At last we are allowed to see her. They prepare us for what we will see - tubes all over her body, a machine breathing for her, vomit in her hair. I'm still unprepared. I gasp at her lifeless body, at all the technology surrounding her. We sit. We speak to her. We wait. She's deeply sedated, but occasionally her body seizes, shoulders locking upward, toes curling downward, head back. I panic. I tell the doctors, its happening again. They up the medication. She's calm for 30 minutes. It happens again. They up the medication. The doctor tells me they need to transfer her to a pediatric hospital. I'm asked to sign a form granting my permission. What the fuck. Do I have options here? What rights am I signing away? What if I say no? I sign where I'm asked to sign. I don't read. I have no choices. I can't think clearly. I just need her to be ok.
The doctor tells me he needs to induce a medical coma because her body won't stop seizing. I'm so frightened of all the medicines. I'm crying again. I'm stunned. How did we get here? What is happening? I ask her dad these questions. He has no answers.
J has been a pillar of strength. He hasn't cried. He has been by my side silently, observing, listening, comforting with a small hand on my arm, my back. I tell him he can go home with someone, maybe he should. He refuses to leave. He wants to be here. Needs to be here.
She's in a coma. The ambulance arrives to transport her to the pediatric hospital. I ride in the front. We go to another emergency room. It will be the darkest night of my life.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The badness #1
A simple phone call. I'm late to pick up the girls from practice. I mentally curse myself as got confused on what time practice ends this night, despite my mental reminders. Its her friend on the phone, asking if I'm almost there, telling me that K has bumped her head. I roll my eyes. Say I'm leaving now. Apologize for my lateness, once again. I'm still angry from earlier, when I had to tell her to leave the dinner table and she waited outside for her ride. Still angry from Halloween, when she called me a bitch. Its been a difficult couple of weeks, the distance between us larger than its ever been.
Another phone call, the friend again. She tells me K is having a seizure, and can I please hurry? I can hear voices in the background. I shout at her. What? Who are you talking to?? Put the adult on the phone!! The trainer gets on the phone, apologizes, says K has had a seizure and they have called 911, that the ambulance will be there shortly. I speed through a couple red lights, panic rising in my belly. Seizure?? An ambulance turns in front of me and I fall in behind it to the school. I run to her. She seems disoriented but it sitting up, talking. I decide they've overreacted. She keeps asking for me even though I've talked to her. She says, "don't tell my mom, she won't believe me." I gently ask her to stop. I look at her critically, wondering how much of this is her enjoying the attention, the fact that she has a REAL injury. Wondering if she's exaggerating. I hate that I had these thoughts, but I did. After all, this is the girl who rejoices in the smallest of injuries, keeps ACE bandages in her drawer and ice packs in the freezer, who's favorite Christmas present is a first-aid kit, for whom I cannot ever keep an adequate supply of bandaids in the house. The girl who once stared with envy at a giant bandage on the face of a grocery store employee and told me she wouldn't be embarassed to have that because at least then she'd have a "real injury".
The fire captain pulls me aside while they examine her. Tells me they want to transport her to a trauma center as a precaution. That she has some signs of concussion. I am staring at him in disbelief. He keeps asking if I have any questions. I shake my head dumbly. What can I ask? My only questions are, is this really happening? What the fuck is happening? What happened? Is she really hurt? He doesn't have answers for any of these questions. I turn around and they have put her on a stretcher. I burst into tears. The cheer coach hugs me. I ask if I can ride in the ambulance. They tell me I can ride in front. I call her dad, crying, telling him he needs to come to the hospital, he needs to pick up J, who is alone at the house.
On the way to the hospital I keep watch through the tiny windown that looks in on the back of the ambulance. I can see them turn the stretcher on its side as she vomits violently. The paramedic looks back to me and tells me she had another seizure. He asks if she has a history of seizures. I tell him no. I text her dad and tell him to hurry, that she's having seizures. I can hear the medics in the back shouting her name. "K! K, can you hear me? K, answer me. K. K! K?" Panic grows in my belly.
When we arrive at the hospital I jump out and walk around to the back. I'm greeted by a security guard with a dog. He shows me the way inside. I stop to wait for the stretcher, to wait for K, and he tells me I must walk on, that I need to wait in the lobby. Again I burst into tears and tell him I need to go with her. He firmly says no, and escorts me out. I wail, "how will I know how she's doing??" I'm left alone in a hallway. Crying. Someone tells me there are others in the lobby for K. They show me out and I'm embraced by K's friend and the cheer coach. I'm sobbing, wracking hysterical sobs.
We sit. We wait. A social worker introduces herself. Tells us she will take us to a private room so the doctor can talk to me. I'm hysterical with suspicion. Just tell me here, I say. She says this is standard, she assures me its normal, that there's nothing wrong. We go back. We sit. We wait. Her father arrives with my J. We wait. The doctor finally arrives. He says she's had at least four more seizures and that she's been sedated and intubated. I balk at him and stifle a moan. What is happening? He needs to know exactly what happened. The VERY IMPORTANT CHEER COACH begins to explain, tells a 20-minute version, says she seemed fine after the accident. I insist that she wasn't fine, that she was incoherent, that she couldn't answer basic questions. He leaves again. We sit. We wait. I go to the hallway and try to call my sister, who always is a presence of calm, who will have rational things to say. I want to throw my phone against the wall in frustration that I can't get a signal. She doesn't answer anyway. Its the middle of the night.
We sit. We wait.
Another phone call, the friend again. She tells me K is having a seizure, and can I please hurry? I can hear voices in the background. I shout at her. What? Who are you talking to?? Put the adult on the phone!! The trainer gets on the phone, apologizes, says K has had a seizure and they have called 911, that the ambulance will be there shortly. I speed through a couple red lights, panic rising in my belly. Seizure?? An ambulance turns in front of me and I fall in behind it to the school. I run to her. She seems disoriented but it sitting up, talking. I decide they've overreacted. She keeps asking for me even though I've talked to her. She says, "don't tell my mom, she won't believe me." I gently ask her to stop. I look at her critically, wondering how much of this is her enjoying the attention, the fact that she has a REAL injury. Wondering if she's exaggerating. I hate that I had these thoughts, but I did. After all, this is the girl who rejoices in the smallest of injuries, keeps ACE bandages in her drawer and ice packs in the freezer, who's favorite Christmas present is a first-aid kit, for whom I cannot ever keep an adequate supply of bandaids in the house. The girl who once stared with envy at a giant bandage on the face of a grocery store employee and told me she wouldn't be embarassed to have that because at least then she'd have a "real injury".
The fire captain pulls me aside while they examine her. Tells me they want to transport her to a trauma center as a precaution. That she has some signs of concussion. I am staring at him in disbelief. He keeps asking if I have any questions. I shake my head dumbly. What can I ask? My only questions are, is this really happening? What the fuck is happening? What happened? Is she really hurt? He doesn't have answers for any of these questions. I turn around and they have put her on a stretcher. I burst into tears. The cheer coach hugs me. I ask if I can ride in the ambulance. They tell me I can ride in front. I call her dad, crying, telling him he needs to come to the hospital, he needs to pick up J, who is alone at the house.
On the way to the hospital I keep watch through the tiny windown that looks in on the back of the ambulance. I can see them turn the stretcher on its side as she vomits violently. The paramedic looks back to me and tells me she had another seizure. He asks if she has a history of seizures. I tell him no. I text her dad and tell him to hurry, that she's having seizures. I can hear the medics in the back shouting her name. "K! K, can you hear me? K, answer me. K. K! K?" Panic grows in my belly.
When we arrive at the hospital I jump out and walk around to the back. I'm greeted by a security guard with a dog. He shows me the way inside. I stop to wait for the stretcher, to wait for K, and he tells me I must walk on, that I need to wait in the lobby. Again I burst into tears and tell him I need to go with her. He firmly says no, and escorts me out. I wail, "how will I know how she's doing??" I'm left alone in a hallway. Crying. Someone tells me there are others in the lobby for K. They show me out and I'm embraced by K's friend and the cheer coach. I'm sobbing, wracking hysterical sobs.
We sit. We wait. A social worker introduces herself. Tells us she will take us to a private room so the doctor can talk to me. I'm hysterical with suspicion. Just tell me here, I say. She says this is standard, she assures me its normal, that there's nothing wrong. We go back. We sit. We wait. Her father arrives with my J. We wait. The doctor finally arrives. He says she's had at least four more seizures and that she's been sedated and intubated. I balk at him and stifle a moan. What is happening? He needs to know exactly what happened. The VERY IMPORTANT CHEER COACH begins to explain, tells a 20-minute version, says she seemed fine after the accident. I insist that she wasn't fine, that she was incoherent, that she couldn't answer basic questions. He leaves again. We sit. We wait. I go to the hallway and try to call my sister, who always is a presence of calm, who will have rational things to say. I want to throw my phone against the wall in frustration that I can't get a signal. She doesn't answer anyway. Its the middle of the night.
We sit. We wait.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
#3
I was in a bubble. A glass case. Watching a TV show. A scene from an ER. A young blonde girl has been wheeled in from an ambulance, unconscious, intubated, bruised, in a stiff neck brace and on a board. Her naked body covered under a thin sheet. Twenty people in yellow gowns and masks surround the body, shouting orders and taking commands. It was a well choreographed dance I watched. Each person completing his own task in well coordinated chaos. Poking. Prodding. Measuring, x-raying. As one they rolled the body to its side, her naked backside exposed. At other times the sheet shifts, exposing her breasts. Such violation I witness. Such arbitrary loss of dignity. It breaks my heart for her.
I stand silently off to the side, my dull tear-stained eyes staring, taking it all in. Mumbling something of seeming importance occasionally to the social worker at my side, who alerts the doctors that it might have been a medication administered at the last hospital, that she was still having seizures until right before we left, that she was hit in the head but didn't lose consciousness, that she has no history of seizures.
Eventually her father arrives and joins the solitary audience. After awhile she is wheeled through the hospital to ICU where the yellow coats settle her in, then begin to disburse. Her body tremors (not seizures?) and she is tucked under a blanket. Her dad and I settle on the couch to continue our vigil. It hurts to look at her. It hurts to talk to her, wondering if somewhere in there she can hear me. It seems lately everything I say annoys her, and I'm so very self-conscious of everthing I say, hoping to bring comfort and not annoyance. I stroke her arm and forehead, somewhat reluctantly, knowing that if she were awake I would not be allowed this luxury. Wondering if in her head she's willing me to remove my hands from her. I've lost confidence in my ability to mother her, to bring comfort. God, when did that happen?
I stand silently off to the side, my dull tear-stained eyes staring, taking it all in. Mumbling something of seeming importance occasionally to the social worker at my side, who alerts the doctors that it might have been a medication administered at the last hospital, that she was still having seizures until right before we left, that she was hit in the head but didn't lose consciousness, that she has no history of seizures.
Eventually her father arrives and joins the solitary audience. After awhile she is wheeled through the hospital to ICU where the yellow coats settle her in, then begin to disburse. Her body tremors (not seizures?) and she is tucked under a blanket. Her dad and I settle on the couch to continue our vigil. It hurts to look at her. It hurts to talk to her, wondering if somewhere in there she can hear me. It seems lately everything I say annoys her, and I'm so very self-conscious of everthing I say, hoping to bring comfort and not annoyance. I stroke her arm and forehead, somewhat reluctantly, knowing that if she were awake I would not be allowed this luxury. Wondering if in her head she's willing me to remove my hands from her. I've lost confidence in my ability to mother her, to bring comfort. God, when did that happen?
Monday, September 20, 2010
So Good
"Earlier in the day, while killing some hours by circling in blue ball-point ink every uppercase M in the front section of a month-old New York Times, Chip had concluded that he was behaving like a depressed person. Now, as his telephone began to ring, it occurred to him that a depressed person ought to continue staring at the TV and ignore the ringing - ought to light another cigarette and, with no trace of emotional affect, watch another cartoon while his machine took whoever's message.
That his impulse, instead, was to jump to his feet and answer the phone - that he could so casually betray the arduous wasting of a day - cast doubt on the authenticity of his suffering . He felt as if he lacked the ability to lose all volition and connection with reality the way depressed people did in books and movies. It seemed to him, as he silenced the TV and hurried into his kitchen, that he was failing even at the miserable task of falling properly apart."
- The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen
Anyone who hasn't read this book absolutely needs to. Its freakin intelligent, witty and hilarious, and a very entertaining read. I feel like I need to quote from almost every page.
That his impulse, instead, was to jump to his feet and answer the phone - that he could so casually betray the arduous wasting of a day - cast doubt on the authenticity of his suffering . He felt as if he lacked the ability to lose all volition and connection with reality the way depressed people did in books and movies. It seemed to him, as he silenced the TV and hurried into his kitchen, that he was failing even at the miserable task of falling properly apart."
- The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen
Anyone who hasn't read this book absolutely needs to. Its freakin intelligent, witty and hilarious, and a very entertaining read. I feel like I need to quote from almost every page.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Growing Old Gracefully . . . or Not
Here are the reasons I judge people who have plastic surgery:
- It seems very superficial
- I think its important to be happy with what you're given, to honor and respect the body Goddess gave you
- It is often done to impress other people
- It is done to attract attention to oneself, to show off for girls and get guys
Here are the reasons I want to get plastic surgery:
- I am a physically fit person, always have been. But the older I get, the bigger this tire around my waist gets. Regardless of how I exercise or eat, it stays the same. No, it gets worse. The skin sags, the muscles sag. My belly is a fleshy mess that no amount of diet or exercise will fix.
- I don't consider myself vain, but I want to look good dammit!! Part of the satisfaction of working out is looking good, keeping a youthful figure. And as a result, feeling confident in the way I look. I'm losing that.
- My clothes don't fit me well anymore. I enjoy wearing fashionable clothes and jeans, but I always have this roll of skin lapping over my pants. Its unsightly. It makes me feel ugly. I constantly have to camouflage it. In dresses its this unsightly lump that makes me look pregnant.
- I think I have a lot of years left of looking/feeling good physically, except for this issue. I think I would be very happy if it were corrected.
So, there it is. I struggle with wanting to do something that I generally consider superficial. But, I've also always said if I had a big nose I likely wouldn't hesitate to "fix" it. I also wonder if its disrespecting my body, or demanding too much of my body. Its given me two beautiful children, not to mention many races and awesome physical experiences. Its done me well. But, what's wrong with wanting to "correct" the damage of childbearing?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Its the most wonderful time . . .
of the year!!!! Kids headed back to school tomorrow and after a superbly shitty summer, I'm so ready for a fresh start. We had a great vacation in Telluride (partly because K was able to have a friend along so she was generally in a good mood, and partly because my awesome sister drove down to visit!!) but the rest of the summer was a haze of driving kids everywhere, leaving work early and getting in late, writing checks, having cash demanded from me, having kids over, having kids gone, etc etc etc. I seriously feel like I almost lost my mind, and I definitely lost my temper all over K on a multitude of occasions. And of course to top the final week off, during my national HR conference K had 2 sleepovers and a party, and J cut his finger while removing the tags from his school clothes, resulting in an evening spent at the ER and 5 stitches.
Anyway, my approach on dinner this year is ingenious if I do say so myself. I've created a menu of dinnes that I'm capable of making relatively easily. The kids will pick 3 dinners per week, and then when I go shopping I just make sure I purchase all the ingredients for the ones they've selected. It takes all the thinking out of it for me!! And the deal is that they HAVE to eat it, since they picked it. And, they have to work together and agree on the 3 they select.
So far so good. We had grilled salmon and fresh green beans tonight, chicken tacos tomorrow and bean burritos Tues. Wed they're at their dad's and Thurs has been christened "vending night" as J puts it, aka do-it-yourself night. And wouldn't you know, K is already complaining that I'm not making dinner on Thursdays. Ugh. Good times with teens.
Anyway, my approach on dinner this year is ingenious if I do say so myself. I've created a menu of dinnes that I'm capable of making relatively easily. The kids will pick 3 dinners per week, and then when I go shopping I just make sure I purchase all the ingredients for the ones they've selected. It takes all the thinking out of it for me!! And the deal is that they HAVE to eat it, since they picked it. And, they have to work together and agree on the 3 they select.
So far so good. We had grilled salmon and fresh green beans tonight, chicken tacos tomorrow and bean burritos Tues. Wed they're at their dad's and Thurs has been christened "vending night" as J puts it, aka do-it-yourself night. And wouldn't you know, K is already complaining that I'm not making dinner on Thursdays. Ugh. Good times with teens.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Dias works in the most mysterious of ways
I woke this day, the morning of my 40th, on the beautiful garden island of Kauai. This after I had decided I wanted to be at home on my birthday surrounded by those I love. I went for a jog along the coast and took some time to meditate on a cliff above the ocean, honoring the divinity that resides within me and within the world, and that connects us all. It was a beautiful moment and a gorgeous way to commemorate my last 40th years and the beginning of my next 40.
Alas, now I am off to work and some very difficult meetings. Goddess give me strength and help me to act with dignity.
Alas, now I am off to work and some very difficult meetings. Goddess give me strength and help me to act with dignity.
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