This weekend is one of those we get every once in a while in north Texas in the dead of winter; clear skies, 70 degrees, calm day. It is a day of rest and relaxation. Our eldest daughter is in town with our only grand daughter. I have watched Cinderella twice already. We turned our noses up at Lady and the Tramp, Dumbo (neither had a princess) Snow White and Alladin also were rejected along with Mermaid and all the Toy Stories. It is very discerning protocol.
Yesterday, however, Phoebe and I and her momma spent the day at Children's Hospital in Dallas getting all the tests and work done so they can go in and fix a hole in Phoebe's small, precious heart. It is a procedure that they kept stacking percentages against in the unsuccessful attempt to reassure us that all would go well. Even though only 1 in 250,000 have any sort of complication, or less than 3% ever have any lasting effects, the fact of the matter is that they are working on 100% of my grand daughters, there are no more, and there are none more precious to me. 250,000 does not compute, only the number 1, mine. They use unfamiliar words to mask to reality of what they are going to do. Words like 'margin" and "septal" and the list goes on. But I have sat in other conferences with doctors where they used words like "main-line" and words like "stromal" and words like "gleevac" and "resection". And I know that they are using their words to communicate, but they are not using my words. Words that I yearn for are "strong" and "healthy" and "never again". I have learned to listen very carefully and I have gotten very good at reading doctor's faces and body language. I have learned their language and have learned to ask what they know and not ask what they do not know. But in the final analysis they will never understand my language either, words like worry, and prayer and lonely, and afraid. These words have become long-time companions, never really welcome, but around all the time. I have learned that my luck with the odds is not very good. There has been far too much time spent in hospitals wondering what the future might hold and not being very optimistic about the chances. I have prayed and agonized over my mothers illness, my eldest daughter, my second grandson, and now my only grand daughter. It is ironic to me that my bride and I have largely escaped all the hospital stays that involve either one of us. I can only think of one instance of an overnight stay for me and almost that few for my bride. Oh, we have spent months in the hospitals for others, but we have always been the guard, never the prisoner.
So this bright sunny Saturday morning, Phoebe asked if she could watch Cinderella again, of course on the couch curled up with me. Drink of water? No problem. Monday will be here soon enough. Then I will be in full battle set, watching over my bride, my daughter, my son-in-law, and praying constantly for little Miss Phoebe; ignoring the little whispers of fear that will be there until they come out and tell us that all went well. There is no such thing as "routine" when it is done under full anesthesia, and it is done to someone dear to me. No. Such. Thing.
Godspeed to those who follow this journey, please stop a moment and lift a small word to the Father for my grand daughter, she is a precious one to us all.
Don
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Pain, Real or Imagined?
Just a few days ago I fell and damaged some cartilage in my side, or more dramatically cracked a rib. I'm pretty sure I didn't break a rib because I witnessed my dad several years ago struggle with broken ribs, and he is made of much tougher stuff than I. He functioned only with the help of pretty strong medicine. I am not there. In fact the next morning I went and worked out according to my normal routine.
But let me say that an injury high in the rib cage impacts just about everything you do. I can't sleep on my back or my right side. Normally this would not be a big deal, but my bride sleeps on my right due to an older injury of a dislocated collar bone. So snuggling is out until this heals, or I get out of bed and sneak up on her from her side of the bed.
Coughing and sneezing are adventures. AH-CHOO, Ouch! But the real explosion of pain is burping, which I have discovered tends to sneak up on you. So the exclamation that follows can be a bit more colorful.
You can't lean over. You can't pick anything up. You can't sit very long in any position. You can't stand very long. And most distressing, you can't hold grand babies as long.
It also takes longer to heal. In the old days, an injury would bother me for a day to two, then be gone. Injuries now become a matter of life style they last so long. I don't take any other medications, but Tylenol and Advil have become traveling partners, candy that I pop in every 4 hours or so.
But these aches and pains are accommodated and treated and life goes on. What I have discovered is that emotional pain has also developed a much longer recuperation cycle as well. I am not sure why this is so. My assumption would be that the more mature we grow, the better we are at dealing with emotional pain, at moving beyond the pain. Not so. I find that emotional trauma takes a long while to recover from as well. Slights and misunderstandings have to be given a longer lead time to go away.
I wondered about this not long ago during my disciplines and came to a rather startling insight. I give loyalty too easily and when that loyalty is violated, it almost never recovers. It is one of those odd facets of my nature that has been there for as long as I can remember. But instead of being able to work my way through it, I simply have become much less willing to let a violation like this subside. The only redeeming factor is that I have gotten better about not giving the loyalty very easily. It has made me more circumspect in that regard. I'm not sure if that is good or not. It simply is.
Perhaps this is just part of growing older. But I want to believe that I can sustain trauma and still recover, both physically and emotionally. There is probably some level of delusion here as well. Don't we all carry a little delusional qualities with us?
Anyway, healing seems to be happening, slowly to be sure.
Godspeed out there, try not to break anything that won't heal..be it bones or relationships.
Don
But let me say that an injury high in the rib cage impacts just about everything you do. I can't sleep on my back or my right side. Normally this would not be a big deal, but my bride sleeps on my right due to an older injury of a dislocated collar bone. So snuggling is out until this heals, or I get out of bed and sneak up on her from her side of the bed.
Coughing and sneezing are adventures. AH-CHOO, Ouch! But the real explosion of pain is burping, which I have discovered tends to sneak up on you. So the exclamation that follows can be a bit more colorful.
You can't lean over. You can't pick anything up. You can't sit very long in any position. You can't stand very long. And most distressing, you can't hold grand babies as long.
It also takes longer to heal. In the old days, an injury would bother me for a day to two, then be gone. Injuries now become a matter of life style they last so long. I don't take any other medications, but Tylenol and Advil have become traveling partners, candy that I pop in every 4 hours or so.
But these aches and pains are accommodated and treated and life goes on. What I have discovered is that emotional pain has also developed a much longer recuperation cycle as well. I am not sure why this is so. My assumption would be that the more mature we grow, the better we are at dealing with emotional pain, at moving beyond the pain. Not so. I find that emotional trauma takes a long while to recover from as well. Slights and misunderstandings have to be given a longer lead time to go away.
I wondered about this not long ago during my disciplines and came to a rather startling insight. I give loyalty too easily and when that loyalty is violated, it almost never recovers. It is one of those odd facets of my nature that has been there for as long as I can remember. But instead of being able to work my way through it, I simply have become much less willing to let a violation like this subside. The only redeeming factor is that I have gotten better about not giving the loyalty very easily. It has made me more circumspect in that regard. I'm not sure if that is good or not. It simply is.
Perhaps this is just part of growing older. But I want to believe that I can sustain trauma and still recover, both physically and emotionally. There is probably some level of delusion here as well. Don't we all carry a little delusional qualities with us?
Anyway, healing seems to be happening, slowly to be sure.
Godspeed out there, try not to break anything that won't heal..be it bones or relationships.
Don
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Looking Back
This journey is not at all what I expected. I am in a place right now where the trail has leveled a bit, and my pack has slid to the ground, I am resting. But I look back along the trail and see the spots where I fell, where the trail was awfully steep, where it seemed that danger lurked around every turn. What I see are the spots that caused me the greatest angst. These spots were also of my own making.
This past weekend my bride and I went north to get our Isaac "fix". He is the youngest of our grandkids and is doing new stuff every day. If we don't make a plan to see him every week or so he just changes too much for us to keep up. He is working on the entire crawling thing. Arms extended, one knee in the proper position, but getting the other leg to work puts him on his face..it doesn't make him happy. But he grabs stuff, he is eating like a champ, he laughs at his daddy, and he is still not sleeping well. His mommy and daddy are payin' for their raisin' as we used to say, because neither one of them slept well as babies either.
After Mr Isaac went to bed, our d-i-l fixed a great dinner and we cracked open a bottle of chardonnay while we just sat and visited. The talk turned to my son's experiences in high school and the events that included him and us. My observation is that he remembers far more fondly than I do the times when we were at odds. From my rest stop on the trail, looking back at that particular trail events, all I see are my mis-steps. Over the years the impact of my poor parenting have grown in their significance. I made all the mistakes and they were deep and eternal from my view. He looks back and doesn't even remember a lot of that time and certainly doesn't view it as a huge deal. In fact, he kind of laughs about the entire deal, he laughs about his own response, he laughs at our reactions, it does not seem to have scarred him nearly as much as it has me.
And I get this from all my kids. They all think their raising was kind of fun. That we laughed a lot, that we had some great memories at the kitchen table. They remember things with great fondness that I have forgotten. They have forgotten the things that I deeply regret. Is it possible that I wasn't quite a bad a parent as I have always believed I was? My personal thought was that my weaknesses were overshadowed with my bride's innate ability to make it all work.
But, as they say, the proof is in the pudding. All my kids are mature, modest, compassionate people. Far more so than I am. They all are in good marriages, they all are raising outstanding grandkids. They all get along. And we all still laugh together. This last observation is possibly the one I am most proud of. We laugh. A lot.
It is about time to pick up the pack and get started again. But suddenly the trail ahead looks a little easier than the one behind. But the trail behind also looks a little more pleasantly remarkable than I remembered it. The straps fit well, the legs feel strong, new trail to be covered.
Godspeed to the travelers. I think we may be better at it than we realized.
Don
This past weekend my bride and I went north to get our Isaac "fix". He is the youngest of our grandkids and is doing new stuff every day. If we don't make a plan to see him every week or so he just changes too much for us to keep up. He is working on the entire crawling thing. Arms extended, one knee in the proper position, but getting the other leg to work puts him on his face..it doesn't make him happy. But he grabs stuff, he is eating like a champ, he laughs at his daddy, and he is still not sleeping well. His mommy and daddy are payin' for their raisin' as we used to say, because neither one of them slept well as babies either.
After Mr Isaac went to bed, our d-i-l fixed a great dinner and we cracked open a bottle of chardonnay while we just sat and visited. The talk turned to my son's experiences in high school and the events that included him and us. My observation is that he remembers far more fondly than I do the times when we were at odds. From my rest stop on the trail, looking back at that particular trail events, all I see are my mis-steps. Over the years the impact of my poor parenting have grown in their significance. I made all the mistakes and they were deep and eternal from my view. He looks back and doesn't even remember a lot of that time and certainly doesn't view it as a huge deal. In fact, he kind of laughs about the entire deal, he laughs about his own response, he laughs at our reactions, it does not seem to have scarred him nearly as much as it has me.
And I get this from all my kids. They all think their raising was kind of fun. That we laughed a lot, that we had some great memories at the kitchen table. They remember things with great fondness that I have forgotten. They have forgotten the things that I deeply regret. Is it possible that I wasn't quite a bad a parent as I have always believed I was? My personal thought was that my weaknesses were overshadowed with my bride's innate ability to make it all work.
But, as they say, the proof is in the pudding. All my kids are mature, modest, compassionate people. Far more so than I am. They all are in good marriages, they all are raising outstanding grandkids. They all get along. And we all still laugh together. This last observation is possibly the one I am most proud of. We laugh. A lot.
It is about time to pick up the pack and get started again. But suddenly the trail ahead looks a little easier than the one behind. But the trail behind also looks a little more pleasantly remarkable than I remembered it. The straps fit well, the legs feel strong, new trail to be covered.
Godspeed to the travelers. I think we may be better at it than we realized.
Don
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Fight or Flight?
The news this week has been replete with the Tucson shootings, made even more spectacular due to the congresswoman being shot in the melee. The participants have been interviewed over and over again. The doctors have given their non-reports numerous times (whatever happened to the HIPPA provisions?) The talking heads have conjured up all sorts of tertiary angles. And the sad truth is, no one has an answer to the "why" question. It happened and will probably happen again, in another place, another setting, in the not too distant future. And we will be yanked back into the fear and paranoia that accompanies the unexplainable.
So what would you do if you are suddenly caught in the chaos of one of these situations? It seems to me that there are three categories of responses. One, run like the wind (or as close to it as you can, my 56-year-old body just doesn't motor like it used to.) A significant number of the "flight" crowd seem to escape injury and death. They are probably the smart ones, the ones who survive and make the camera appearances. Perhaps it is the historians among us who can run before thinking, they live to tell the tale. I might be one of those, but I suspect that by the time I figure out what is happening the event will be over and I will be one who is either wounded and bleeding on the ground or one of those old curmudgeons who had bullets whipping all around them and never really understood what was going on. Puzzled expression and the immortal words, "what the..."
Then there are the ones who are there with a loved one and their first thought is for them. The story of the guy covering his wife's body, and dying in that brave act of sacrifice, while she was wounded. I would do anything to save my bride, but she will need to be pretty quick on the uptake to clue me in on whats going on.
"What's that annoying popping sound?"
"Gunfire! you idiot!"
"Well, what would anyone be doing shooting a gun around here, that's not safe!"
"Get down you old fool!"
"What?"
We seem to be having some hearing problems these days..my hearing..her exasperation over having to repeat everything she says. Plus my reaction time is now measured in minutes, not seconds, or split-seconds. The only real help I may be would be to provide a much larger target than my bride. These "protectionists" don't seem to fare well in these stories.
Of course we always have the hero's among us. They can be young men, or old women. Recent stories of mature women taking on the heavily armed with nothing more than their purse is a little frightening to me. They even have time to make their escape, yet they turn into the fray. I was astonished at the older lady who grabbed the extra clip the guy was trying to load into his automatic, all the while berating him for his hatred and evil acts. THAT is a true mom, facing danger with the courage of combat veteran and not not losing the opportunity to scold and correct. I am serious here, I am stunned by her courage.
Then there was the young man who was armed and willing to tackle the guy before he could do more damage. His only explanation was that he was raised in the 9/11 generation. They expect stuff like this to happen, they are ready, they will not be caught off-guard. Talk about a generation gap. I have a lot of hope for the future when we have moms and young people who will do what is necessary to stop the insanity.
Here is my point. The world is changing in unimaginable ways. Our world of safe and secure is no longer an option. We will have to decide if we are flighters, fighters, or protectors. And the decision will have to be spur of the moment. It is our nature and mind bent that will determine how we react. But the fact is that our world has changed, and in so doing has changed us.
Godspeed out there, the trail seems a bit narrower, and the wilderness a bit closer in.
Don
So what would you do if you are suddenly caught in the chaos of one of these situations? It seems to me that there are three categories of responses. One, run like the wind (or as close to it as you can, my 56-year-old body just doesn't motor like it used to.) A significant number of the "flight" crowd seem to escape injury and death. They are probably the smart ones, the ones who survive and make the camera appearances. Perhaps it is the historians among us who can run before thinking, they live to tell the tale. I might be one of those, but I suspect that by the time I figure out what is happening the event will be over and I will be one who is either wounded and bleeding on the ground or one of those old curmudgeons who had bullets whipping all around them and never really understood what was going on. Puzzled expression and the immortal words, "what the..."
Then there are the ones who are there with a loved one and their first thought is for them. The story of the guy covering his wife's body, and dying in that brave act of sacrifice, while she was wounded. I would do anything to save my bride, but she will need to be pretty quick on the uptake to clue me in on whats going on.
"What's that annoying popping sound?"
"Gunfire! you idiot!"
"Well, what would anyone be doing shooting a gun around here, that's not safe!"
"Get down you old fool!"
"What?"
We seem to be having some hearing problems these days..my hearing..her exasperation over having to repeat everything she says. Plus my reaction time is now measured in minutes, not seconds, or split-seconds. The only real help I may be would be to provide a much larger target than my bride. These "protectionists" don't seem to fare well in these stories.
Of course we always have the hero's among us. They can be young men, or old women. Recent stories of mature women taking on the heavily armed with nothing more than their purse is a little frightening to me. They even have time to make their escape, yet they turn into the fray. I was astonished at the older lady who grabbed the extra clip the guy was trying to load into his automatic, all the while berating him for his hatred and evil acts. THAT is a true mom, facing danger with the courage of combat veteran and not not losing the opportunity to scold and correct. I am serious here, I am stunned by her courage.
Then there was the young man who was armed and willing to tackle the guy before he could do more damage. His only explanation was that he was raised in the 9/11 generation. They expect stuff like this to happen, they are ready, they will not be caught off-guard. Talk about a generation gap. I have a lot of hope for the future when we have moms and young people who will do what is necessary to stop the insanity.
Here is my point. The world is changing in unimaginable ways. Our world of safe and secure is no longer an option. We will have to decide if we are flighters, fighters, or protectors. And the decision will have to be spur of the moment. It is our nature and mind bent that will determine how we react. But the fact is that our world has changed, and in so doing has changed us.
Godspeed out there, the trail seems a bit narrower, and the wilderness a bit closer in.
Don
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
A Look Ahead
Well the holidays have come and gone. My bride and I managed to stay sick during most of the open time. Fever and chills and mild nausea do not a merry Christmas or New Years make. But we managed to spend time with those most precious to us, hugged on kids, cuddled with grandkids, and visited with friends and extended family. So the holidays were good, I just wish we had felt better.
I am back at Panera's this morning, looking through facebook (a new task) answering emails (an old task) and once again blogging (a never-ending task) So what does the new year bring? It has to be more profitable than this last. I have only been unemployed for an extended time one other time, it is unpleasant for a variety of reasons, but the uncertainty is the biggest fear. However, the wisdom of the spiritual disciplines was affirmed, particularly the discipline of frugality. We managed to make 9 months on savings and a little help from our friends. It is always tempting to question why this is happening, but I have never received a really satisfying answer to the "why" question. My training has turned me more towards the "how" and "what" questions. So even the holidays were a nice respite, it is time to strap on the workboots and get going.
There are a few things I would like to have resolved this year. I don't like our current status of member-at-large" for spiritual home base. The local churches that we have occasioned have deeply disappointed us. But I yearn for a church home, a place where we can settle and be accepted. I'm wondering if a new start with a new group would be better. In the meantime I keep praying for a shift or change where we are, either in my head or the in the structure of the organism itself. We will see.
I would like to see my career status stabilize. I love to work, I love to build and plan, to strategize, to implement. 9 months of trying to find the next place beats down my spirit and makes me paranoid. The other night my bride woke me up as I was struggling with someone who was holding me from behind. I was striking back, she grabbed my arm and finally woke me up enough to end the dream. She was trying to avoid a black eye, I was fighting to break free. The struggle is more emotional than real, but it is none the less a struggle. Plus I hate having no money, it is the pits.
Travel is a part of what I do and I don't know if I miss the travel because of the places I go, or because it means I'm working. But I miss the entire deal, and am a little ashamed to admit it. The people are fascinating, the places are fun to experience, the challenge of getting from one place to another makes me tick. I still don't miss eating alone, but I will make that concession to get the rest of it. I have found that my body gets beat up when I travel a lot, so the discipline of working out becomes even more important.
So here's hoping that the new year brings a stability to the Jolly household. Here's to working.
Godspeed on the journey, occasionally the trail is a little uphill. We put our heads down and place one step in front of another.
Don
I am back at Panera's this morning, looking through facebook (a new task) answering emails (an old task) and once again blogging (a never-ending task) So what does the new year bring? It has to be more profitable than this last. I have only been unemployed for an extended time one other time, it is unpleasant for a variety of reasons, but the uncertainty is the biggest fear. However, the wisdom of the spiritual disciplines was affirmed, particularly the discipline of frugality. We managed to make 9 months on savings and a little help from our friends. It is always tempting to question why this is happening, but I have never received a really satisfying answer to the "why" question. My training has turned me more towards the "how" and "what" questions. So even the holidays were a nice respite, it is time to strap on the workboots and get going.
There are a few things I would like to have resolved this year. I don't like our current status of member-at-large" for spiritual home base. The local churches that we have occasioned have deeply disappointed us. But I yearn for a church home, a place where we can settle and be accepted. I'm wondering if a new start with a new group would be better. In the meantime I keep praying for a shift or change where we are, either in my head or the in the structure of the organism itself. We will see.
I would like to see my career status stabilize. I love to work, I love to build and plan, to strategize, to implement. 9 months of trying to find the next place beats down my spirit and makes me paranoid. The other night my bride woke me up as I was struggling with someone who was holding me from behind. I was striking back, she grabbed my arm and finally woke me up enough to end the dream. She was trying to avoid a black eye, I was fighting to break free. The struggle is more emotional than real, but it is none the less a struggle. Plus I hate having no money, it is the pits.
Travel is a part of what I do and I don't know if I miss the travel because of the places I go, or because it means I'm working. But I miss the entire deal, and am a little ashamed to admit it. The people are fascinating, the places are fun to experience, the challenge of getting from one place to another makes me tick. I still don't miss eating alone, but I will make that concession to get the rest of it. I have found that my body gets beat up when I travel a lot, so the discipline of working out becomes even more important.
So here's hoping that the new year brings a stability to the Jolly household. Here's to working.
Godspeed on the journey, occasionally the trail is a little uphill. We put our heads down and place one step in front of another.
Don
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