Thursday, April 26, 2012

Tough Decisions


I saw on Facebook a couple of days ago a question posed by one of the blog writers:

Would you/do you care for aging parents in your home? Is it ever acceptable to place them in a nursing or retirement home or some other state-run institution?” emphasis mine

This query hits home right now. The verse quoted beneath it was Timothy 5:4 & 8. I've recently seen these verses used erroneously to argue against large families. I read them as meaning that the family provided for its extended family especially if there were no other parents, children, uncles, etc. available for that purpose. I read it as taking in homeless family, providing financial assistance during crisis, and love no matter what the situation. Now it is being used against nursing homes.

I do not ever want to put any of my loved ones into a facility to care for them. I find it hard to leave someone in the hospital alone. (I have extremely good reasons too!) Sometimes you don't have a choice.

Right now my family is faced with a problem. Three months ago, on January 25th, my mother in law was involved in an accident. An 82 year old man did not stop at the stop sign, failed to notice the flashing caution light, and pulled onto a major four lane highway in front of her. He walked away with bruises. She was life flighted to a level one trauma center.

She survived the accident, filled out all the paperwork, answered all their questions. Unfortunately, during surgery to put a rod in her leg and pins in her wrist she experienced a stroke. Two weeks later because of a pharmaceutical mistake by that hospital, she ended up on a ventilator.

Here we are in week 13 of this ordeal. She has spent the last 67 days in a specialty hospital that is a three hour round trip for us weening from the machine breathing for her. She had real success for one week. Once again an infection has forced her back onto the ventilator. Her body does not have the strength to fight a disease and breathe.

The problem is that now insurance considers her stable enough to move. We couldn't get her moved from the level one trauma center when we were desperate to get her out before they could do her permanent damage. All because they were the “better level of care”. Now that we want her to stay in a better level at the specialty hospital, they insist she needs a “lower level of care” because she is “stable”. The insurance has it's own definition of that word. Even the doctor would prefer to keep her because any kind of infection or cold could send her spiraling down. This past week is further proof of that. He has no choice.

We were given the option of a high level nursing/rehab home that accepts patients in her condition or getting trained on the machines and bringing her home.

Yep. There it is. While I have yet to figure out how those two are equal, we have the option of bringing her home. Many facilities won't take her because of the vent needing specialized care but they can train a non medical person to handle it. Really? If people who spend several years and tons of money on medical degrees are hesitant, what in the world are they thinking to hand the job over to a woman who only took CPR when she was eight?

The verses in Timothy say that the children are to care for the parents. Okay. My husband is an only child. He manages our business and is an instructor at the university to support our family of seven. Because my mother in law loves being around people and in order to keep busy, she ran the day to day operations of that 25+ year business. Now our five children and I run the store...every day...open to close. She would require 24/7 care. I would have to stay home. We would have to give up our business or his instructor's position. This would devastate us financially. I don't make that comment lightly. My husband lost his main financially supporting job a year ago which took with it our health insurance and half our income.

So there you have it. The bible states that a child should care for his mother. I agree wholeheartedly. I simply don't know why the quoted verses are used to insist on care at home. Wouldn't the better choice of care be a facility that has trained staff that can work on regular schedules with equipment they have practiced using for years? Isn't that taking care of your parent? How well could a sleep deprived, barely trained mom do? Wouldn't forcing your family into bankruptcy, probably losing your home, and potentially becoming dependents of the state be exactly opposite to taking care of your family?

I watched my mother suffer extreme guilt when she finally placed my grandmother in a home because of Alzheimer's Syndrome. Grandma could not be left alone even for a second. Sitters were expensive. Her mind continued deteriorating to the point of her needing near constant medical care as well. My parents worked full time. My brother lived and worked 3 hours away. I was pregnant and 4 hours away. Grandma's son worked full time 3 hours away. Her other daughter's hands were full with a sick husband and a mentally challenged adult son. I understood without hesitation but that did not ease Mom's conscious. She nearly had a breakdown over the stress.

I don't write this as some kind of justification of my position. I do believe that some people will judge us harshly. Others who have been in similar situations won't. My hope is that perhaps someone who feels the extreme guilt that can accompany these decisions, who has had this verse thrown in their faces, will read this and know that God has provided a place for people to receive care like their loved one needs. God will provide a place where my mother in law can receive the care she needs. My husband, children, and I will visit as often as we can, as we have since this ordeal began.

Friday, November 18, 2011

I Will Enjoy Thanksgiving



Thanksgiving is just a week away. On Facebook, several of my friends are posting an item a day for which they are thankful. Friends are posting about Christmas shopping. Stores are having sales on turkeys and all the fixings that go along with them. Everywhere is fun and excitement and eager anticipation.

I am not. This time of year has been difficult for me for years. Thanksgiving of the year 1998, found me feeding my 23 year old husband a small amount of turkey and the mushier side items while he reclined in our bed. He tried several times to spoon food up to his mouth but each time the utensil would fall away losing its load. I sat beside him. I took the spoon. I asked what he wanted first. He told me the name of one food. My memory refuses to allow me to recall which. I scooped it up. He said no. He wanted that one. I tried again. After three attempts to give him the item he kept requesting, I asked him to point. He had confused the names. The item he requested was on the other side of the plate. 

My prayers became simple. I only wanted God to help him through the holidays. I did not believe his grandmother could deal with his dying so close to Christmas.

Hilarious things happened during that holiday. Cooking mishaps, literal cat and mouse chases in the living room, all like any other family get together. My husband pulled his aunt and grandmother to the side and gave them very specific instructions. He wanted to get me one last present and it had to be perfect.

That year I got kid style footed pajamas. I don't know where they managed to locate the tweety bird pjs but they were exactly like the ones he and I had joked about before. I could not figure out why no one made the sleeper style footed pajamas for adults when they looked so practical. I always got annoyed at having to find my slippers or sliding around in my socks. Those were perfect.

I admit shock when I opened my present. I could not figure out how anyone would know I wanted them. That was when his aunt told me about their conversation. Our marriage had had more than it's fair share of issues. I knew this perfect present was his way of saying he was sorry and after all we'd been through that he loved me.

He died 21 days after Christmas on January 15th 1999. He made it through the holidays with a few days to spare.

The holidays are hard for me. I have had many wonderful memories made in the 12 years since. The next Christmas I was remarried and pregnant. The next our first son watched in awe the lights and paper and fun. The next gave us a second son that cooed amongst the presents. The next another pregnancy. The next our first daughter. The next a fourth pregnancy. The next a miracle boy who had to fight to breathe his first week of life. Two Christmases after that welcomed our final child just 9 days prior. I've had more good memories than bad over the years but each season I fight tears as my memories of 1998 entered my thoughts.

Today is such a day. I am supposed to have the “day off” as my dear husband takes the kids on an adventure giving me time to enjoy a cup of coffee and paint the master bathroom. I enjoy the projects in our fixer upper house but many things need to not be assisted by smaller children. I plan those things on my day off and try to toss in a trip to the local coffee house or some reading time.

I called him to ask if I would be intruding on any special plans if I accompanied them today. I don't want to be alone. This year's holiday season comes with the knowledge that my mother has the same disease that took Andy all those years ago. While I comprehend that the situation is different because her immune system is not compromised the way his was, it has still hit me hard. She can be and will be treated and overcome it. I know this but it still doesn't stop the ache in my heart or the tears welling in my eyes. It doesn't stop the urge to curl into a ball and stay there. So I will go with my family on an adventure. I will spend time with the blessings God has given me. I will give thanks for the time I had with Andy and the life I have had.

Today, I will enjoy Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Seasons



The shadow caught my eye. It was just a small shadow gracefully drifting across the green of the grass. No specific rhyme or reason. I never broke stride as I continued my walk although my imagination blazed. A bird? Drift to left. Which birds were still around? Drift right. Maybe one of the hawks has spotted something I haven't seen? I laughed when the yellow-brown glider enter the top of my view. I watched as it settled to the ground. A flash of dull color in a sea of green. Just a leaf.

A maple leaf destined to drop from it's tree home as autumn swirled around. The tree was going to sleep to await warmer weather and to survive the next season's cold. Seasons. Times of newness and excitement. Times of warmth and growth. Times of harvest and preparation. Times of loneliness and waiting.

God knows when we are entering winter. His divine imagination programed even the trees to prepare in order to thrive again. Preparation isn't always easy. Things sometimes fall away. Things sometimes sleep. Things sometimes die.

That leaf drifted down to me. Earth's time of sleep is just beginning. My winter is finally starting to come to a close. I've waited long. I've battled the loneliness of the cold months. The snow is melting. The harsh winds have stopped their howling. The hope for green and color of spring is growing, warming.

I didn't feel well prepared for such a long season. There were so many times I just knew I would crumble beneath the snow and ice. But my roots are strong, growing in good soil. Even as I pulled into myself, the nutrients I drew in were rich and plentiful.

A branch far too long and large, pulling me over, my pride fell away. Anger dying, cracking and falling piece by piece. The hurt clinging to me as dead leaves unwilling to release finally pulled away in the warmer breezes. Love warming my core. Joy stretching it's way through my branches.

The world around me slows to winter. I race toward spring.

Friday, October 28, 2011

A Mom's Body

During my twelve years of marriage I have become mom five times. Each pregnancy came with weight gain and loss. 

I've not really thought much about my body until recently. My youngest turns 3 this December. I didn't intend to start a diet but I began to lose weight anyway because we've had many changes to our lifestyle over the last while. I decided now was as good a time as any to get rid of the “baby fat”. 

I started paying attention to what I ate and started walking. A few weeks ago I hit my target clothing size. I can claim a good weight for my height. I meet all the typical healthy numbers.

Then I look in the mirror. My belly has stretch marks and has long passed the idea of taunt and flat. Evidence abounds that I chose breastfeeding over bottles for each of my babies. My legs have varicose veins in spider web patterns. My hips are curved with marks of their own. I have a mom's body.

As I was preparing to take my children to the beach, I complained that wearing a swimsuit would be better if I didn't have “mom legs”.


The next thought came with a laugh. If I didn't have mom legs I wouldn't be going to the beach.

The whole trip was planned because my youngest three want to fly kites. They had tried to do so in our backyard to no avail despite the autumn winds. What better place to fly kites than the beach?
 
Practically, every year during my childhood my family would go to Jekyll Island for several days. I remember noticing my mom did not look like the models in the swimsuit catalogs. Of course not, she was Mom. She was beautiful. She didn't have to be one of those too thin models.

I studied myself a bit more in the mirror. I have 5 beautiful children. Children who drive me and each other crazy some days. They are loud and quiet. They are polite and rude. They are boys and girls full of love and deeply loved.
I may now weigh what I did long before I had children. I may wear the same size clothes as I did when a teen. But my body is a radically different entity.

I am proud of my weight loss. I am pleased with my progress with exercise. Most of all I am overwhelmingly joyful that my body is radically different. 
 
I was told long ago I should never have a baby because I would not survive to see it born. Now my body exhibits the badges of pregnancy all over. 
 
I will don my swimsuit knowing the privilege God has granted me and take my children to the beach. God gave me a mom's body, now it's time I give my children some fun memories of a woman who doesn't look like those pencil thin models playing with them on the beach.



Friday, September 30, 2011

Just Call Me...


Twice recently I was involved in a conversation concerning Christianity.  I guess that should really happen more often if I am doing my “job” but this was more specific than the walking the walk I aspire to daily.  It was more definition style.

I have adopted a new term for myself.  Having grown up Primitive Baptist and now attending Methodist with practically all others in between, I will not use a denominational term.  I prefer the term Christian Hedonist.

John Piper wrote an entire book on this description called Desiring God some 20+ years ago.  I believe he coined the term as a way to describe Christianity that won't conform to a church's specific ideology but tries to mirror that of Jesus and the saints as related in the Bible.  He explains it so well that my attempts seem quite pathetic.  It was published around the time I decided God wouldn’t take someone as unable to carry the burden of regulations as I.  Too bad no one gave me a copy. 

When I realized Jesus died for me and I wanted to live for him, I was filled with an amazing joy.  I was loved that much?  Really?  How could that even be a little bit possible?  I was clumsy, made mistakes, in some ways even considered myself broken.  I saw him holding his arms open to me to envelop me.  He saw past my faults real and perceived, and saw me.

Then I was given the list of dos and don’ts.  A ream of obligations sat on my very young lap.  Added on top of the responsibilities I already had, the very ones I could not quite complete.  I buckled.  I couldn’t dress right let alone follow the rest!  I wanted the love and joy I’d felt not the disapproving looks I received. 

My childhood from many perspectives was quite ideal.  I honestly have no real complaints.  Good parents, involved grandparents, a small town of folks who actually looked out for one another.  Nothing in this world is perfect but it was a mostly wonderful childhood.  I was a very sensitive child.  I have always had the ability to pick up on what others were feeling sometimes before they themselves knew.  I’ve always felt my own emotions passionately.  Outwardly, no one had a clue.  I’ve always played it close to the vest.  Even people who delivered emotional sucker punches would rarely get a hint they’d hurt me.  Only my writings understood how my heart would shatter.

I could only take so much rejection, no matter how subtle, before I was forced to protect myself from the “religion” I had accepted.  God may have been the Creator but apparently he was also an absentee father.  It was more than a dozen years before I realized it was the people and their created rules of propriety that were killing my relationship with my Savior.  Jesus knew my heart.  He knew my wounds.  He only wanted to carry my burdens with me and love me and have me love Him.

I ran away.  I went from one bad choice to another.  Got myself into situations I really couldn’t escape.  In those situations, I learned that the hole in my heart would never be filled by anything on this Earth.  I could numb it.  I could forget it and myself for short periods.  I simply could not live with it.  The temporary fixes were going to end up killing me. 

Music is how I was reached.  I heard songs about relationship not regulations.  Love not lists.  The music and the words reached past the walls I had erected.  I began to read the Bible verses the songs were based upon.  Psalms is packed to explosion with calls to joy.  Joy is not accomplished by those other things.  Even when King David was at death’s door in sorrow, he wrote of the joy he had in God. 

That was it!  That was what I’d felt all that time before!  I was unable to put in to words for anyone who may have asked but I began to actively seek the things that would bring me joy.  Something I’m sure the regulations would have deemed egotistical.  Joy is not something anything on this planet can offer without Christ.  I volunteer at church, not because I am supposed to but because I enjoy it.  I give to charity because it is pleasurable. I ignore the regulations anyone tries to place on me no matter how small.  I wear jeans and t-shirts to church.  The only obligation I have is to love God with all my heart, with all my soul, and with all my strength and my neighbor as myself.  Guess what?  That makes me joyful.  I don’t feel weighed down by the command to love others.  I feel freedom and peace.  I find joy in doing what God wants me to do.  I will not allow the regulations to tie boulders to my soul to drag it away from Him.

My pastor has done a series on worship the last few weeks based on Psalm 95, rejoicing (v1-5) leading to reverence (v6-7a) resulting in response (v7b-11).  He said one of the things that seemed to keep coming to mind was that if God’s greatness is the basis of our joy then our joy is the evidence of God’s greatness.  That He is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.

I have forgiven those who wronged me although memories can still have the pain attached.  I have managed to mostly forgive myself which can be a much harder, longer process.  The regrets I’d once replayed in my mind wanting a way to change them are becoming lessons to be understood.  I seek joy in all I do because I seek God’s will.  I wish I could claim that I had it down and no longer made the same mistakes.  I still lose focus and end up depressed trying to “fix” my problems on my own.  But understanding that there is a goal and that it is attainable means that I can keep working towards it.  I repent.  I pray.  And, being human, I too often repeat. 

Jesus prayed until sweat poured like drops of blood because he understood what he was supposed to do.  It was not going to be a happy experience.  He had to focus on the joy beyond and cling to it.  The joy of reuniting creation to the Creator through his sacrifice.  Praise God he did or this would all be a moot point.  Sometimes I am not going to be happy go lucky, but that isn’t joy.  If I can retain my focus though, the joy will be there and will be fully experienced.  Jesus is my treasure.  My Savior is my joy. 

May God bless you and keep you until we meet again.

Friday, September 23, 2011

So, How Was Your Day?


So, how was your day?  Mine got a bit interesting.  My mom and aunt would say entertaining.

It started as any other.  I woke up on time.  Got in 5 laps on my walk.  Then did my usual lose-track-of-time thing putting me in a rush to get ready for my husband to pick up our 3 youngest and me.  We were heading to the university bookstore's grand opening.  Our girls want to be cheerleaders for Halloween.  What better costumes than the ones to cheer on the Wolves?

The balloon guy walked up to Princess as we walked past and offered balloons.

I quickly said, "No thank you.  I'm allergic."

He rescinded the balloons and I turned to continue walking.  Before I took two steps he handed 2 bunches of balloons to the 5 year old and the 2 year old.  The two small children that were following behind the big sister and mom.

"Oops.  Didn't realize they were with you."  And the dude vanished, almost literally, into the store.  In his defense, my look may have said murder or at least severe pain.

The two youngest don't really comprehend the allergy issue.  I found out the hard way what reaction I have to latex.  I had to wear gloves day after day and watch as my skin up to my elbows dried, cracked, swelled, and bled on top of the dreadful itching I wouldn’t scratch.  It took nearly four months to heal when I could finally stay away from the stuff. 

Dear hubby caught up and tried to coax the balloons away.  You know daddies and little girls... Gorgeous won with the agreement to release them later.  Even the Princess ended up with a bunch after all.

I spent the next hour, dodging my lovely children as we shopped for the outfits and some things for my upcoming birthday.  Then we walked back to the van where we were supposed to release the pet balloons. 

We had given the Warrior a little too long to ponder this.  "Can we tie them to the outside of the van?"

Hubby and I actually thought that might be a good idea.  The kids would tie them and they would blow away as we drove.  No problem.

We arrived at our business with the balloons still happily bouncing against the van.

We weren't there an hour when I felt a migraine starting.  I didn't have my medicine so I left to go home for it.  On my way, I realized I was clawing my arms.  Argh!  Being inside the bookstore with their balloons, then in our store with them was more than enough to set off a reaction. 

I called dear Daddy and told him I would be taking a shower before I returned and to please have the balloons gone.  He did.  My mother and aunt were laughing out loud as I told them the story.  They love my ingenious children. 

Well, that was my day.  How was yours?

Carousels


We met a homeschool playgroup at a park this week.  The park had an angular momentum carousel.   

Yea, I didn’t know what that was either.  It is like any other kid powered carousel at a park except no one has to push it around.  A child steps up, steps in, and is on his way to Dizzyville.

My husband watched as the children would jump on and one would race around it to get it started or the ones on it would use their feet to push it.  After a while they moved on to another piece of equipment and he chose to inspect it.  Then he called me over.

“This is an angular momentum carousel!” 

I stared at him wondering what the excitement was about.

“Watch.  You don’t have to push it.”



He stepped up on the side.  It remained still.  He quickly stepped into the center and it began to spin.  He stepped back out to the edge and it stopped.  The carousel wanted to spin, it just needed the weight in the center.

I tried it.  Up.  In.  Spin. 

At first I thought I had made a serious mistake.  I was instantly dizzy and soon forced to close my eyes.  As I was praying not to fall, I realized I could shift my weight slightly and affect the speed of the spin.  Leaning out affected the speed.  The chaotic zipping around was controllable.

Life is like that angular momentum carousel.  It wants to spin.  Life wants to be lived fully.  From the outside it looks so chaotic, dizzying, even scary. 

Maybe, you think, maybe standing on the edge is the better choice.

Life gets messy.  Relationships get complicated.  Loved ones leave.  Everything can just seem so hard to handle.

But you can’t stand on the edge.  There’s no movement there.  No life.  No love.  No dizzying moments that take your breath away in awe.  The butterfly soft feeling of the first time you feel an unborn child move.  The first kiss of that special someone.  The sun’s flagrant display of color as it nears the horizon.

Step in.  Your choices are your shifting weight.  Small shifts, big shifts, in between shifts all affect the spin.

Chaos will sometimes seem to overwhelm but remember you can control your choices.  Close your eyes.  Pray.  Shift your weight with deliberate, patient moves.  Look for the moments that make it all worthwhile.

Enjoy the carousel.