To Kegel, or not to Kegel?

I was totally going to start this post with some kind of reflection or explanation for my lack of blogging these past two months — something funny and clever about my failure to keep a non-resolution resolution just a few days after the new year.

YawnThen I was like, *yawn.* People reading this are mostly parents too, who know all about work and bills and kids and illnesses and clutter and injuries and errands and conferences and all the blahbidy blahs that come with life. I don’t have to write about that today.

Nope, today I’m going to blog about the one thing that concerns Moms everywhere — incontinence.

I mean, we’re still in the cough and cold season. Which makes for a lot of knee crossing.

I gave birth to four good-sized babies in five years. And, with all due respect to Dr. Kegel, that’s a whole lot of stretching out. Given that I’m not made of elastic, well, let’s just say it’s not all snapped back yet.

This is all on my mind today because, in the middle of de-cluttering my computer files, I came across this bit of writing from the end of January, when I was still in the throes of an awful, lingering, hacking-up-my-lungs cold:

Note to Dr. Kegel:

Your “exercises” are a BIG FREAKIN SCAM.

You go ahead and push out multiple kids from your girl parts and see how well those parts rebound even after YEARS of doing all those squeezes (and yes, I mean doing those exercises watermelonwith all the peace and serenity and focus and commitment of the good and powerful mom who did that birthing and the pushing with complete joy and purpose and without any medication at all, which is to say all the joyous and blessed pain that comes with squeezing a watermelon out of your vagina).

Dr. Kegel, after all that pushing and tearing and widening and re-sizing, YOU sneeze without crossing your legs and see what happens. YOU get bronchitis and then you’ll know what constant coughing and mucous-expelling and re-applying sanitary napkins have in common.

YOU get yourself a female pelvic floor, and then we’ll talk.


Mothers everywhere

So, what say you, ladies? To Kegel, or not to Kegel?

When life gets twisty…

I am almost failing my post-a-day goal! But today was a crazy one. It went something like this:

Child mentions physical concern.sick kid

Parent schedules doctor’s appointment for later in the day.

Doctor confirms concern, sends parent and child to hospital for further testing.

Parent and child go to hospital and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And get awaited-for test.

Results are positive, less extreme than feared. Medicine and follow-ups prescribed.

Parent and child return home after six hours at various medical facilities, for a quick dinner, hefty doses of intense medicine, and bed.

Waiting parent consumes wine and gives thanks for positive diagnosis, which didn’t included the very much feared surgery, or worse, the unspoken but consuming fear of a suspicion of malignancy.

Child is sleeping. Parents are fed and relaxing. Thanks are being raised for this moment, when all is well and the future is hopeful.

And an extra prayer is being sent that the doctors are right.



Please, that they got it right this time.


The pressure of January 1st

I’m very glad January 1st is almost over. It’s a lot of pressure, this one little day out of so many, pressure to make resolutions and plan life changes and carpe diem and all that stuff.


I don’t like to make resolutions any more. I used to — I’m a huge fan of lists, and crafting a Things To Do or Accomplish in the New Year List used to make me happy. But then I’d always get to December and realize that I hardly did any of the things on my list, and the failure make me depressed. I mean, what’s the point of making a list if you can’t check things off? So I stopped making the darned list.

Lately, what I do, ’round about this time of the year, is think about how I’m going to live better. Just little things. Remember that I don’t need to save all the vegetables for the kids — I need them too. Get some more fresh air. Stretch. Laugh. Possibly come up with a system of organization that once and for all relieves me of all the clutter.

My sister, who’s a health coach and possibly the biggest cheerleader anyone could ask for, recently wrote about New Year’s and talked about the idea of “do overs”:

I like to think of the new year as a do-over! Did something you tried not go so well?  What if you yelled “do over” like we did when we were kids and tried again?  What would your life be like if you gave yourself permission to let go of your disappointment and try again?  Why don’t you take this year to find out?

Isn’t that a great way to look at it?

This year I’d like a do-over. To try every day to just be a slightly better version of the last-year me.

I’m also going to challenge myself to blog more. My cousin did a great project last year — a picture that captured a moment of inspiration or beauty or challenge — and she posted one a day. I’d love to try that, but, frankly, I don’t go to that many places which would make for a boring 365 pictures. But could I do a blog post a day? Hmm….perhaps.

The other thing I’d like to accomplish is to finish my novel’s revisions and start submitting it — AND work on a new one.

That’s it. Humble goals. Live better. More vegetables. Fresh air. Stretch. Laugh. Write more. *

Happy New Year!

*Notice that none of this mentions my husband or children. That’s just because, really, a better me is good for them, too. It’s an all-around win!

A Stanley Cup for the Bruins — but we’re celebrating another victory.

Today, thousands of hockey fans are celebrating the victory of the Boston Bruins over the Vancouver Canucks to win their first Stanley Cup in nearly forty years. There will be parties and parades and champagne and beer and music and applause and speeches and smiles.  Today, Boston hockey fans celebrate a huge victory.

Here, in my world, we are also celebrating a victory.  We won’t have parades or beer or speeches, and while there is always music and a whole lot of smiling, we aren’t doing anythingspecial.  In fact, it might be that no one in my family but me is thinking about this milestone — surviving the first year of life with diabetes.

Last June, Mitzi was recovering from her week-long hospital stay,  and we were all adjusting to the news that our world had changed forever.

It’s funny.  It occurs to me that I haven’t really written anything about what it’s been like the past year.  I thought it, writing about our new normal, from time to time, but never did.  Perhaps it was because I didn’t want to be a writer who could only write about her child’s illness.  Perhaps it was because my child and her illness was pretty much all I thought about every day — whether in the front or back of my mind, it was always there.  And because of that, when I sat down at the computer, perhaps writing was my escape.

Perhaps I was just grieving.

All parents have hopes and expectations for their children — I don’t mean the dreams-of-Harvard-or-sports-star variety, necessarily.  We hope that they will be happy and healthy, and survive adolescence relatively unscathed, and become happy, healthy, honorable adults.  Stuff like that.  And when you are suddenly informed that your child has an illness or a disability, your world shifts.  Your future shifts.  And you must shift with it.  For parents — unlike kids, who adjust far more quickly — that means grieving and letting go of whatever expectations you had.

We make new ones, of course, and certainly a diagnosis of diabetes is not as severe or shocking as another diagnosis would have been.  But life has changed.  My child will face challenges every day that before simply did not exist.  And as the parent, I have to not only deal with the challenges with my child, I have to help her learn to deal with them on her own, too.

So, the first the shock, then the grief over the loss of a future you expected.  And all of Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief likely follow:  the anger, denial, depression.  I think that this is where my mind has been, even though you wouldn’t have seen it, to look at me and talk with me and watch me do my motherly thing to keep my kid healthy and be an equally good mom to the other kids as well.

But, yes, I have been angry — at God, the universe, the injustice, no one in particular.  Angry because there’s actually no one to blame, and for crying out loud, if I could find someone to blame, I could find a solution (or at least something to punch).  Angry with that feeling of helplessness, my inability to change anything, which is just about the darkest pit a parent can visit.  Angry that I had to visit that dark pit of helplessness and still find a way to smile and love and be a good mom and wife.

Angry?  Yup.  Not always, but sure, sometimes it spurted out of me at odd moments, for no obvious reason.  Denial?  Well, it’s kind of hard to deny the obvious, especially when you have to constantly watch what your kid eats and give her a bunch of shots every day.  But maybe denial in the form of not really talking about much, and by not talking about it much, maybe denying that it was basically the focus of our family.

Depression?  Sure.  Living with the diagnosis is exhausting.  Thinking about it all the time is exhausting.  Riding the roller coaster of blood sugar levels — the way they change swiftly, unpredictably, shockingly — is exhausting.  Some days I was just.  So.  Tired.  Sleep was good.  Awake was bad.  Depression?  Yes, some.  Not every day, not all the time, but it was there.

And here we are today, a year later.  Acceptance?  I suppose.  I’m not angry any more — okay, I have my moments of frustration, particularly over the last month since Mitzi started her insulin pump, which was a new learning curve, almost like starting over.  But I’ve accepted life as it is.  I’m still exhausted.  I still get sad that Mitzi has to call me from school to see if she can have a cookie for a friend’s birthday, sad that the school nurse emails me throughout the day with blood sugar numbers, sad that the diabetes adds an annoying complication to my daughter’s childhood, just as she is starting to knock on the door of puberty (behind which is a whole host of new and foreign complications, also known as The Teen Years).

Sometimes I just wish that she could be like every other kid, footloose and fancy free.

And in a way, she is.  Over the past year, Mitzi has at times been annoyed, frustrated, angry, sad, and just moody about having diabetes — but mostly she is just the same smiling, ultra-creative, independent, first-born-bossy, mega-Harry Potter-fan self.  Having diabetes is just another part of her, like her freckles and big feet and great blue eyes.

She recently told me that it was hard for her to remember what it was like Before.

That’s really what matters, of course.  The time of Before has pretty much ceased to exist for Mitzi, who is young enough, resilient enough, to only know how to live in the Now.  Her aspirations and dreams remain what they are — there is nothing she cannot do! — and will continue to grow with her.  For her, there is no grief, only hope.  And that helps me leave the grief behind and find acceptance.

So today I celebrate this milestone, quietly, to myself, because it’s a good one.  We survived.  We got to the other side where our future is spread before us.

It’s not a bad view, at all.