3.29.2011

The Root of All Evil (Part one?)

There I was driving on Interstate-80, tired, hungry, and above all else – thirsty. I had just finished an ACLS class where I’ve been for the past two days learning how to save the lives of my fellow humankind. The radio was tuned to NPR where Ira Glass was talking to some guy about rubber duckies that somehow floated away into the Pacific Ocean never to be played with again. But I was not listening, I was hardly hearing the radio at all. Like most days when I have a long drive ahead of me, I go into auto-pilot: my hands and eyes are directing the car towards home, safely and legally, while my mind blurs and focuses on matters miles away from my body.

On this particular drive, my mind wandered to a book by Yann Martel. I read “beatrice and virgil” many months ago, but there was a scene from that book that suddenly popped into my head. In vivid detail, Yann Martel describes the plight of several Jewish women running away from their Nazi aggressors, and in their struggle to flee they are caught in a river and could go no further. They were surrounded by Nazis from all sides, their only solace was the river water flowing waisthigh. One by one, they drowned themselves – because death was far better than being caught in the evil hands of those Nazis. Tears welled up in my eyes, and as they rolled down my cheeks I was suddenly triggered back to my car – still heading home, and still driving safely, Ira Glass still talking away on the radio. But I continued to cry and I found myself asking the whys and whats, unanswerable question directed to the heavens, asking God for whatever FAITH I have left in him.

What makes one human being want to hurt another human? What makes a person like me want to spend hours learning how to save a stranger, while another goes to great lengths to kill another? It makes no sense to me when humans are risking life and limb to save lives in Japan, while other human are losing life and limb to destroy other lives in Libya. How can I help? Where to I start? What is the root of all this evil?????

Usually when my emotions are up-heaved and the adrenaline is pumping and passions are running high – I push my Superhero button and my mind and body is deluded into thinking I have superpowers. The energy allows me to run faster, think clearer, and do almost the impossible – just like how I saved that mannequin in my ACLS class during a mega code. I truly, truly want to do something to nurse this grief in my heart, make a difference and become a stronghold in the face of evil. I want to give to humanitarian causes. I want to fly to inner city neighborhoods and plant my skills and knowledge in the soils of despair and crime. I want to do something…anything…and everything.

I am capable. I am willing.

But I am not available. There is a dark and evil force that is too strong to break right now, because I am in auto-pilot and I am being directed to follow my daily routines and sub-routines in order to function within prescribed parameters. I have to get home and give the dog a bath, clean the house, go shopping, then pick up the girls from day care.

My tears have drained away for now but the grief remains. My questions remain, and the answers are waiting for my searching soul. I will be available to go on that quest, right after all the planned and random routines have been acted away, and little ones successfully sent to sweet slumber. I will again explore my superhero button and battle the cobwebs of sleep to find that root of evil and axe it away.

3.20.2011

Lovely Jelly Rolls


These are my baby Isla’s arms. They are my jelly rolls. I nibble at them for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and every hour on the hour for snack (except when she’s sleeping of course). They are delicious, these chubby arms, and so lovely. And lovelier still when she coos and giggles when I nibble at them, my lips chomping with delight.



I am sad because I know these jelly rolls don’t last…they start to fade away around six months…at about the time she starts crawling away. When Sophia had her jelly rolls, the only attention they got was the meticulous wiping of the folds during bath-time. But when they disappeared, I surely noticed their absence.



Lately, these jelly rolls have become a constant reminder of how lucky I am to have a healthy child…again. Chubby arms, chubby legs, chubby rosy cheeks - such wonderful signs of health could easily be taken for granted. Which I did, until some things outside of my comfort zone pried my eyes open to the sad possibilities. I have several friends who are trying to get pregnant and most of them have experienced that joy of pregnancy only to be heartbroken by a miscarriage. One friend has had several miscarriages and now that she is pregnant again – she is deathly afraid of another miscarriage. Just the mention of “baby” or the tune of a lullaby brings her to tears. And I feel for her and the others. I have been there. I know what it’s like to wish for more than anything in the world, to bargain everything else in my life just to have that one wish come true. I remember the pain of having that wish granted only to be taken away. I remember the secret sadness I felt when someone else had pregnancy news. I remember thinking what a horrible person I was for being so angry at someone else’s good fortune – but I truly felt there was no justice in the world because I knew what a good mother I could be and there were bad mothers out there having babies right and left.



Another sad possibility is to bear a child that is not so healthy. I have a friend who gave birth only 24 weeks into pregnancy, and that precious baby is fighting for her life in the NICU. I cannot imagine the heartache, worry, and agonizing stress the parents are going through right now and into the future.



For some odd reason, while my healthy child was gestating in my womb and I went on a pregnancy leave of absence…I came across a blog about a mom who lost a disabled child. And from that blog I followed links to other moms who have also lost children. As I read their stories of sorrow, their struggle to move on, and their quest to find answers to why it happened, I couldn’t wipe the tears from my eyes fast enough. The blogs were so painful and heartbreaking, yet I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t understand my obsession.



Life is a mystery and the forces of heaven and nature intermingle with our destiny – at least with mine just recently. I returned to work two weeks ago. And last week, just minutes before my shift ended, I received a patient assignment that put things into perspective: A little 20 year old girl with cerebral palsy, quadraplegic, absolutely helpless, nonverbal, mentally disabled, and just recovering from sepsis. At first I was afraid of taking this complex assignment because of all the tubes she came with and how fragile she would be. Upon entering her room, the first thing she did was smile at me, and of course I fell in love with her right away. At first I felt so sorry for her, this poor child trapped in such a wrecked body. I was afraid to touch her for fear of breaking a bone or inflicting pain that she couldn’t express. I went home feeling absolutely sad.



Back to work the next morning, I met the mother. Then immediately I remembered the blog stories, the thoughts and feelings of the mothers, their wishes to make others understand that having a disabled child is a gift. After just a few words, I felt a connection to the child’s mother, and as such felt more comfortable and competent at caring for her daughter. She said “if I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing” – the exact same words the blog mothers said. Having this child has given her and her other children such a special appreciation and perspective on life. I laughed and cried with her as she shared her thoughts and experiences. I left that day feeling better about the child, because of a mother who did not and will never give up on her.



I wonder if I would have acted differently toward the child and mother if I did not have the understanding that the blogs gave me. Would I have acted like the night-shift nurse and become frustrated at the mother for being critical with the care given to her child. Would I have continued to be afraid of caring for the child and limited my rounds. Who knows, but I sure am lucky to have found the blogs and coincidentally apply that knowledge to my job. Furthermore, I am acutely aware of the fragility of life and realize how lucky I am that the daily concerns for my children does not include “Is she getting enough oxygen?” or “Is her skin breaking down?” or “Will the germs on my breath kill my child?”



Cam and I are lucky for our healthy children. And we promise to never take their health for granted.

the zen warriors