A Scene to Ponder

If she hadn't been asking for help, for money, I probably would not have noticed her.  She was a young black woman with an average frame dressed in jeans and a dark shirt with a vest-type jacket over it.  Her clothes were clean from where I stood and not distracting or noticeably worn.  She looked healthy, and she had her hair pulled back appropriately for a humid day.  There was nothing striking about her appearance, and had she been walking down the street pushing her stroller, she would have looked no different than any other mother in the crowd.

But she was not walking down the street.  Instead she was positioned on the sidewalk next to a group of University of Georgia buses   She was sitting IN the stroller, her baby cradled in her arms, and she was mumbling to the people making their way into the Atlanta Falcons football game.  "Don't you people see me?  Help me out.  See my baby? My baby needs some food.  Come on, help me out."  There was no real sense of urgency or dire need expressed in her words.  In a way it was more like she believed the people owed it to her to help her out, and she was just going through the motions of asking.

The baby could have been anywhere from a few weeks to a few months old, a boy from what I could tell based on the blue sweater-type garment he was wearing.  He had no pants, but he did have on a diaper.  It was not too hot or cold outside; it was warm with a cool breeze, so there was nothing significantly unusual about the way he was dressed, and if he had been in the stroller with his mother pushing him along, I'd have thought nothing of it.

But the infant was not being strolled along on this beautiful fall day.  Instead he was being exploited on the side of the road, resting in the arms of a woman who was begging for help from a crowd who would most definitely be in that location on that day with money in their pockets for spending inside the Georgia Dome.  Call me harsh.  Call me insensitive.  I may be neither or both of those things.  But most definitely, I am disturbed.

As we passed her, my husband and I, our 3-year old in tow and our 2-month old snugly wrapped onto my chest, I couldn't help but stare.  The woman's eyes did not meet with mine, and she made eye contact with no one really.  In that brief moment nobody approached her with money or even acknowledged she was there.  I asked my husband if he saw her, and he said yes, but when I mentioned the baby and the stroller he said those details did not register with him.  I made a few comments about how uncomfortable this scene had made me, but then we continued on our way to the game and I forgot all about it...until we were walking back...over 3 hours later...and the woman and her child were STILL there.  

This time she was standing next to the stroller and in the process of adjusting her baby in her arms when we walked by, still rambling the same requests for help, and I saw 2 men with conflicting opinions approaching her.  One said, "gimme a ten," and the other disputed the amount.  "Ten bucks, no way man!" but they still walked toward her.  

This time I was even more disturbed, for it had been over THREE hours and she was still there begging with her child.  I instantly had so many thoughts running through my mind, ideas of where she may have come from and how she could have gotten to this point in her life.  I wondered if she was a drug-user or if she was homeless, and I questioned how she could even have a child.  I was instantly so grateful for my own circumstances, which even at their lowest have always been better than hers, and I was saddened to think her baby would grow up this way, if he survived at all.  Part of me felt like she didn't deserve that baby, but then again, I didn't know her or what she had been through.  All I knew is the image of a woman on the side of the road, looking capable, healthy and of sound mind, using her baby to guilt people into helping her, was disturbing.  

About 20 feet down the street was an old black man in a tattered wheelchair...with no legs...also begging for spare change.  This scene bothered me much less.  With no legs he could not walk, likely could not work, and he was old and probably very much alone.  In my mind, he was a more acceptable pan-handler than the young mother who should have been seeking free childcare and job counseling at a shelter.  Okay, so maybe that is a bit harsh, but for some reason, I have less sympathy for her than for the man with no legs.  

All I care about is that baby.  That poor, innocent baby...already a victim of circumstance...

I don't know with any certainty my own opinions on homelessness or poverty.  I know I get uncomfortable at a stop light where unfortunate souls are peddling with "Will work for food" signs.  I feel nervous and try not to make eye-contact while anxiously wishing the light to quickly turn green.  I justify my lack of response by telling myself it could be dangerous to acknowledge them, and suddenly they are somehow a threat to me, and I have dehumanized them in my mind, reducing them to criminals as opposed to just people asking for help.

I remember when I was a kid, my mom and I saw a "homeless-looking" man at McDonald's once.  We lived in the suburbs, so it was not exactly a bad part of town, and it seemed odd this man was there.  He was an old white man with a long grey beard, and he looked pretty tired and worn out.  I don't recall the season, but I know my mom and I sat outside, so it had to have been a nice time of year; the man was wrinkly and dark-skinned from sun exposure.  While we ate we watched him inside sitting in a booth, and we talked about what we thought his circumstances might be. He was staring at a job application, and we assumed he must have been unable to read.  As we were leaving, my mother decided to ask him if he needed help with the application.  He politely answered her saying no mam, that he knew how to read and write but that he was stumped b/c the application required an address and he didn't have one to put down.  My mother talked with him a bit and we learned that he was a war vet who's only family was an estranged daughter.  I vaguely remember him saying something about how quickly he went from everything was fine to having nothing.  He spoke properly and kindly, and he seemed educated and totally sane.  I remember feeling so sorry for him and so confused.  My mother told him of a halfway house and suggested he go there and use that address and phone number for his job applications.  The man seemed genuinely grateful for her advice and concern.  On our way out my mom bought another meal and left the tray sitting on the next booth over most definitely where the man could see it...

I believe in general we should help those in need.  I believe those needs are relative and some are more important than others.  I believe that people who try to help themselves deserve the help more than those who expect handouts.  I believe the world is a screwy place where lots of people have been dealt a bad hand...but some people cash out early and give up while others keep fighting until they change their circumstances, be it for themselves or for their children.  

I believe that no matter what I have been through in my own life...and it hasn't been perfect...I will never be on the side of the road with my children begging for help from strangers passing by.  Maybe that is b/c I have an amazing family to fall back on.  Maybe it is b/c I am educated enough to always have a job.  Maybe it is b/c I don't feel entitled, but rather I believe in working hard and earning the life I want to live.  

Or maybe it is b/c I am so naive to what that mother has been through in her life that led her to that moment...all 3+ hours of it...

Regardless, the disturbing scene was enough to make me ponder the sad things in life and keep me awake writing tonight.  I realize that bad things happen sometimes, but I don't understand why God has blessed me with so many gifts while others are out there struggling to extremes.  I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and maybe the reason I witnessed this was so I would dig deep down and figure out how I feel about these sorts of issues, but then I think, what was the reason for HER though to be in this position in the first place?

I got to kiss my babies goodnight and tuck them safely into their comfy beds tonight.  I read stories to my toddler first and nursed my precious baby girl.  We had come home from a fun-filled day at the zoo with friends and had a delicious dinner that my husband cooked for us after his day at a job where he works hard to provide for our family.  I woke up this morning full of joy and gratitude.  I'm going to bed blessed and thankful.  

I wonder where that baby is sleeping tonight...    

Writing Leads the Way...

As another due date comes to an end, I am once again awaiting the birth of a child who I know will come when she is ready.  That is what I want...ultimately...for her to be fully cooked and prepared to enter this world as a healthy, strong human being, my baby, my 2nd born, my sweet Lander Lee.

And as we anticipate her birth, we gear ourselves up for some new challenges, mostly related to the toddler-hood of our 1st born, my sweet Jack Patrick.  Jack-Bo, as he is well known, is a mostly easy-going, agreeable, brilliant almost 3 year-old who keeps us entertained each day with his amazing abilities, unique sense of humor and genuinely kind heart.  But as in all families, some days are better than others.  Jack is still a toddler, going through toddler changes, testing toddler boundaries and discovering toddler independence.  He is finding his own way in the world more and more each day, but his is still only a toddler sized world, his exposure limited to what we allow and what we teach him.  We are pretty honest and open with him.  We don't hover or shield him from all the evil truths in the world, but we do "toddler-size" the bigger issues in life to accommodate his level of maturity.  Of course we want him to be a nice boy, to treat others with respect and to understand there are consequences for his actions.  He is no dummy; he is learning all too well the meaning of "consequences," as lately he has been going through a hitting, scratching and kicking mommy and Daddy stage when he does not get what he wants. Mostly this behavior is related to bed/nap time or else potential treats or special outings. Still, as parents, it is our job to guide him and teach him right from wrong, and help him find acceptable ways to deal with anger or frustration.

Sometimes when Jack is having a tantrum I relate to him so closely.  It is like his acting out is a reflection of exactly what I am feeling in that same moment.  I, too, want to scream out, and sometimes I do!  He has witnessed fights between his parents; he has even witnessed multiple arguments between myself and MY parents.  He has seen that relationships can be complicated and that we are not perfect, but he has also seen that life goes on, we all recover, and the love within our family never stops flowing.  That is a truth I am proud of living...

This morning I experienced a sadness that until today I had not felt yet as a parent: that of your child so angry that he tells you he does not love you.  Regardless of what I know to be true, that he DOES love me with all his heart, my own heart shattered during our terrible exchange.  To make matters worse, my expectations for  Lander's "due date" day were completely destroyed, and part of me hoped that she would not come yet so that there would be time to move past the hurt Jack and I were both feeling.  It all started when I asked him if he wanted to go to breakfast...

"I got a great idea, Mommy, let's go to the mall!"

"That IS a great idea, Jack!"  I'd be able to walk around, maybe kick start some contractions, and we could eat lunch at his favorite place in the food court and ride the carousel again.  Then I looked at the clock on the computer: 9:45AM.  "Okay, the mall isn't open yet, so let's..."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  I want to go RIGHT NOW!"  He lays down on the floor kicking and screaming.

"Jack we are going to go and we can have lunch there, but we have to get dressed...."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  They ARE open!  I want to go RIGHT NOW!"  He stands up and begins slapping my bare leg.  When I catch his hand in the midst of the 3rd or 4th slap, he takes the other one and claws at my same thigh.

"Jack, this behavior is unacceptable; if you hit Mommy again you will have to have a consequence.  I said we will go to the mall and have lunch there, but we have to wait until it is open."  All through my calm lecture he is screaming and flailing about, either not understanding what I am saying in the first place or else just too far gone to reel himself back in.  He hits me again. "Okay, forget it, we're not going."  

He continues to freak out.  I tell him to go to his room to calm down.  He screams "NO!" at me again, so I scoop him up and deposit him in his room and close the door.  He screams and cries for another 15 seconds and then I hear him playing calmly.  I sit back down at the computer and decompress, my heart racing in disbelief at how such a situation even occurred. Somehow he immediately took my "the mall isn't open" statement to imply we would not go.  Either way, I cannot reward that type of behavior. I gave him several chances to HEAR what I WAS saying.  I even tried to ignore the first few slaps, realizing they were out of frustration, but in the 5 minutes that this all went down, I had to be the parent first and foremost...and sometimes that is the hardest job in the world.

Maybe 10 minutes later he came out of his room and said,

"Mama, I being a nice boy, is the mall open now?"  

I hated to answer as I did, but it was the right thing to do.

"I'm sorry Jack, the mall IS open, but we are not going.  You hit mommy and scratched me, and that behavior is unacceptable, so now we won't be going." 

Tears stream down his face as I am talking; he starts shaking and running in place and screaming again.  He presses his face against my leg and then hits me multiple times again, although with less force than before and intentionally making eye-contact as he does it, testing me. Then he throws himself onto his knees.

"I don't love you, Mama!"

I sigh.  My heart breaks.  I take a deep breath and look down at him on the floor.

"Well, I still love you."

That was the end of it.  15 minutes and my whole life changed with an experience so hurtful...but I managed to move on with the day, made other plans, picked up the pieces of my broken heart and kept on going.  And eventually, (not even another half hour from then), Jack came around to his senses and told me how much he loves me.  He hugged and kissed me and we got dressed and went out to run some errands.  He mentioned several times about going to the mall another day, and I said yes, we will try again another day.  We talked about how he hurt my feelings, and he offered to kiss my boo-boos on my leg where he hit me.  He told me his feelings were hurt too, and I said I was sorry that his feelings were hurt but that he still can't hit or scratch Mommy.  In the car we listened to his "songs" as he asked things like "Is this 'Dancin' in the Dark?'  Or Adam Levine?  Turn it up, Mommy."  He was completely unfazed by the morning while I was doing my best to keep the sadness I was feeling from surfacing.  Inside I was grieving for the loss of our perfect day together, one that would quite possibly be our last before his sister was born.  I suppose it seems over-dramatic as I sit here writing about it now, but I am 40 weeks pregnant and my emotions are on high alert...

And although our day was mostly pleasant after that, with only one time-out and a few basic reprimands, the evening brought on its own set of challenges as bedtime approached.  Daddy carried him upstairs as he hit and kicked, knocking a picture off the wall in the hallway.  We told him if he continued with this behavior he would lose his stories, and he chose to continue, so that was that.  Daddy restrained his little arms that were wildly flying at me while I brushed his teeth, and then we managed to wrangle him into this jammies, wash his face and hands and go potty one last time.  Despite his tears and pleading, the battle of bedtime came to an end with no stories read, but lots of prayers said.

Daddy took the dogs out and eventually went to bed.  I played some Words with a friend, and when my phone battery died I tried to go to sleep myself.  But as I cuddled up next to my boy, I began caressing his hair and rubbing his soft arm, patting his back and then I gave him a hundred kisses.  I just talked to him, while he was sleeping, telling him how much I love him, how proud I am of him, how Mommy and Daddy support him and want him to know we believe he can be anything he wants to be and do anything he wants to do.  I reminisced out loud about the first time I met him, the first time I touched him, BEFORE I ever saw his face, as his little head popped out of me and I felt with my own hands his thick hair swishing in the birthing pool until one last contraction confirmed his arrival into this world, and into my arms for the first time.

My whole life changed in that moment.  Jack was not the only one born, as I was born again too, as his mother, as the person I knew I was always meant to be.  My purpose was defined and concrete, even touchable, as I inspected each and every inch of his perfectly formed body, memorizing each curve and wrinkle so that I would never forget the day we were birthed together.

I don't know if it will feel the same this time.  I know lots of people worry about if they will be able to love their 2nd child as much as their first.  I do not have that concern.  I already love her just as much, and she is still safe and cozy inside of me!  And each day I love them both more and more; I cannot imagine NOT having enough love for both b/c I think with each child your heart grows, so there is always enough love.  The journey with each child may be different...the challenges greater with one over the other, the ease of one over the other as well.  I anticipate going through each stage of development with Lander and having to re-evaluate my parenting based on HER needs, HER personality, HER abilities and maturity level.  Not everything is the same all the time, not everything in life is fair.  Sometimes you have to bend in order not to break, and sometimes you have to break in order to truly heal...but the one constant is that I will always love my children with a customized love plan for each one.  I can't take the credit for the concept of a "customized love plan" for each of my children, but the person who pointed out its powerful meaning helped me to heal from some of my own personal struggles while also giving me confidence in my instincts as a mother.  So while I may not be re-born as a mother again during Lander's actual birth, I am just as certain that her mother is who I was meant to be.  I know I will inhale every bit of her being in those first moments and store those memories forever inside my heart right next to the place reserved for Jack, but in a newly grown partition just for her.

The reality that I am having another baby is setting in, and yet I am still in such disbelief that this is my life.  My wildest dreams have come true; I am married to my soul mate and I have the family I have always wanted.  Nothing else even matters.  Brett said it best in a conversation with Jack last night after a late work call.

"Daddy, who was on the phone?"  (Jack is in the bathtub.)

"One of daddy's workers."  (Daddy is standing and fiddling with things in the bathroom.)

"Work is mean.  I don't like anybody to go to work!" (Or something similar...)

"Well Daddy has to work to make money..." (Tries to explain that money is needed for food, toys, etc.)

"Money is old!  I don't like money!"  (Anything he doesn't like is deemed "old" these days.)

"Yeah, you've heard us talk about money a lot, huh?"  (Daddy sits down on the step stool by the tub, and Jack gazes up at his hero.)  "Well, money makes the world go round...but that's not what we're about.  We're about love...and family."  (The conversation continues as Daddy bathes his boy...)            

And that really IS what we're about.  The McQ Zoo is about love and family.  I thank God that we know and believe that, and I thank God again that we live by that.  In fact, it is b/c of God that we have the blessings of our family and therefore feel SO MUCH love.

When I started writing this post I was thinking about the changes we are about to experience with the birth of a new baby and all that Jack is going through...I was thinking about the Bob Dylan song "The Times They Are A-Changin'" and how some of the lyrics of that song could relate to our newest family dynamic...I Googled and listened to that song and others from that time period by similar artists while I wrote...thinking the music was inspiring me...

But as they often do, my thoughts shifted during the composition of this piece. Sometimes the writing leads the way, not the writer, despite one's efforts to create inspiration.  That is why writing is so therapeutic to me; it helps me see answers to questions I didn't even know I had, and that I may not have recognized otherwise.  Tonight I started writing b/c I was worrying about change, maybe not even realizing that I was worried, but perhaps just thinking deeply about what is to come and knowing I needed to work it out in my own mind through some good old fashioned stream of consciousness; what I (re)discovered though was that once again, the trend continues: the trend of unwavering love.

Things in The McQ Zoo are not about to change after all.  There may be some differences, but our foundation is the same solid, secure and safe place it has always been.  We have God to guide and provide for us, and we have our unwavering love.  Honestly, now we'll just have even more of it!  

And I can't wait!

P.S. Wow!  I sure do feel so much better about my whole day and what happened with Jack-Bo this morning!  Thank you in advance to anyone who reads this post and/or comments on it b/c this is an awesome reminder of just how much writing means to me and my own personal health.  I really feel like I can go to sleep now, and THAT is a HUGE deal for this insomniac!
  

Mommy Needs a Time-Out Too!

Being a mom is crazy hard.  Soul-crushing hard. Heart-breaking hard.  Throw your hands up to God and scream "WHY!" hard.  And then of course at the same time it is beyond wonderful.

Less than 3 months until his 3rd birthday, my little Jack-Bo is going through some sort of "beat up Mommy and Daddy" phase.  The tears resulting from this are not just his.  I have cried time after time privately and even some in front of him, yes, hoping to guilt him to this phase's finish line, and so far unsuccessfully.  And I have also spent full days fighting back the tears and just trying to make it through work only to go home and be confronted by the same little monster I left that morning and a literal slap in the face.  We consistently do time-out, TV restrictions, take away privileges like play dates or bike riding, and although I am ashamed to admit it, I've even spanked him a few times.  Not my finest moments, but in an effort to get his attention a quick swat on the bum was all I could think of, and so far, even that has backfired on me.

So he doesn't like to go to school.  He is 2.  Why should I send him?  Sure, he wants Dada and misses his GRandi.  So let's call them.  Of course he is just tired.  A nap should clear up this tantrum.  Yeah...NO!  I am not some pansy mama raising a wimpy little boy who can cry and whine and get his way and manipulate me into doing whatever he wants!  I am not going to be his best friend, not now, and likely not ever, or at least not until he is already grown and I'm sure he isn't on any drugs or in any gangs, and most certainly not robbing banks or shooting people.  No, I am his MOTHER.  And I am trying to teach him to be respectful and kind and non-violent!  

And some days I feel like I am failing.

When your 2-year old has a response for everything, always getting in the last word, all I can think of is how terrible I must have been for my own mother.  Throw in my super stubborn husband and at least 1 controlling grandparent gene from each side and you are looking at a quadruple dose of willfulness.  "Willful" is the nicer way of saying "brat."  I swore I'd never call my child that b/c I remember being called a brat myself as a child, and I truly hated it.  So of course, this is one of those posts that I hope he never reads, b/c I don't really think it of him...but right now he is acting like a spoiled rotten brat.  Ouch. It hurt me to write that.

And that is the other dilemma.  In all the pain of the smacks in the face and the kicks in the shins, what hurts the most is my heart.  Why is my SWEET boy (when I know that is who the REAL Jack-Bo is) acting out so physically?  Why is he screaming at the top of his lungs and thrashing on the floor and responding to every  "no" with throwing punches? THIS is not my child.  THIS is some imposter!  Some alien from Mars has clearly abducted my son and replaced him with this wild look-alike with a raging temper and insane right hook!  But I know that isn't true...and the aching in my chest only grows more and more unbearable as we continue on through this phase of toddler-hood.

I'm calling it a phase of toddler-hood b/c no way is this going to last.  At some point there will be bigger fish to fry, much more valuable things to take away, harsher groundings, less leeway.  Before I know it my 2 year old will be 12, and quite possibly taller than me.  I don't imagine he will still be swinging, b/c if he is, Dr. Phil, here we come!  Ugh, I say that now like I know what the future holds, but honestly, I could be ruining him already and not even realizing it.  I probably need therapy to talk me down from the ledge of guilt. I am very hard on myself, on so many levels, with unrealistic personal expectations. Hmmn...

Am I expecting too much of him?  Do I hold him to a standard too high for a 2-year old, even a brilliant one, to reach?  Am I stifling his creativity or holding him back from his full potential by setting limits and expressing what is unacceptable behavior?  Am I crushing his spirit and shattering his dreams by making him go to school or not letting him watch one more episode of "Curious George?"  Is brushing his teeth really that important?  I mean they are baby teeth; he'll get a whole new set...   

And see, there it comes again, the guilt, the doubt, the OMG-I-am-ruining-my-child thoughts.  Look, I run a tight ship.  It may be a messy, loud, dog-hair laden ship, but it is a take-no-crap ship too.  Still, I am human, and my tough outer shell is no match for the soft inner core of my heartstrings, which get pulled daily by the quivering lip of a toddler pot about to boil over.  Add in the hormones of being pregnant, and I am a mess these days!  Now I am starting to wonder how I ever imagined I could be a good mom to TWO children???

The logical, practical, totally rational and sane person inside of me realizes that I AM a good mom.  I know my son loves me.  I understand that his acting out may have much to do with his lack of maturity (I mean, he IS only 2!).  I get that he also feeds off of our stress (as parents), and right now our family is going through a  lot of changes.  I know he DOES miss me when I am at work, and I also believe he knows just how much I'd rather be with him, and yes, I think he has found a way to use that very fact against me in the worst possible way...b/c what mother doesn't feel torn when her child says he hits you b/c he doesn't want you to go to work.  He is angry at me.  And even though I don't want him to express anger by hitting, I don't want to punish him for his feelings, right?  It is a very tough spot.  Like I said, parenting is crazy hard.

And as I type this post at 3:30 in the morning, I am really not coming to any resolutions for the "phase" we are experiencing.  I can't really say I feel much better about it, although writing often relieves some of my stress b/c it allows me to express my thoughts clearly, but I can say I know in my heart I am doing my best as a mom, and I love my child infinitely, unconditionally, and that love grows deeper with every passing second.  I thank God that I am able to recognize that this too shall pass, and as my MIL says "small children, small problems," and even though I cried myself to sleep a few hours ago, I know the little angel who cuddled up to me in the bed and kissed my shoulder is truly an exceptional child and the greatest gift from heaven above.  

I also know that in the morning, before he remembers that he wants to be in control, he'll snuggle with me and let me hold him and hug him and kiss him and love all over him. Then he may smack me and spend the rest of the day in time out, but I'll fall back on those morning snuggles and do my best to smile from behind his time out chair and take my own time-out too.  

I don't know any bible verses to quote here, nor do I have any special words of wisdom, but I do have a slip of paper from a Chinese fortune cookie taped to my monitor at work. It reads "Patience is a Key to Joy."  I don't believe having patience means giving in, but I do think it means riding out the challenges in life all the way to the other side, b/c where ever that is, perhaps there we will find our joy.  I know Jack-Bo will get to the other side of this aggressive stage he is in right now.  And even more importantly, I know that when he does, he will know that Mommy and Daddy never stopped loving him along the way.  

I also think I need to cut myself some slack.  I need to be patient with ME.  I need to remember this is all a process, this parenting gig, and no matter how much I think I know about it, I am learning more and more every day.  And on the days when I feel like I know nothing, I need to remember my son is still young, and I have his lifetime and the rest of mine to figure it out.  And if I never really do, well, then I need to just enjoy the adventure... 

I might be a little delirious seeing as it is 4AM, so I'll end this post here with one last thought.  Tomorrow is a brand new day and a chance for me to start over.  I am going to take some deep breaths and hold no grudges against my precious boy for the heartache I experienced tonight.  My love for him is unwavering, and he gets to start over too.  Here's to hoping for a better day!    

     

From Miscarry to Miracle: A Work of God

This is what it looks like when they tell you your unborn baby is not alive. The unmarked, straight white line, which should be filled with little heartbeat blobs transforms into a never-ending needle that instantly pierces your heart which explodes in your chest, making it so you can't breathe or speak. Then, in disbelief, you strain to hear what isn't there and the needle is back, puncturing your eardrums now, and shrieking a long, beat-less scream. All you hear is the loudest nothing, which is deafening, and all you feel is the sharp sting of emptiness.

I'd had some bleeding early on in my pregnancy with Jack, so they did an ultrasound and we got to see his heartbeat, a moment that Brett and I will never forget, as we saw for the first time the life we had created together growing and living inside me.  This time around, I had some bleeding too, so I was not worried, but rather I was eager to go for that same, precautionary ultrasound.  It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.  I'd been feeling very sick to my stomach and tired, all normal signs of pregnancy.  We were seeing the midwife that morning.  I was excited and giddy, and we laughed a lot during the midwife appointment, joking about being confirmed pregnant by their test, even though I'd done 6 of my own.  As we fully expected everything to be fine after our initial visit with the midwife that morning, we kissed goodbye and Brett went on his way to work.  I went to the ultrasound appointment by myself.

See Baby, LLC was crowded, and I had to wait a bit, but I didn't mind.  I was missing work, which I was confident I could make up, and this was all more important anyway. Finally they called me back to a relaxing, spa-like room, with soft music and dim lights. The table was a tan suede and there was a pillow used to lift me up, as the ultrasound tech explained this was a "stirrup-free office."  I thought to myself this is a fancy place!  

She began the scan on my abdomen, and right away I had a bad feeling.  When I asked her anything all she said was sometimes this early they need to do a vaginal scan.  A few minutes later she had me go to the restroom and position myself for that one when I came back.  During the vaginal scan, my heart started to sink.  I was panicked.  She wouldn't tell me anything!  Finally I asked is there even a baby???  She said there was and showed me where on the screen.  For a moment I relaxed.  Then I just sat still and silent while she continued to freeze the screen for measurements.  She said nothing.  Then she turned the sound monitor on and all there was was a static-y silence.  I asked her again if she could tell me anything, but this time she just said, the doctor will talk to you.  She seemed sad.  I was freaking out inside.  I said, so there is a baby, but there is no heartbeat?  This time she answered.  "There is no heartbeat."

A few minutes later, she went to get Dr. Bootstaylor.  He wanted to confirm for himself whatever they weren't telling me.  He spoke calmly and soothingly and said we'd talk about things in his office.  He clearly didn't want to have this sort of conversation during a vaginal ultrasound.  I suppose that was better, if there is to be any sort of "better" in a situation like this.  When he left the room, I got dressed and then I was escorted to a seat in the hallway where I was to wait again.  I texted my mother, and I texted Brett; both responded with instant concern and some level of terror.  I didn't write much, just that there was no heartbeat and I was waiting again.  I didn't really know what that meant yet, but I did know it wasn't a good sign.

Dr. Bootstaylor is the nicest doctor I've ever met.  He showed me pictures and explained everything to me, and all I wanted was for him to be mean so I could hate him for the terrible news he was telling me.  My baby was not alive.  My baby's heart was not beating and he diagnosed this as a "non-viable pregnancy," telling me I would miscarry within 1 to 4 weeks.  I cried in his office.  I felt so alone.  I asked a lot of questions.  When?  "It must have been very recent b/c of the size."  Well, how big did it measure?  "6 weeks and 2 days."  Well that has to be wrong b/c I'm only 5 weeks and 6 days.  "Are you sure about your last menstrual cycle dates?" Yes, I was sure.  I was 100% certain I had not miscalculated.  "Do you mind if we take another look?"  

For a moment I was filled with hope.  Maybe they were wrong.  Maybe this is a mistake! He wants to look again!  We have another chance!  But, the outcome was the same.  No heartbeat.  Dr. Bootstaylor told me my options: a D&C, medicine to move it along, or waiting it out naturally.  I wanted to know what is normal, what do most people do? "Most people go home and let it sink in with their families."  He told me the midwife would get his report and call me to discuss the options in more detail.  He was so kind and genuinely compassionate.  He was so attentive and truly focused on me.  I asked him if I could come back, and he nodded and said I could.  Then he stopped, looked me straight in the eyes and said with the most direct and certain of tones, "Let me be clear.  It is ABSOLUTELY okay for you to come back."  

I left See Baby and somehow managed to make it back to my car, which was parked on the very top level of the parking deck, uncovered and in the rain.  I sat in my car and wept, the tears just flowing, and I could no longer see the rain on my windshield through the flooding in my own eyes.  I called my mother, who by this time was having her own meltdown worrying about me, and I called Brett, who had pulled over on the side of the road waiting for my call and was kicking himself for not being there with me during this tragic experience.  We decided to meet back at home.

The rest of that day is blurry.  I don't remember what I did other than try to sleep and pretend this wasn't happening.  I prayed a lot.  I cried and cried and cried.  The midwife called and talked to me for a bit.  I asked her if maybe it was just too early, but she said no.  Dr. Bootstaylor is a perinatologist, not just some random OB.  He operates on the unborn!  He would not diagnose something like this lightly.  The midwife suggested that I avoid the D&C and try to wait it out naturally.

My emotions were unstoppable.  They just poured out like open floodgates.  I couldn't control them!  I was terrified of what was going to happen to my body.  I was freaking out about what I was going to tell my work. I was scared of how long it would take and if would hurt.  I was haunted by the idea that I was carrying a dead baby!  I was heartbroken and grieving for the loss of a child I already loved.  I was shocked and still in disbelief, doubting what was supposed to be this determined truth.  I was angry at God!  I was thinking the most horrific things could have caused this, like a fight with Brett, or me yelling at Jack or Jack kicking me in the stomach.  I was sad to explain to Jack that there wasn't a baby in my belly.  I was actually embarrassed that I had told some people already, feeling like I'd jinxed things.  I felt like a failure, like my own body was failing me.  I was so hungry and thought my eating must be a side effect of the stress.  I felt sick and believed it was just part of the devastation.  I know many women who have lost an unborn baby, but until now, all I could ever offer as comfort was "I can't imagine what you must be feeling."  Now I knew what it was like, and it was the worst day of my life.

Before the call from the midwife, I had already emailed the kind doctor.

Dear Dr. Bootstaylor,

I have not received a call from Margaret's practice yet, and nothing has happened on my end.  Is it possible that this is just a misnomer?  I don't want a D&C or medicine.  That seems so unnatural and abortion-like.  I don't judge others, but that doesn't feel right for me.  How long until it is either revealed that the baby is alive or it becomes dangerous for my body to carry a non-viable fetus.

Thank you.

His response came late that night.

Noted.

I can appreciate your level of comfort and personal sentiment.

Regarding the diagnosis, it is certain. Regarding when your body will begin to go through a natural process of miscarriage, that is uncertain. It could be days or weeks. More importantly, it is not harmful to you (physically). Waiting is an option that many patients choose, and it's a safe option.

Regarding Intown Midwifery, they received the information and report, this afternoon. They may have been very busy. I also know that Margaret was out of town until early this evening. Please don't hesitate to call their office in the morning.

If I can be of any further assistance, please don't hesitate to call my office (404-223-9306) or send an e-mail.

Thank you.

Jack was mostly with GRandi during this time.  I was in a deep depression and unable to even cope with being around him, but by Thursday I started to accept the news and wanted it to hurry up and just be over.  Every time I went to the bathroom I took with me a little plastic Tupperware to "catch the baby," just in case.  I really did not know what to expect, but I knew I didn't want to just flush it without seeing it.  The internet was an inconsistent and awful resource, so I had it in my mind that I would push during a bowel movement and the baby would come out with a thick clot of blood, a little alien form with eyes like poppy seeds and the size of a black bean.  I thought it would feel like terrible menstrual cramps and the beginning of labor.  Every time I felt the slightest pang I rushed to the bathroom in both fear and anticipation.  How long was this going to take?  I needed to get on with my life!  I needed to be a mom to Jack!  I needed to go back to work!

I called Dr. Bootstaylor and left him a message.  He returned my call and I asked him more questions.  If I had another scan, what would we be looking for to confirm something was happening?  He said we would see shrinkage in size, deterioration.  We also discussed the abnormally large size as being a contributing factor to the impending miscarriage.  I asked was Friday was long enough to wait to expect to see something, to confirm the miscarriage was happening?  He said every day that goes by should have some change.

Although I was praying, I was trying not to hold onto too much false hope.  My mother's doubt was wavering back and forth, and never did she once fully commit to the doctor's diagnosis.  My sister questioned over and over that maybe it was just too early, but then even she felt like her thoughts were just setting me up for more diappointment.  We were confused as to why I was having the upset stomach, saying it was like a slap in the face and calling it "mourning" sickness.  I finally decided I could no longer stand the waiting and I wanted some medicine to move things along.  I was worried about the timing with needing to go back to work, but between Dr. Bootstaylor's words - "Let me be clear.  It is ABSOLUTELY okay for you to come back." - and my mother's consistent prodding, I decided I needed more proof before I did anything unnatural to my body.  

On Friday morning, December 2nd, I went back to See Baby, LLC.  This time Brett was with me.  We had a different ultrasound tech.  I was already crying before she began the vaginal scan.  Brett was sitting in a chair next to me as I was on the fancy table with the special pillow propping me up.  We watched the screen, but then I just looked away.  I was tense and the tech told me to try to relax.  I said something to the effect of what's the point?  I know it is going to be the same.  Then in a little sing-song voice with a Russian accent she said, "I don't think so; there is heartbeat!"  My eyes raced back to the screen and there it was, the most beautiful pulsating blob I'd ever seen!  I wept uncontrollably, and Brett stood over me and squeezed my hand and we both cried together and held each other, and the tech asked me to try to be still so we could hear, and then she turned up the sound monitor and there it was!  A white line filled with precious little heartbeat blobs!  It sounded like angels singing!  The only thing I've ever heard that compares with that is the sound of Jack's laughter!  

This is what it looks like when you're carrying a miracle!   The straight white line is filled with little heartbeat blobs, each one like a trumpet announcing the life that bursts inside you!  The joy that rushes your heart is overwhelming and mixed with a new kind of disbelief and fear again of the unknown! The shock that you felt before is still there, but altered and fuzzy.  Your mind starts to wonder if it is playing tricks on you, and your body tenses with the instinct to protect as suddenly you are once again a vessel for the greatest gift from God.  And then you feel terrified b/c you knew it was possible but maybe never believed it would happen to you!

We waited in the hall for our meeting with Dr. Bootstaylor.  We were excited, but scared, nervous and anxious.  We were confused!  But mostly, we were amazed!  As we walked into his office, he shook Brett's hand.  Dr. Bootstaylor's exact words to describe this change in events were: "unequivocally miraculous!"  He said "this is what faith is," and told me we have defied all odds.  He said he had been 100% certain, and even now is still 99% certain, and we are the 1%!  He said I have shown them a miracle.  He said that he would not say he has never seen this before, but he would say it is rare beyond belief.  It is truly amazing!!!

The heartbeat was a bit slow; normal is 150s, acceptable is 120s, ours was 110-112. Another ultrasound was scheduled for the following Friday to check again for better activity, but they did not seem overly concerned.  They also sent me for a progesterone level test, but that came back normal.  The size of the baby was also odd.  In the original scan 4 days earlier, the baby measured 6 weeks and 2 days, bigger than it should have been.  An inference for the lack of heartbeat could have been related to the size abnormality.   The 2nd scan took place on the actual 6 weeks and 2 days marker, but now the baby measured at 5 weeks and 6 days.  It was not significant enough to change the due date or worry, but it was odd that it was smaller than it was 4 days ago and yet now the heart was beating.  The doctor did not want to speculate, but he did say it could have been related to fluid or a mass present in the original scans.   Mostly though, he believed it was a miracle.  It actually helped us to trust him and believe in him that he didn't try to come up with all sorts of explanations to justify what was ultimately a mistake in his original diagnosis.  He said, "sometimes you just have to toss the science aside and go on faith."

A week later we returned to check the heartbeat again, hoping it would be in the normal range of 120-170. This is what a 138 fetal heart rate looks like!  :-) Dr. Bootstaylor assured us this baby was coming!  We were thrilled and beginning to feel more confident, but still I was plagued with paranoia.  A week before Christmas I had some unusual bleeding.  It was enough to freak me out b/c of what I was told to expect when I was waiting to miscarry.  I grabbed my Tupperware again and started preparing for the worst.  On Dec. 19th I went in for another ultrasound.

This is what a 166 fetal heart rate looks like!  Isn't it just amazing???  It turned out the baby was fine, but the placenta was blocking my cervical canal, the starting symptoms of Placenta Previa, but Dr. Bootstaylor told us there is plenty of time for the placenta to move as my uterus expands and not to worry yet.  That is a hard piece of advice to take after the roller coaster we have been on, but b/c the heartbeat was so strong, we felt really good and relieved just in time to enjoy the holidays with our little Christmas miracle baby growing inside of me!

And today we got to go back for the 12 week ultrasound!  This is what our precious miracle looks like now at 11 weeks and 5 days!  They did measurements to check for down syndrome indicators, but found none.  We declined all genetic testing, as we also did for Jack. Jack went with us and got to see his sibling on the screen.  He held my hand the whole time and they did the ultrasound on my belly, which was a nice turn of events for me!!!  Also, we got to see the Physician's Assistant this time instead of Dr. Bootstaylor, which is SUPER DUPER good news b/c that means he isn't worried about us anymore!  Today the baby's FHR was 159, and he/she measured 1 day ahead of actual.  Wednesday marks the end of my 1st trimester, and I am really looking forward to having some energy back and saying goodbye to the nausea.  Plus, I was SO READY to let the cat out of the bag and publicly share all the excitement with our family and friends!  It has been extremely hard not to blog about everything as it was happening, and it was actually tough just to maintain my facebook updates b/c so many of my daily thoughts have been related to this new baby and our growing family.  

And lastly, I want to express our gratitude to our friends and family who already knew about this wonderful miracle and thank you for all of your prayers and positive thoughts. God has heard each and every one of you and answered our prayers!  Today I saw this quote on a facebook friend's wall:

‎"The most important prayer in the world is just two words long:

 'Thank You'." 

 -Meister Eckhart

I thank God every day for the blessings he has bestowed upon me and my family, and I pray for our loved ones and the loved ones of others.  It doesn't take but a second to acknowledge Him and just offer the most important prayer of a full and thankful heart.

Thank you, God, for the miracle of Baby McQ #2!  And thank you, God, for the blessing of our sweet Jack.  Thank you, God for entrusting these precious gifts into our care. Please guide us to lead them humbly in life and help us to teach them about Your unwavering love.  Thank you, God.  Amen.

A Good Day

Today was a GOOD day.  Not so much the part of it that I was in, but the part of it I got to hear about, and the evening I got to enjoy after it, well, those were quite good, I must say.  

It started with a routine Tuesday morning of prepping a less than enthusiastic 2-year old for preschool by pulling out all the stops to avoid the tears while listening repeatedly to his favorite saying: "I can't want to go to school!"  Carpool was not the worst it has ever been; he cried, but through his heartbreaking sobs he also waved, "Bye-bye, Mama!" and blew kisses as his teacher carried him away, his sweet face soaked with salty sadness.  As I drove to work I made the typical phone calls to Daddy and the grandmothers to relay the events of drop-off, and I was feeling okay about the progress he is making, slow but steady.

Through all of this I was anxiously awaiting a return phone call from the surgeon who performed Jack's unnecessary hernia operation b/c Jack's incision site had become inflamed over the weekend.  I spent the first half of my work day distracted by thoughts and fears of another hospitalization or infection, and although I was busy, I found myself overlooking details and just not as meticulous as I am known to be.  There was a total communication breakdown between myself and a co-worker, through no fault of either, that continued throughout the day and which we both found to be odd since we are usually so in sync.  Even after I spoke to the doctor I still felt antsy, tense and just plain irritable, despite his basically optimistic determination that we could just continue to watch things for another week and apply antibiotic ointment to the surface.  The whole situation is still so fresh in my mind that even the potential of something else going wrong freaks me out.

But in the middle of it all, I got a little glimpse into my Jack-Bo's day when the preschool Director emailed me to say he was "A Star" and doing great!  As I read, a twinge of hope and happiness flooded through me, but then it drained right back out...

I was not the only one feeling a little out of whack at work.  Auditors are visiting this week, so there is a decent amount of pressure going around, and I'm sure that we all feed off each other under these circumstances.  Still, as the day wore on, I felt more and more down in the dumps with no specific reason I could pinpoint.  I thought of all the stress in my life right now, and sometimes it seems that once I get started I can't stop, so the list was piling high and daunting, but at the same time there wasn't anything newly added.  Then I was asked to do a special project, and although I normally would have welcomed the variety, I felt more overwhelmed by it today.  A few times I even found myself frustrated and fighting back the misty eyes.  Finally it was time to leave...

On my way out to my car I was talking to God, praying something along the lines of "PLEASE don't let Jack be cranky when I pick him up; I just really can't deal with it today."  It has become his standard greeting to run up and push me in the legs saying, "No mommy, go away!" when he sees me after I've been working all day.  No matter how much he has missed me he still needs me to know he is angry I wasn't with him.  Sadly, he doesn't seem to understand that I am angry about that too, so I try my best to ignore the beating and attempt to hug him anyway.  He usually softens after a few minutes and we get loaded up in the car to head home, but once we are there a second battle frequently ensues. I struggle to get him out of the car, into the elevator and up to our condo, and typically this involves me dragging his spaghetti-legs and potato-sack body through a portion of the journey while threatening time-out or some other loss of privilege.  ("Jack, Mommy HAS to change before we can ride your bike!  Your bike is inside!  Let's just go inside for one minute!  Please don't make me drag you!  I have so much other stuff to carry!")  Once I finally manage to get him settled it is often too late to do whatever he wanted to do in the first place, and then round 3 begins, and all of this is before we've even thought about dinner!  

So today, I was not in the mood for any of it.   

God was listening. :-)

As I pulled up in the driveway, I saw my MIL getting Jack out of her car and I thought, oh great, he is never gonna wanna go right from one carseat to another...but when he saw me he was SO EXCITED!!!  He  jumped into my arms, immediately wrapped himself around my neck and exclaimed "Hi Mommy!"  He kissed me and hugged me and welcomed me with the most amazing sweetness, better than anything I could ever imagine!  

The car ride home included a nice conversation with a little broken language, but mostly I understood what he was saying.  I smiled as he shared the happenings of his day with me, and we talked about school, snack time, the playground, his friends, his cousins, my work, my friends, dinner, gymnastics, dogs, football, and you name it!  Just as we hit the last traffic light before our neighborhood his favorite song came on the radio, and together, we joyfully belted out along with it!  "La, la, la!  La, la, la!  Tonight, Tonight...!"

This time Jack's bike was in the car with us, and I was wearing comfortable enough shoes to withstand a few laps around the parking lot before going inside.  Plus, Daddy was about to be home, so I told Jack he could ride until Daddy got here, and he seemed satisfied with that.  After a few minutes, Jack's attention shifted from his bike riding to his Daddy's truck pulling in, and it was relatively easy to get him into the elevator.  

We had one slight set-back getting out of the elevator, as Jack proceeded to pedal as fast as he could through  the corridor.  I chased him while holding onto my purse, his school bag, a diaper bag and 2 bags of groceries that Daddy had just bought.  I am always terrified he will turn the corner and accidentally ride his bike down the stairs!  Once inside we sent him to his room for time-out, to which he went willingly, and for once he did not cry or get upset about it.  Two minutes later he was back to being sweet as pie!  

The evening continued with this trend.  Jack was silly and playful, and even when I cut him off from the chips and didn't let him help me cook the fish, he remained tantrum free!  He ate his dinner, and we gave him some ice cream, and then bath and bed time were relatively painless!  

As I snuggled him to sleep I thought about my attitude for most of the day.  Sometimes we just don't feel like being happy.  It is hard to smile all the time.  Life is stressful, and it is normal to get caught up in the negative...but every once in awhile a light shines through the darkness and leads the way to a brighter tomorrow...or at least just a nice evening with your kid!  These are the moments I want to remember when I look back...the ones that carry me through the hard times, not the hard times themselves!  

I have a suspicion that my boy's wonderful day at school had the domino effect on the rest of his day, and maybe, just maybe, he is finally adjusting to life as a "Doodlebug."  Perhaps there is a deeper message for me in all of this, that I could benefit as well from adjusting to my life as a working mom, despite my ambition to stay at home.  Maybe in doing so I could enjoy more of my days instead of dreading them, knowing that our separation is temporary and for the greater good, and looking forward to having so much to talk about when we are together again.

And right now, as I am typing, my precious cherub champion is sleeping peacefully in the bed behind me.  I hear his rhythmic breathing, and once again, I am reminded of all of my blessings.  Thank you, God.  Yes, today was a good day.

I'm Not Gonna Sue...So Please Just Tell Me the Truth!

I've been thinking about what I wanted to say in this post for days now.  I've even started it over and over again in my head, coming up with different angles to get my point across, or exploring analogies that may somehow compare to my feelings.  I've been sitting here for over an hour uninterrupted - I am home alone for once - but this is my first actual paragraph.

I'm still trying to recover from the trauma of watching my child suffer at the hand of an ER doctor who, if he had just been a bit more attentive, would have been able to spare me the need to write this post in the first place.  Yes, I NEED to write this post.  I MUST get these feelings out.  I'm so distraught by the experience that I am unable to get my life back to a level of normal functioning.  If there was ever a time for me to write, this is it. Writing is my therapy.  

But what I have realized since my child came home from the hospital is that I still don't have answers.  It is hard to write about something when you don't fully understand what is going on.  And at the same time, I haven't accepted that I can't get those answers.  I still feel like the doctors owe me something: the truth about what happened to my son. Logically I know they will never admit fault.  No one is ever going to accept responsibility for the misdiagnosis and unnecessary pain they caused my innocent baby b/c somewhere along the way they were taught not to...I'm guessing for fear of being sued, but really I don't know.  Maybe there is just an added arrogance or a "doctors band together" code that just won't allow it to happen.  Or perhaps I'm caught in a war of ethics.  People are so quick to take advantage of the legal system that doctors are forced not to apologize for their mistakes, since doing so could possibly be taken as an admission of guilt.  That negates both "honesty is the best policy" and "ask and ye shall be forgiven."

And all of that just means my power to DO something about this is limited.  I am not the kind of person to start a legal battle over an honest mistake.  I'd rather go the route of using it as a teaching moment, an opportunity to broaden the education and experience of a medical professional whose jump-the-gun style of treatment resulted in an immeasurable amount of pain and an emergency surgery that could have been prevented. I have no desire to ruin his career or put him out of a job!  I simply want him to study up on the basics of bedside manner and dealing with terrified parents in the heat of the moment!  Seriously, you chose to be an ER doctor!  You should realize there is going to be some fear in the event of an actual emergency!   The least you can do is remain professional, and it certainly wouldn't hurt you to offer a little compassion...  

To learn from mistakes we first have to evaluate the paths that lead us to make them.  I KNOW that there is another way they could have assessed my son's condition to confirm that he did not have a hernia before they dosed him with narcotics and began manipulating his entire groin area to reduce non-existent bowels into an imaginary hole in his abdominal cavity.  They absolutely could have used some sort of imaging technology to be certain.  I've done my research, and I've seen the awful pictures of "incarcerated inguinal hernias" in children, and yes, I can acknowledge that my son's condition did significantly resemble many of those photographs, but one simple fact remains: it wasn't a hernia at all.

Still, I can understand that since inguinal hernias are so common in infant boys, it made sense to order the IV and Morphine and attempt the manipulation.  What I don't get is how after the first 20 minutes of squeezing and kneading and squishing while my child screamed and writhed in pain as his father and I participated in restraining him, I, holding his arms and Daddy, his legs, the ER doctor still couldn't tell that this was not a "normal" hernia situation.  Instead of thinking maybe this IS something else, he ordered more Morphine and proceeded for another 25 minutes.  If he did think there was something fishy about it, he didn't express it, so I can only assume he continued in this manner b/c he still believed it to be an incarcerated inguinal hernia.  Now, I've never massaged bowels, but I can imagine that poop has a distinct feel.  If it ever crossed his mind that what he was manipulating did not feel like poop, he never mentioned it.  

I don't really even know how to say this.  I just know it to be true.  There was a moment, a turning point, in that ER, where the doctor lost sight of the best interest of his patient, who coincidentally happened to be my son.  It was almost as if he switched gears on a surge of adrenaline b/c no longer did it matter that the boy was in pain!  It was more important to be the hero!  The one who solved the problem!  It became a boost to his ego, a challenge to "make it stay," this huge mass of God knows what, that the doctor was pushing into what looked like a little dent in my baby's groin.  My boy was screaming, crying out, fighting us with all his might to make it stop, and it took all 3 of us to do it, but we managed to hold him down...and torture him...at the direction of this misguided physician.

When the surgeon was finally called, we were told emergency surgery was a must.  We were scared, but we accepted that, feeling like the surgeon really did save the day by taking over from the horrible ER doctor of doom.  But when the surgery revealed there was no hernia, even the surgeon admitted he was perplexed.  He actually stated that he removed "pieces of the lymph node" that had become "friable" due to the manipulation of the area and "cleaned up the mess" inside.  Still, he stood by his decision to cut, claiming that it was potentially a life-saving operation.  I wanted him to say the ER doc messed up. I wanted him to tell me that it was all just an accident, a terrible mistake...but he didn't. Instead he avoided that line of our questioning and redirected us again and again to his new diagnosis of Lymphadenitis, inflammation of a lymph node, most likely due to an impending infection.  We were exhausted.  It was the middle of the night.  We had just been shocked out of our minds.  We had so many questions...the next day he was additionally diagnosed with Cellulitis, an infection of the skin, probably staph or strep, and he was treated with IV antibiotics for 5 days.  

Fast forward to now we are home.  I'm tearing my hair out trying to move past this and just be thankful my child is alright, but I still can't shake the feeling that more needs to happen.  Last week I called our pediatrician to discuss another issue, and I decided beforehand that how she responded to the call would determine if we would continue at that practice.  Something we have been concerned about for almost 2 years was overlooked by her, and it turns out it could have been the cause for the infection.  When it was brought to our attention by another surgeon during his rounds, we once again experienced this whole "doctors banding together" code as he quickly defended a pediatrician he didn't even know by saying it isn't something commonly noticed.  Fine, but for TWO YEARS we pointed it out to her!  For TWO YEARS we asked questions, and she never even mentioned the actual medical term for the condition.  It took another doctor one look to figure out and 5 seconds to correct what could have been a lifetime problem if it continued undetected!  If it is true that everything happens for a reason, I believe this discovery is the reason for this entire nightmare.

The pediatrician responded I guess a little better than I expected, although her take was that she comes from a different school of thought on the issue and believes it normally corrects itself in time.  She did, however, apologize for perhaps not communicating well about it and not paying enough attention to the progression of the problem.  I know I should be satisfied with that, and I am by about 90%, but I just can't seem to shake that other 10% that tells me she SHOULD have recognized it sooner...b/c if she had, my son may very well have never had that infection!

And all that goes back to the idea that to learn from mistakes we first have to evaluate the paths that lead us to make them.  I chose my son's pediatrician.  I chose her based on how I would relate to her as a woman, as a mother.  It was selfish.  I should have chosen a pediatrician based on how he would relate to my son as a patient.  I was looking for someone to support my decisions and not judge me, but what I should have done was choose someone who would help guide my decisions and advocate for my child with me! Ultimately I am responsible for the issue that was overlooked, that likely led to the Cellulitis infection, that manifested as Lymphadenitis, that presented like the misdiagnosed hernia, that most devastatingly inspired the brutal manipulation by the insensitive ER doc, that resulted in the friable lymph node, that in turn had to be partially removed, which added to my child's discomfort and an overall traumatic experience.  I am supposed to protect him!  And I failed...

At least that is how I feel.  I am battling massive guilt over all of this.  I know that I did my best.  Logically I know none of this was my fault...but it is so hard to believe that way when no one will own up to what has happened!  We still don't even understand it all!  I want to know why the ER doc didn't think to check for a swollen lymph node.  I want to make sense out of how my child had an operation for something that wasn't actually wrong with him.  I want someone to explain to me how this all went so array!  And if no one can do that, then I want someone to just step up and say sorry!  We goofed.  We made a mistake.  It wasn't life threatening, but we realize it caused undue pain on your child and stress on your family. Once the mistake was discovered we should have done everything in our power to make this situation right, and we should have provided you with the very best care and highest level of customer service.  The doctor who mistreated you will be reprimanded and educated on his mistakes, and your son's case will be used as an example of something else to consider when a hernia is assumed... 

Isn't that just basic good ethics?  We teach our children to tell the truth.  We preach to them that "honesty is the best policy," and we encourage them to be forgiving...Right? Don't we?  

ethicsplural of eth·ics (Noun)

1. Moral principles that govern a person's or group's behavior.

2. The moral correctness of specified conduct.

Or am I in the minority?  Am I one of the few who won't sue when I burn my tongue with my hot coffee?

I have been jaded now.  I don't know who to trust.  I am afraid that if something else happens to my child I won't be able to trust anyone.  I fear I will vacillate wildly over every decision and probably end up making the wrong ones.  I'm probably overreacting already.  

Its just...having a child changes everything.  I would do ANYTHING to take back what my son went through, but since I can't I am even more determined to make sure NOTHING like that ever happens to him again.  I'm a mess over this, and it is clearly going to take me some time to move past it.  I am so grateful that he is healthy and okay. We are infinitely lucky and blessed that he recovered so well and quickly.  I WANT to be able to move forward and enjoy my sweet boy and not look back with so much anger and sadness about the ordeal...especially b/c he is hopefully too young to even remember it.  

I'm still debating if I want to pursue anything further with the hospital.  We did file a complaint with Risk Management, and they will be conducting some sort of "peer review."  I'd like to think that is enough, but I may need to write a letter too.  I'm not sure yet.  

In the mean time, I guess it feels better to get some of my thoughts out into cyberspace. Maybe the writing will do the trick and bump me out of this funk.  

After all, I am Mommy to the most beautiful boy in the world...    

For more information on Jack's story, read "What Happened to Jack" on The McQ Zoo family blog...

The Trend Continues

The first time my husband was let go from his job, he had been at the same home building company for 8 years. We had been dating a little over 3.5 years, and I had anticipated his proposal for months. I knew exactly when he bought the ring...b/c he was too excited not to hint to me...but then a work trip and a girls beach weekend delayed our moment. When I returned from Hilton Head he informed me we had dinner plans at our favorite steakhouse, Hal's, for that Friday. The date was August 31, 2007, Labor Day weekend.

The morning of our dinner date, I was giddy as a school girl. I knew what was coming and so did everyone else. Since we both worked there we had friends and co-workers waiting just as excitedly as I was for him to pop the question. But that same morning there was a dark cloud looming overhead in the hallways of our office building. We knew there was a possibility, but we had not considered it realistically, and we hoped that our relationship with management would spare us a spot on the chopping block when the ax began to fall. As I worked in the IT department, I was one of the first notified when employees were terminated, and all morning I anxiously watched my computer screen for the email to pop up with instructions to delete his user account. Names were appearing in astonishing numbers; it was already the 3rd round of layoffs. How many more could they possibly let go? Still, I did not see his name.

We kept in contact throughout the morning with our fingers crossed, yet our minds wandering to our own joy and plans for the evening, Nextel-ing each other every few minutes for me to report the play-by-play as builders dropped like flies. When his boss drove into his neighborhood, he got nervous; our hearts started racing, but still, we felt like it could be someone else's doom.

Then he called. He never called. He always "hit me" on the Nextel. The call was different, eerie, unexpected.

"I'm done."

His boss had let him go, informing him of 1 week of severance pay for every full year he had worked there. He was required to sign a separation notice to receive it, and that was the end.

"I haven't seen your name!"

And then there it was. Brett McQuilken - terminated. I cried, he froze. Our joy was interrupted and neither of us even thought about our date or our plans or the ring for the rest of that phone call. People in the office around me offered comfort; I resisted and lashed out. I stormed into the Operations Manager's office who was also a good friend and demanded he tell me why he had not clued us in to this decision. "You knew we were getting engaged today, and you still let this happen!" I don't think I gave him a chance to respond; I didn't really know if he contributed to the decisions anyway. I marched down to the CFO's office and stood in the doorway, arms flailing and heart pounding so hard that he could probably see it pulsating in my chest!

"So Brett was let go today!"

"There were 22 people on that list."

"Am I on that list?"

"No."

"I'm leaving for the rest of the day."

"Okay."

And with that I dramatically made my exit and headed home to be with my man. My boss emailed to see if I was planning on coming back the following week, which I was, but in that moment, I had to get away. It was clear everyone understood. In the end, we all knew it wasn't personal. Business is business, and sometimes it just sucks.

At home Brett and I cuddled in each other's arms while sitting in an over-sized sofa chair, not really saying too much. Mostly we just cried. The layoff was such a feeling of rejection for him, and regardless of the economy or assurance that he was not to blame, his feelings were hurt. After a bit of mutual sadness and our expressions of unwavering love, he said these magic words:

"You're the most stable thing in my life right now. Let's go get engaged."

And we did. Although he had bought the ring, it was being set, so his plan was to pick it up on his way home from work that day. Work got cut early, so the ring was still at the store. We got in the car, taking our baby girl (dog) Della with us, and drove to Jared. Della and I waited in the parking lot as Brett went inside. I was texting friends and feeling waves of sadness and joy and excitement and anger and I think my heart stopped when I saw him coming out of the store. He got in the car. I was in the driver's seat. Della somehow knew to be totally still and quiet, watching us from the middle of the back seat. Brett pulled out a stuffed polar bear hugging a penguin with a St. Jude's Children's Hospital tag. "Even though I don't have a job, I still couldn't say no to the children." He placed the ring on the beak of the little penguin and asked me to marry him.

It was the happiest day of my life. Cloudy, but so happy.

On the last week of his severance Brett landed a new position with a commercial general contractor. It was a low-man-on-the-totem-pole job and a bit of a pay cut, but we knew we were lucky to not feel the effects of a period with no income. We still planned our wedding and got married, we went to Jamaica for our honeymoon, we got a 2nd dog (Tug), I got a new job, and basically we started a new chapter in our lives. We were able to live pretty much the same way we did before the layoff…but not without sacrifice.

Brett didn't love his new job. It was not the best environment. His confidence was shaken, and rightfully so. The economy was getting worse, and now banks weren't lending, so the projects his new company was supposed to have were unable to be financed. He began to feel like they were targeting him in an effort to make him quit. He opened up to me about just how bad things were during a special fall camping trip we took as just the two of us. We decided that he would stick it out, but we both began to feel the fear of him losing yet another job in a struggling economy.

In November things got really scary, and we were certain Brett was about to be cut. Sure enough on Friday the 14th, his time came. It was an emotional weekend for us. The stress was making me sick. The next Monday, I went to the doctor for a sinus infection...and came home with a positive pregnancy test. It was 3 days after he was let go. We'd had plans to start trying for a baby in January 2009, but we got pregnant 2 months earlier than expected. Another bittersweet life changing moment. We were overjoyed with the news, and yet terrified for our financial situation. We knew how lucky we were to have my job and my health insurance, but it was far from ideal since we'd hoped I would be able to mostly be a stay-at-home-mom. With the support of our amazing families and friends, we began preparing for our baby's arrival, knowing that had we not been pregnant already we probably would have delayed our plan for trying in light of our new circumstances, and ever so thankful it happened when it did!

August 4th, 2009, we welcomed the most beautiful boy into our world. It was the happiest day of our lives. The clouds parted for awhile to let us bask in the light our sweet baby, who from the moment we knew he was coming brought us nothing but joy, despite the fact that Brett was still unemployed. We are truly blessed with the gift of our son, our love for him and each other unwavering.

Brett spent 2 years, 3 months, and 14 days officially without a job. He worked his butt off on side jobs, home renovations, small contracts here and there, sometimes getting screwed along the way...But he made new business contacts, and thanks to my sister, he was put in touch with many homeowners in the community who wanted repairs and improvements since they couldn't sell their homes in this market. He began to get comfortable with this way of working. Meanwhile I struggled to obtain a Loan Modification for our mortgage, cut all the fat from our budget, and even skimped on the lean to keep our bills paid and our baby fed. I went back to work full time 4 days per week, and together we just did what we had to do to get by. We got used to living week to week. We became accustomed to the uncertainty. We were (and still are) so blessed to have such a supportive and helpful family, who came to our aid time and time again.

Finally this past February 2011, Brett got a job! He was referred by friends who formerly worked at the home builder, and he was a shoe in for the Project Manager position. Things seemed promising at the beginning, and we were thrilled for the opportunity. It was the best working environment for Brett so far and it came with a stable, steady income that, although small, was still enough to pay our bills and feed us. Once again Brett worked his tail off for this company. He liked his job. He liked his co-workers. He felt needed, wanted, busy all the time. They even gave him the largest community with the most high maintenance client, knowing he could handle it b/c of his great personality and easy-going nature.

Jack's Bday Pizza Dinner in Hilton Head

On the week of Jack's 2nd birthday, Jack and I went with my family to Hilton Head. Brett stayed behind to work b/c he did not have any accrued vacation time yet, having been employed there for just 5 months. We talked every day, and nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Work was fine, so it seemed.

On Jack's birthday I called to put Jack on the phone with his Daddy, but when Brett answered he had terror in his voice once again. "Brooke, Brooke, they are doing layoffs!" My heart sank. Seriously, on Jack's birthday? I mean, come on! Can't we have any special occasions that are not associated with the loss of a job? Less than an hour later...

"No more."

More than afraid, I was angry. More than sad I was mad. I had to keep my emotions in check for the sake of Jack though. I was not going to let ANYTHING ruin his birthday...not even this. By the same token, Brett was handling it pretty well. After he went home and threw up, he seemed to take on a glass half full approach and proceeded to tell me that this time he felt more prepared than ever. He knew what he had to do, and he had more contacts and experience, and he assured me we would be alright. We knew it wasn't personal. Last one hired, first one fired, and he also started to look back and see some red flags he had overlooked indicating numbers were not as high as he'd originally thought; bonuses were looking slim and there was no money to be made. Fortunately, the sting of rejection was quick and somewhat less painful b/c he'd been there before, but also b/c the decision this time was made by people in a Corporate office who had never even met him before, but knew cutting him was an easy out of paying for the added cost of his benefits, which would have kicked in at his 6 month mark. In the end, it is their loss.

My original thought when this happened on Jack's birthday was "the trend continues." How creepy and just plain weird that at another significant and celebratory time in our lives this would occur. I fought the urge to become cynical, arguing with myself that the second we let our guard down this is what happened. We blinked...and now what? When are we gonna get a break?

But 3 days later, we did. The same Operations Manager friend I yelled at on the day we got engaged was a guest at our son's birthday party, and he brought more than just a present for Jack. He handed Brett a piece of paper with a name and number on it and told him he had already called in a referral. By the end of the week, Brett had a new job!

We handle excitement differently, Brett and I. I want to know all the details so I can start planning our budget and crunching numbers, while he wants to relax and enjoy the feeling of internal peace. I tend to burst his bubble with my 20 questions and Devil's advocate way of thinking, and he is pretty good at letting me know when I need to just shut up. But we also complement each other well at these times. We discuss things and I help him explore the elements he may not think of on his own, and then we make decisions together. It works for us, and it is one of our best strengths as a couple, being able to listen to each other and work as a team on the big issues. With lots of hurdles on the path, we have already gotten this far...

Today was his first day. I am still a little nervous about things, but Brett is excited and full of optimism and positive energy. I am happy and relieved, but I've come to understand that both of those feelings are not achieved through a new job, but rather they are side effects of "A Full and Thankful Heart." By taking my personal inventory today I am reminded of all of my blessings; I am loved and cherished by so many close to me, my child is safe and healthy, my husband is willing and able, and so I feel relief. In my mind I replay the bike rides I took with Jack during our week in Hilton Head; I hear him laughing and singing, asking me "what happened, Mommy?" over and over again, and I know I am happy. I feel relief and happiness regardless of Brett's new job, and that is how I know we are going to be okay. Just like we have been all along, our faith strong and secure, and our love for each other still unwavering.

Maybe that's the trend. Maybe my first thought was right after all. The trend does continue.

The trend of unwavering love.