope that the story ended here. It doesn't. (Good news for my expressive friends!)
The bat made another showing the next night, but only revealed itself to John. Lucky guy! We now officially had a bat in the house. Calls were made to various "critter catchers" - which for me is the equivalent of buying flood insurance when you live on a mountain top. We'll get to them in a bit. Calls were also made to the pediatrician - just to be safe. We knew we had been exposed but were pretty certain that no one had been bitten. "Oh, you have to get shots!" Seriously? The same response also came from the Health Department, Critter-Catcher-Dude, and our health insurance provider. REALLY? This is one of those fun marriage moments when you have to agree to disagree. The reality is that on the off-chance we had been bitten or scratched AND the bat had rabies, without the shots, you die. Life without Katrina or John was unthinkable - they moved forward with the series of shots. I tossed the dice and decided to gamble - also knowing that I was heavily insured and that John would have a beautiful asian nanny and money to burn if I started foaming at the mouth and could no longer see my reflection in the mirror.
Doesn't garlic keep the vampires away?
Garlic may work in the movies, but if you want to keep yourself from turning to team Twilight, you have to get the shots. The first is a series of three. I wasn't there for it, but apparently they came after Katrina with two needles the size of turkey basters and jabbed one into each leg simultaneously. This set the mood for the last shot of the day, and likely every shot to come in her young life. (John received four in his bottom - so I don't know which is worse!) These were followed with weekly shots over the next 3 weeks and exposed us to a full spectrum of really good nurses who took the time to wait for Katrina to be ready for the shot and really bad nurses who threatened to bring "someone in to hold you down if you can't do this." Not my child, you don't!
Critters-R-Us
(And if I knew how to make the "R" backward in the business name, it would be even better!) Critter guy came and poked around our attics (we have two) peered up fireplace chimneys and examined all of the various nooks and crannies on the exterior of the house. We were declared non-infested and provided him with a check for $160 just for stopping by and spending that 20 minutes. To have him "seal" the house was another $600. (This was another one of those marriage moments, but we agreed that continuing to fund critter-catcher-guy was not really helping society.) Perhaps "Batty" (yes, we named him) just stopped by the say hi one night and stayed for awhile!
The icing on the cake, and the appropriate end to this story came the Friday after Katrina's last rabies shot. As we walked to her locker before the start of school, we heard from behind us, "No - I caught the bat this morning - it's out in the courtyard." "Bat!" said Katrina, looking at me with big eyes! "Did he say bat!" He did indeed. "But," I told her - getting down to her level and looking her in the eyes, "you are probably the only one in the entire school with anti-bat super powers now! Isn't that cool?" She thought that it was indeed cool, and to seal the deal, we walked right to that courtyard (window) and smirked at the bat hanging outside. Take that, bat!
Coming Next Time - Why do we always wait until October to take out the dock and the boat? (And yes, I still owe you a blog on my dad's chapter.) Peace
Boring Story:
A bat gets in the house at night, forcing us to relocate to a bat-free bedroom.
Expressive Story:
Several Saturday's ago I was awakened at approximately 2:07AM by the swish of wings zooming over my head. (See - isn't this better?!) Me, Katrina, 3 dogs and at least 1 cat were sleeping in the "snug pit" - our basement sectional couch all pushed in to one big bed of lady-power on weekends. (John is welcome to join - but that much estrogen is a lot for a man to absorb!) I watched the dark shape soar around me for about 5 minutes to confirm that I wasn't dreaming (I have a history of seeing things in my sleep) before tossing the covers over my daughter and sneaking upstairs to wake the man of the house.
There's A WHAT in the house
"John!" I hissed,"There's a bat in the basement!" "Did you check with the man in the closet first?" he asked. Funny guy. (And yes, I've awakened him before CONVINCED that there was a man in the closet. It's a wonder the poor man gets any sleep!) He got out of bed to humor me, primarily, and we headed back downstairs. I kept low. John didn't, (He didn't believe me!), and was rewarded with a near hit to the face on one of the bats milk runs along the length of the basement. We managed to wrap Katrina up in a blanket and crawl back upstairs to the "safe zone" with dogs. In looking back I saw the bat embattled with one of the cats in a crazed dance of swoop, jump and jab. Go Shadow!
Now a boring story person would hope that the story ended here. It doesn't. (Good news for my expressive friends!)
The bat made another showing the next night, but only revealed itself to John. Lucky guy! We now officially had a bat in the house. Calls were made to various "critter catchers" - which for me is the equivalent of buying flood insurance when you live on a mountain top. We'll get to them in a bit. Calls were also made to the pediatrician - just to be safe. We knew we had been exposed but were pretty certain that no one had been bitten. "Oh, you have to get shots!" Seriously? The same response also came from the Health Department, Critter-Catcher-Dude, and our health insurance provider. REALLY? This is one of those fun marriage moments when you have to agree to disagree. The reality is that on the off-chance we had been bitten or scratched AND the bat had rabies, without the shots, you die. Life without Katrina or John was unthinkable - they moved forward with the series of shots. I tossed the dice and decided to gamble - also knowing that I was heavily insured and that John would have a beautiful asian nanny and money to burn if I started foaming at the mouth and could no longer see my reflection in the mirror.
Doesn't garlic keep the vampires away?
Garlic may work in the movies, but if you want to keep yourself from turning to team Twilight, you have to get the shots. The first is a series of three. I wasn't there for it, but apparently they came after Katrina with two needles the size of turkey basters and jabbed one into each leg simultaneously. This set the mood for the last shot of the day, and likely every shot to come in her young life. (John received four in his bottom - so I don't know which is worse!) These were followed with weekly shots over the next 3 weeks and exposed us to a full spectrum of really good nurses who took the time to wait for Katrina to be ready for the shot and really bad nurses who threatened to bring "someone in to hold you down if you can't do this." Not my child, you don't!
Critters-R-Us
(And if I knew how to make the "R" backward in the business name, it would be even better!) Critter guy came and poked around our attics (we have two) peered up fireplace chimneys and examined all of the various nooks and crannies on the exterior of the house. We were declared non-infested and provided him with a check for $160 just for stopping by and spending that 20 minutes. To have him "seal" the house was another $600. (This was another one of those marriage moments, but we agreed that continuing to fund critter-catcher-guy was not really helping society.) Perhaps "Batty" (yes, we named him) just stopped by the say hi one night and stayed for awhile!
The icing on the cake, and the appropriate end to this story came the Friday after Katrina's last rabies shot. As we walked to her locker before the start of school, we heard from behind us, "No - I caught the bat this morning - it's out in the courtyard." "Bat!" said Katrina, looking at me with big eyes! "Did he say bat!" He did indeed. "But," I told her - getting down to her level and looking her in the eyes, "you are probably the only one in the entire school with anti-bat super powers now! Isn't that cool?" She thought that it was indeed cool, and to seal the deal, we walked right to that courtyard (window) and smirked at the bat hanging outside. Take that, bat!
Coming Next Time - Why do we always wait until October to take out the dock and the boat? (And yes, I still owe you a blog on my dad's chapter.) Peace
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