How is it possible that if you ask me about my week, I'd say it flew by, but the two week wait seems unbearably slow and arduous?!
I'm thinking about babies non-stop. It's a total baby stream of consciousness. I'm even dreaming about babies. Call it baby OCD.
My dear husband, who knows my tendencies toward obsession and indecision, said to me tonight at dinner, "Why don't we pick a day to take a pregnancy test so we (read: YOU) don't stress (read: OBSESS) about it? Then we can stick to the date and feel okay about it."
Pretty good idea. I've already thought about it like 58 times in the past three days. And I waffle, of course, between just a little bit early (day 26 or 27) and waiting until day 29 (when Aunt Flow is expected).
So I told Ben that I already picked a day, day 29, and we could plan on that. It made the most sense because that is when the doctors recommend.
Good. Done.
About five minutes later, I said "But I can always take one early if I change my mind."
And he laughed. Sweet husband.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
like a middle school dance, in a strange way
As of 10:30 this morning, 416 million swimmers are making their way toward the most beautiful girl at the dance. Only it's like a middle school dance because she happens to be way bigger (and probably more mature) than any of them. She's made it pretty hard for them to ever get up the courage to walk on over and ask for a dance. Many of them will try, but few will ever succeed.
I only hope that at least one of them gets to tango with her.
Let the two week wait begin!
I only hope that at least one of them gets to tango with her.
Let the two week wait begin!
Sunday, April 23, 2006
1.9 cm and counting
You'd think that if I could wait for over a year to get pregnant, I could wait a few days for my follicles to mature. So why am I so impatient?
laying our weapons down
Our church started a Katrina response project a few months back. Over the last two weeks, we sent over 300 people to Macomb, Mississippi to build houses for those displaced by the storms. On Saturday I sat listening, covered in goosebumps, while some of the workers shared their stories.
The most powerful stories emphasized the racial reconciliation that is beginning to happen in this little town in Mississippi--because a bunch of "white folk" from California decided to get involved in the lives of some displaced black folk.
A local preacher, probably in his 60s, shared with the group that he remembered the riots and fires of the 1960s, a time when race wars were at their worst in the South. He decided long ago that it would be impossible for whites and blacks to get along in the small Southern towns like Macomb. He had seen the worst possible treatment of his people and his culture that he felt he needed to fight. He used the metaphor of picking up his weapons, fighting and fighting for decades against the mistreatment of his brothers and sisters.
When the nice white folk from CA came to town, looking for ways to help out, he thought to himself "well, here's another group of whites promising something they'll never deliver." Imagine his surprise when we showed up with over 300 volunteers. He grew teary and emotional at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, sharing with his new friends that as of that day, he was laying his weapons down. He was giving up on fighting. He shared his willingness to embrace what he had been resisting for years, because he had seen the power of the Holy Spirit to bring reconciliation where it was so desperately needed.
I think I'll never quite understand the intense battle that my black brothers and sisters have endured for hundreds of years. I'll never grasp the pain and hurt and abuse inflicted by those who share my skin tone, my European roots.
But I can certainly relate to his metaphor. Don't we all need to lay our weapons down? To let go of the struggles inside, the battles we fight with our hearts and our intellect and our hands? To forgive those who have wronged us and embrace them with open arms? To start making a difference today, this minute, dedicating ourselves to being more open, less closed off, more available to others? To imagine a life characterized by love and acceptance?
On a Wednesday night a large group of our church volunteers attended a mid-week church service. They sat in the small clapboard church, interspersed among the local members. Looking out from the pulpit, the black preacher became moved to tears. He shared with the congregation that for his entire life as a pastor, he'd prayed for the chance to preach to an integrated group, prayed for the time when he would see blacks and whites worshiping together in his church. And that night, for one man, a prayer was answered.
The weapons were laid down. Hearts were opened. Lives changed. Oh, it is so rich.
The most powerful stories emphasized the racial reconciliation that is beginning to happen in this little town in Mississippi--because a bunch of "white folk" from California decided to get involved in the lives of some displaced black folk.
A local preacher, probably in his 60s, shared with the group that he remembered the riots and fires of the 1960s, a time when race wars were at their worst in the South. He decided long ago that it would be impossible for whites and blacks to get along in the small Southern towns like Macomb. He had seen the worst possible treatment of his people and his culture that he felt he needed to fight. He used the metaphor of picking up his weapons, fighting and fighting for decades against the mistreatment of his brothers and sisters.
When the nice white folk from CA came to town, looking for ways to help out, he thought to himself "well, here's another group of whites promising something they'll never deliver." Imagine his surprise when we showed up with over 300 volunteers. He grew teary and emotional at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, sharing with his new friends that as of that day, he was laying his weapons down. He was giving up on fighting. He shared his willingness to embrace what he had been resisting for years, because he had seen the power of the Holy Spirit to bring reconciliation where it was so desperately needed.
I think I'll never quite understand the intense battle that my black brothers and sisters have endured for hundreds of years. I'll never grasp the pain and hurt and abuse inflicted by those who share my skin tone, my European roots.
But I can certainly relate to his metaphor. Don't we all need to lay our weapons down? To let go of the struggles inside, the battles we fight with our hearts and our intellect and our hands? To forgive those who have wronged us and embrace them with open arms? To start making a difference today, this minute, dedicating ourselves to being more open, less closed off, more available to others? To imagine a life characterized by love and acceptance?
On a Wednesday night a large group of our church volunteers attended a mid-week church service. They sat in the small clapboard church, interspersed among the local members. Looking out from the pulpit, the black preacher became moved to tears. He shared with the congregation that for his entire life as a pastor, he'd prayed for the chance to preach to an integrated group, prayed for the time when he would see blacks and whites worshiping together in his church. And that night, for one man, a prayer was answered.
The weapons were laid down. Hearts were opened. Lives changed. Oh, it is so rich.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
this is precisely why I didn't want double coverage
I really shouldn't complain.
Double insurance coverage is twice as much as many people have. But it is truly a pain in my backside.
In August of last year, my gastroenterolgist ordered a bunch of tests, everything from blood work to an endoscopy to a colonoscopy. Being the good patient that I am, I fulfilled all his requests, had all the tests done, only to be stuck with a lot of bills. A lot.
Unfortunately, the labs in this area don't bill secondary insurance. So any time I have work done I have to call them up afterwards, ask for a copy of the report, and wait for them to send it to me. I've been calling at least once a month since August trying to get this matter straightened out. Not that I can't afford to pay what's left of the bill after primary. But it's a matter of principle. We have double coverage; why should I pay more money than I have to?
Well, I had to call like, 3 times this month in order to get the lab to send ME a copy of MY record so I could send it MYSELF to the secondary insurance company. Supposedly they faxed it like 3 times, but guess what? It never got there. I also asked them to make a note on the account that due to THEIR mistakes, the bill was still pending (not outstanding).
Finally, on Saturday, I got a copy of the record. But I also got a notice from a collection agency with my past due amount for the work done in August. I called the lab. "Oops." They messed up. But there's no way to get it back now.
Arrgh.
Double insurance coverage is twice as much as many people have. But it is truly a pain in my backside.
In August of last year, my gastroenterolgist ordered a bunch of tests, everything from blood work to an endoscopy to a colonoscopy. Being the good patient that I am, I fulfilled all his requests, had all the tests done, only to be stuck with a lot of bills. A lot.
Unfortunately, the labs in this area don't bill secondary insurance. So any time I have work done I have to call them up afterwards, ask for a copy of the report, and wait for them to send it to me. I've been calling at least once a month since August trying to get this matter straightened out. Not that I can't afford to pay what's left of the bill after primary. But it's a matter of principle. We have double coverage; why should I pay more money than I have to?
Well, I had to call like, 3 times this month in order to get the lab to send ME a copy of MY record so I could send it MYSELF to the secondary insurance company. Supposedly they faxed it like 3 times, but guess what? It never got there. I also asked them to make a note on the account that due to THEIR mistakes, the bill was still pending (not outstanding).
Finally, on Saturday, I got a copy of the record. But I also got a notice from a collection agency with my past due amount for the work done in August. I called the lab. "Oops." They messed up. But there's no way to get it back now.
Arrgh.
untitled
searching but not finding
seeking but not knowing
did my feelings deceive me?
how I long for a word, a whisper, a touch...
to dip even a toe in the Spirit's burning fire
I want to be ignited, emblazoned, impassioned
not to linger here in the desert, waiting for the fulfillment of a promise
a spirit of complacency to be shaken
one of rebellion to be left behind
grumbling no more
but dancing into the glory of a child fully alive
wholly trusting
always hoping
grateful again
to feel in my fingers, my heart, my core
the warmth of your presence
the love of your Son
life renewed
Joshua 21:45
Not one word failed from all the good words God spoke to the house of Israel. Everything came out right.
seeking but not knowing
did my feelings deceive me?
how I long for a word, a whisper, a touch...
to dip even a toe in the Spirit's burning fire
I want to be ignited, emblazoned, impassioned
not to linger here in the desert, waiting for the fulfillment of a promise
a spirit of complacency to be shaken
one of rebellion to be left behind
grumbling no more
but dancing into the glory of a child fully alive
wholly trusting
always hoping
grateful again
to feel in my fingers, my heart, my core
the warmth of your presence
the love of your Son
life renewed
Joshua 21:45
Not one word failed from all the good words God spoke to the house of Israel. Everything came out right.
Friday, April 14, 2006
a few good educators
This morning I went to a site meeting at one of my schools, where I met with the Principal, one of my (3) supervisors and a co-therapist who also works at the school. In the course of 30 minutes, the principal had me moved to tears at least 3 times.
The woman is so incredibly in love with and passionate about her job. She puts in looooong hours at the school, mind you, but she is so refreshingly optimistic and caring and full of compassion. It is no wonder that the kids in her continuation school are doing amazingly well.
The way it works is that the kids at the big school (4200 students) who get in gang fights, get pregnant, flunk out, or altogether mess up get sent to this school, with continuation and independent study programs (355 students). It's a brand-new school this year, with a staff that is over 50% new. The principal, however, has been in the business for years. And it shows--in all the good ways, I mean.
She brought in one student who last year was at the big school--getting in fights, hanging out with a rough crowd, failing school. Two nights ago she was given a college scholarship at a major district awards ceremony. The principal, with the student in the room, acknowledged that she was messing up pretty bad last year, but that she is "brilliant" and "going places" and "the star of the school" for being the only student from her school to receive a scholarship.
Then she told us the story (I'd heard it before, but it still made me tear up) about Halloween this year. There was a scheduled costume contest at lunchtime in the gym. No students really dressed up, but when the teen moms walked their babies down from the on-site daycare, all the students (300+ that day) started clapping and cheering and applauding. All the awards quickly changed from "best student costume" to "best baby costume" and "cutest baby costume" and "most original baby costume." She remarked how at the other school, a lot of these girls had been called bad names, ridiculed for being teen moms, or just treated badly. But at her school, these kids were accepted and supported.
And another kid who kept messing up, she told him he lost his privilege to be there at lunch. Every day a teacher or administrator escorted him off campus before the start of lunch. He came to the principal, at first saying, "you guys all are on my case." Soon it changed to, "you all know my name but you know I'm not supposed to be here," and then, "If I can show you all that I'm improving, will you let me stay at lunch?" For this kid, once he learned that the staff was going to be consistent with him, his guard went down and he allowed them to love him back to campus. He improved his behavior and is back on campus at lunch, rubbing elbows with the staff who once shooed him away.
The principal kept talking about how the students feel so loved and supported by their teachers, and I know in my heart it is because she is at the top of the chain. She loves and supports and encourages these students unlike any educator I've ever seen. She know them by name. She throws her arm around big, tough kids with a side-hug. She sets students up with health services and college information and drug treatment and counseling. And she never judges. She sees each kid for the potential they have within.
Just what I needed to finish up my week. Somebody else who cares so much about these kids she still chokes up when talking about how easy it is for them to change with a little love.
The woman is so incredibly in love with and passionate about her job. She puts in looooong hours at the school, mind you, but she is so refreshingly optimistic and caring and full of compassion. It is no wonder that the kids in her continuation school are doing amazingly well.
The way it works is that the kids at the big school (4200 students) who get in gang fights, get pregnant, flunk out, or altogether mess up get sent to this school, with continuation and independent study programs (355 students). It's a brand-new school this year, with a staff that is over 50% new. The principal, however, has been in the business for years. And it shows--in all the good ways, I mean.
She brought in one student who last year was at the big school--getting in fights, hanging out with a rough crowd, failing school. Two nights ago she was given a college scholarship at a major district awards ceremony. The principal, with the student in the room, acknowledged that she was messing up pretty bad last year, but that she is "brilliant" and "going places" and "the star of the school" for being the only student from her school to receive a scholarship.
Then she told us the story (I'd heard it before, but it still made me tear up) about Halloween this year. There was a scheduled costume contest at lunchtime in the gym. No students really dressed up, but when the teen moms walked their babies down from the on-site daycare, all the students (300+ that day) started clapping and cheering and applauding. All the awards quickly changed from "best student costume" to "best baby costume" and "cutest baby costume" and "most original baby costume." She remarked how at the other school, a lot of these girls had been called bad names, ridiculed for being teen moms, or just treated badly. But at her school, these kids were accepted and supported.
And another kid who kept messing up, she told him he lost his privilege to be there at lunch. Every day a teacher or administrator escorted him off campus before the start of lunch. He came to the principal, at first saying, "you guys all are on my case." Soon it changed to, "you all know my name but you know I'm not supposed to be here," and then, "If I can show you all that I'm improving, will you let me stay at lunch?" For this kid, once he learned that the staff was going to be consistent with him, his guard went down and he allowed them to love him back to campus. He improved his behavior and is back on campus at lunch, rubbing elbows with the staff who once shooed him away.
The principal kept talking about how the students feel so loved and supported by their teachers, and I know in my heart it is because she is at the top of the chain. She loves and supports and encourages these students unlike any educator I've ever seen. She know them by name. She throws her arm around big, tough kids with a side-hug. She sets students up with health services and college information and drug treatment and counseling. And she never judges. She sees each kid for the potential they have within.
Just what I needed to finish up my week. Somebody else who cares so much about these kids she still chokes up when talking about how easy it is for them to change with a little love.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
turn on the light and reveal the glory
Jennifer Knapp sings a song called Martyrs and Thieves (lyrics below) that totally resonates with where I find myself today. In this journey of infertility, at times I feel that it is easier to cling to the darkness, to believe the lies of the thieves, to feel angst instead of peace.
There is a part of me that would rather keep safe to myself the thoughts and struggles and darkness than share my soul with others. There is a tendency within to believe that others, even those closest to me (even my Savior?!), cannot bear my fear and shame. I try to handle things on my own, to be strong and brave and in control. But denying the help of others for a lonely and dark journey is not how it is supposed to be.
I want to reveal the light of Christ in what I do. But I cannot reveal his glory without the help of others, without their assistance in trudging through the mucky swamp waters of angst and struggle and fear and shame. I cannot always make it to the light without people to help me get there.
At our girls retreat last October, I used a photograph to explain how I felt at the time, and it looked something like the one above. A path through the forest, shaded but with spots of sunshine pouring through. Every month of infertility is like walking down this path--with hints of light along the shady path, knowing the full sunlight is just always ahead of me, but only if I continue moving forward.
If I want to reflect the light and glory of God, I must move into the light. I cannot stay in the shadows and expect to be unafraid and peaceful. Yet the shadows are an inevitable part of walking down this particular path I'm on. Fear and angst are what keep me walking, looking for the light and peace that surpasses understanding.
I don't want to understand. I want to feel peace. I want to reflect the light. I want to be in the light. And I need people to help me do that. I need to admit I need the help and accept it when offered. And I need to, no I want to, turn my soul toward God, revealing all the darkness and fear and frustration, allowing his light to shine into the dark places.
Only then can I reveal the glory of Christ, when I can follow this path with trust and obedience. God, turn on the light and reveal all the glory. I am not afraid. Use my weakness to bring me to a place of peace and love and trust.
Martyrs and Thieves by Jennifer Knapp
There's a place in the darkness that I used to cling to
That presses harsh hope against time.
In the absence of martyrs there's a presence of thieves
Who only want to rob you blind.
They steal away any sense of peace.
Tho' I'm a king I'm a king on my knees.
And I know they are wrong when they say I am strong
As the darkness covers me.
So turn on the light and reveal all the glory.
I am not afraid.
To bear all my weakness, knowing in meekness,
I have a kingdom to gain.
Where there is peace and love in the light
In the light , I am not afraid
To let your light shine bright in my life, in my life
There are ghosts from my past who've owned more of my soul
Than I thought I had given away.
They linger in closets and under my bed
And in pictures less proudly displayed.
A great fool in my life I have been
Have squandered 'til pallid and thin.
Hung my head in shame and refused to take blame
For the darkness I know I've let win.
So turn on the light and reveal all the glory.
I am not afraid
To bear all my weakness, knowing in meekness,
I have a kingdom to gain.
Where there is peace and love in the light
In the light , I am not afraid
To let your light shine bright in my life, in my life
Can you hear me?
Can you hear me? (5x)
I've never been much for the bearing of soul
In the presence of any man.
I'd rather keep to myself all safe and secure
In the arms of a sinner I am.
Could it be that my worth should defend
By the crimson stained grace on a hand?
And like a lamp on a hill Lord I pray in your will
To reveal all of you that I can.
So turn on the light and reveal all the glory.
I am not afraid.
To bear all my weakness, knowing in meekness,
I have a kingdom to gain.
Where there is peace and love in the light
In the light , I am not afraid
To let your light shine bright in my life, in my life
Sunday, April 09, 2006
my deliverer is coming
Yesterday at an Easter Egg Hunt, an acquaintance said to me "Well, I always hated being asked this question, but I'm going to ask it anyway." You can guess what was coming. I wanted to say "if you hated it so much, maybe you shouldn't ask it of someone else." But I didn't. She said, "So when are you planning to have kids? Are they in your future?"
I wish I could have told her what I was thinking, "Well, it's not for lack of trying or hoping or praying, if you must know. As a matter of fact, I'd love to be able to tell you that our 'plan' is working. I'd love to say that kids are in our future. But for now, I'm stuck in the lovely desert of infertility, so I can't really answer that question. Aren't you glad you asked?"
Instead, being the passive-aggressive I am, I said "We'd love to have kids someday, when the timing is right." She then made some comments about my good planning and putting my career first and being responsible and yada, yada, yada. The rest of the morning was great. I love being around kids. I love being around my friends and their kids. I just don't like people asking questions that made them uncomfortable once, you know?
SO...After some unusual symptoms the past few days, I took a pregnancy test this morning, day 28.
Negative.
Of course.
I didn't take it very bad at first, as I'm pretty used to the "not pregnant" outcome. I usually have a Pollyanna, "there's always next month!" type of response. And this morning I just tossed the stick in the trash and casually informed Ben that we won't be having a baby in January 2007.
I got ready for church, drove to town, plopped in my seat next to Ben, and closed my eyes to listen to the prelude. The choir had barely started to sing and the tears started flowing.
I managed to keep myself pretty composed (read: silent, controllable tears) until the children came in, waving their palms, singing, "My deliver is coming, My deliverer is standing by. My deliverer is coming, My deliverer is standing by."
I couldn't bear the sounds of their angelic voices, singing those words of promise, as their Hebrew ancestors must have sung in preparation for Christ's coming. The promise of a deliverer, of a hope and a future. The tears were streaming by this point, and I found myself wet and sloppy, without any tissues, in the front row of the church.
The poor kids probably wondered why this crazy weeping lady continued to sing the words, her hands lifted in the air in submission.
All I have to cling to these days is a promise. Not that Christ himself has ever promised me a child, not that I have any assurance that this is what he has for me. But I cling to the promise of Jeremiah, for a hope and a future, and the words of that song, for my deliverer to come and relieve me of my sorrow.
After the service Ben did baptisms for two of our friends and a neighbor. All babies, all beautiful and intrigued and amazed and precious. No crying, no fussing, just staring with wonderment at the font as the water streamed from Ben's hand. And the congregation of family and friends drew in a collective "aahh" as we witnessed the promises of God poured out on the lives of these babies.
For infant baptism is really about promises. A promise the family makes; a promise to raise their child in a home that fears God and believes in Christ the Savior. It is the promise of the congregation to shelter and care for these children, to raise them up in the knowledge of their belovedness and value in the eyes of the Lord.
For once, I didn't cry at an infant baptism. I smiled. I laughed. I cooed at little Wyatt in front of us before he went up for his big moment. I rested in the promises of the morning. And I left with the song still fresh upon my lips "my deliverer is coming. my deliverer is standing by," prayers lifted to the source of hope and promise.
I wish I could have told her what I was thinking, "Well, it's not for lack of trying or hoping or praying, if you must know. As a matter of fact, I'd love to be able to tell you that our 'plan' is working. I'd love to say that kids are in our future. But for now, I'm stuck in the lovely desert of infertility, so I can't really answer that question. Aren't you glad you asked?"
Instead, being the passive-aggressive I am, I said "We'd love to have kids someday, when the timing is right." She then made some comments about my good planning and putting my career first and being responsible and yada, yada, yada. The rest of the morning was great. I love being around kids. I love being around my friends and their kids. I just don't like people asking questions that made them uncomfortable once, you know?
SO...After some unusual symptoms the past few days, I took a pregnancy test this morning, day 28.
Negative.
Of course.
I didn't take it very bad at first, as I'm pretty used to the "not pregnant" outcome. I usually have a Pollyanna, "there's always next month!" type of response. And this morning I just tossed the stick in the trash and casually informed Ben that we won't be having a baby in January 2007.
I got ready for church, drove to town, plopped in my seat next to Ben, and closed my eyes to listen to the prelude. The choir had barely started to sing and the tears started flowing.
I managed to keep myself pretty composed (read: silent, controllable tears) until the children came in, waving their palms, singing, "My deliver is coming, My deliverer is standing by. My deliverer is coming, My deliverer is standing by."
I couldn't bear the sounds of their angelic voices, singing those words of promise, as their Hebrew ancestors must have sung in preparation for Christ's coming. The promise of a deliverer, of a hope and a future. The tears were streaming by this point, and I found myself wet and sloppy, without any tissues, in the front row of the church.
The poor kids probably wondered why this crazy weeping lady continued to sing the words, her hands lifted in the air in submission.
All I have to cling to these days is a promise. Not that Christ himself has ever promised me a child, not that I have any assurance that this is what he has for me. But I cling to the promise of Jeremiah, for a hope and a future, and the words of that song, for my deliverer to come and relieve me of my sorrow.
After the service Ben did baptisms for two of our friends and a neighbor. All babies, all beautiful and intrigued and amazed and precious. No crying, no fussing, just staring with wonderment at the font as the water streamed from Ben's hand. And the congregation of family and friends drew in a collective "aahh" as we witnessed the promises of God poured out on the lives of these babies.
For infant baptism is really about promises. A promise the family makes; a promise to raise their child in a home that fears God and believes in Christ the Savior. It is the promise of the congregation to shelter and care for these children, to raise them up in the knowledge of their belovedness and value in the eyes of the Lord.
For once, I didn't cry at an infant baptism. I smiled. I laughed. I cooed at little Wyatt in front of us before he went up for his big moment. I rested in the promises of the morning. And I left with the song still fresh upon my lips "my deliverer is coming. my deliverer is standing by," prayers lifted to the source of hope and promise.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
some interesting statistics
Today I came across some interesting statistics about one of the schools I work at. I've always wondered how the student body was represented, culturally and ethnically. Look at the breakdown of students! Amazing!
Further, our 4200 students represent 60 different countries and speak 58 different languages. Around 30% of the students are recent immigrants.
I love diversity.
babies babies everywhere
Is anyone else just totally sick of hearing about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' coming attraction? I know I am. And Brangelina's, too. As if following the love lives of the rich and famous isn't bad enough, but we also have to hear every detail about their unborn babies. Is it a girl? A boy? Oooh, they bought a pink blanket for $400. But, wait! Now they're purchasing a blue outfit with matching blue uggs for only $275! What the heck?! We must know the sex of Tomkitten/brangelinita!
You are probably wondering how I know so much about the "most beautiful unborn people in the world." I'll admit that I do read an occasional People magazine, but only on vacation. And I will visit msn.com every once in a while, but more to read the witty celebrity-bashing humor than to get the dirt. Yeah.
One of my dear friends, who is also trying to get pregnant, told me when Britney conceived that she was pissed. Mostly mad that silly Britney could get pregnant at the drop of the hat (and then make poor safety decisions, to boot, as evidenced by driving with baby on lap). Meanwhile there are those of us who have waited and waited, each month looking for the two pink lines.
Sometimes it feels like others' joy is thrown in your face, to the tune of the paparazzi who chronicle every little news blip about the hollywood babes' babies. Enough. For the time being I am going to boycott entertainment news.
At least until katie thomasina or angela bradini is born.
You are probably wondering how I know so much about the "most beautiful unborn people in the world." I'll admit that I do read an occasional People magazine, but only on vacation. And I will visit msn.com every once in a while, but more to read the witty celebrity-bashing humor than to get the dirt. Yeah.
One of my dear friends, who is also trying to get pregnant, told me when Britney conceived that she was pissed. Mostly mad that silly Britney could get pregnant at the drop of the hat (and then make poor safety decisions, to boot, as evidenced by driving with baby on lap). Meanwhile there are those of us who have waited and waited, each month looking for the two pink lines.
Sometimes it feels like others' joy is thrown in your face, to the tune of the paparazzi who chronicle every little news blip about the hollywood babes' babies. Enough. For the time being I am going to boycott entertainment news.
At least until katie thomasina or angela bradini is born.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
all the originals in the house say "Heeyy!" (or a weighty issue, part 2)
Monday night I was talking with my girls about body image, and I shared the story about the time I revealed to Ben how deeply self-conscious I was. I told him that every time I walked into a room, met a group of people, browsed the mall, sat in a waiting room or (insert any other public activity here), I instantly went into comparing-mode.
"Dang. That girl is so beautiful." (jealousy)
"Well at least I have prettier hair than her." (pride)
"But her legs are so long and skinny and beautiful." (envy)
"But I could have teeth like those ones. Ew." (ego-inflating)
"Why did she have to enter? Miss Perfect Body, Perfect Teeth, Perfect Skin, Perfect Purse? Now we all look like sacks of potatoes." (self-loathing)
Ben had a hard time believing that it was this way ALL the time. But I told him, no really honey, it is like this no matter where I go. I'm constantly comparing myself to other women. And it's sinful and it's yucky and it makes me feel awful. But I can't stop.
My girlfriends totally understood. They do the same exact thing. Why??? Why must we constantly compare ourselves to others, why can't we learn to love and accept ourselves just as we are?
Once again, the Word had a word to speak to me today, and it cut straight to my heart. In Galatians 5, Paul is talking about living life on our terms versus living life God's way. He describes the life we have when trying to always be in control, and it is characterized by: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community.
Sound familiar?
And a life lived God's way? A life characterized by good fruit, such as: affection for others; exuberance for life; serenity; focus; compassion; respect for others; loyal friendships and authentic community.
He goes on to finish the chapter like this:
Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with others as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original.
Can I get an "AMEN!"? My prayer today is that I will learn to embrace myself as an original, learn to love my body and my self for the unique way it was created, and most of all, that I will let go of the comparison game. Because Galatians is all about freedom, and true freedom as I see it is finding my own worth and the worth of others solely in our relationship to Christ, as holy and beloved children and heirs to the kingdom.
"Dang. That girl is so beautiful." (jealousy)
"Well at least I have prettier hair than her." (pride)
"But her legs are so long and skinny and beautiful." (envy)
"But I could have teeth like those ones. Ew." (ego-inflating)
"Why did she have to enter? Miss Perfect Body, Perfect Teeth, Perfect Skin, Perfect Purse? Now we all look like sacks of potatoes." (self-loathing)
Ben had a hard time believing that it was this way ALL the time. But I told him, no really honey, it is like this no matter where I go. I'm constantly comparing myself to other women. And it's sinful and it's yucky and it makes me feel awful. But I can't stop.
My girlfriends totally understood. They do the same exact thing. Why??? Why must we constantly compare ourselves to others, why can't we learn to love and accept ourselves just as we are?
Once again, the Word had a word to speak to me today, and it cut straight to my heart. In Galatians 5, Paul is talking about living life on our terms versus living life God's way. He describes the life we have when trying to always be in control, and it is characterized by: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community.
Sound familiar?
And a life lived God's way? A life characterized by good fruit, such as: affection for others; exuberance for life; serenity; focus; compassion; respect for others; loyal friendships and authentic community.
He goes on to finish the chapter like this:
Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with others as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original.
Can I get an "AMEN!"? My prayer today is that I will learn to embrace myself as an original, learn to love my body and my self for the unique way it was created, and most of all, that I will let go of the comparison game. Because Galatians is all about freedom, and true freedom as I see it is finding my own worth and the worth of others solely in our relationship to Christ, as holy and beloved children and heirs to the kingdom.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
a Word for me
In a previous post I mentioned that I've been really behind in my quiet times with the Lord, that I've been feeling a lot of spiritual disconnect. That, and I've been complaining a lot about the weather. So I found it to be no coincidence that my daily devotional had this to say today:
Who maketh the clouds His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the wind.
Psalm 104:3
Clouds and storms are also part of My way. The sunshine of My grace is hidden from view as they do their necessary
work. See how in My natural world these things play their necessary role to the ongoing of life, and be aware, My child,
of their beneficial role in your spiritual life. Clouds and storms are also part of My way."
My mind is so temporal, His ways are so eternal. For me, the two-week wait between ovulation and pregnancy test seems like years. To Him, it is but a blip on the radar screen of my life. The rain seems endless, but even the storms are a part of His plan and purpose.
I don't want to be a fair-weather believer. I want to trust through the storms and clouds and fire and flame and flood, as the Psalmist does in the passage. This is why I need to be in the Word. Because there is always a word for me.
Who maketh the clouds His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the wind.
Psalm 104:3
Clouds and storms are also part of My way. The sunshine of My grace is hidden from view as they do their necessary
work. See how in My natural world these things play their necessary role to the ongoing of life, and be aware, My child,
of their beneficial role in your spiritual life. Clouds and storms are also part of My way."
My mind is so temporal, His ways are so eternal. For me, the two-week wait between ovulation and pregnancy test seems like years. To Him, it is but a blip on the radar screen of my life. The rain seems endless, but even the storms are a part of His plan and purpose.
I don't want to be a fair-weather believer. I want to trust through the storms and clouds and fire and flame and flood, as the Psalmist does in the passage. This is why I need to be in the Word. Because there is always a word for me.
triathlon training, part 2
I find it difficult to train for a triathlon when the rain just won't let up. I can't spend 5 days a week in the pool and expect to do well in the running and biking legs of the race.
But, complaining aside, I do have some improvement to report:
-I used to hate running. Hate. Last week I ran 35 minutes and enjoyed myself the entire time. The longest I'll have to run in training is 39 minutes, so I'm feeling rather proud.
-On Sunday, I did a brick workout including 22 minutes of swimming sprints and a hilly bike ride. Ben said at the beginning of the ride that our goal was 45 minutes, and then we clocked in at 41, which he called "impressive."
-I totally enjoy swimming, and can easily freestyle for 35 minutes or more, completing upwards of 3/4 of a mile.
-I haven't missed a workout in weeks. I've been following my training plan almost to a T, and the workouts continue to be enjoyable.
-Back pain? What back pain? Haven't had problems with my lower back in months, and I know it has to do with 1) losing weight, 2) exercising regularly, 3) excellent chiropractic care.
All in all, I shouldn't really be complaining. It was raining hard at 6am this morning, but by the time I'd laced up my shoes and leashed the pooch, it was clear for a good thirty minutes.
I'm looking forward to picking another race to train for after this triathlon is over. :)
But, complaining aside, I do have some improvement to report:
-I used to hate running. Hate. Last week I ran 35 minutes and enjoyed myself the entire time. The longest I'll have to run in training is 39 minutes, so I'm feeling rather proud.
-On Sunday, I did a brick workout including 22 minutes of swimming sprints and a hilly bike ride. Ben said at the beginning of the ride that our goal was 45 minutes, and then we clocked in at 41, which he called "impressive."
-I totally enjoy swimming, and can easily freestyle for 35 minutes or more, completing upwards of 3/4 of a mile.
-I haven't missed a workout in weeks. I've been following my training plan almost to a T, and the workouts continue to be enjoyable.
-Back pain? What back pain? Haven't had problems with my lower back in months, and I know it has to do with 1) losing weight, 2) exercising regularly, 3) excellent chiropractic care.
All in all, I shouldn't really be complaining. It was raining hard at 6am this morning, but by the time I'd laced up my shoes and leashed the pooch, it was clear for a good thirty minutes.
I'm looking forward to picking another race to train for after this triathlon is over. :)
Monday, April 03, 2006
vacation goooood, work baaaad
After a five-day weekend, I'd really like to be back at home, on the couch, taking a post-lunch nap. Instead I'm ingesting diet soda (not good at all for me) to keep myself awake through the Monday afternoon slump. Why is it that even with a five-day weekend, I don't feel like I got enough rest?
Spring Forward (aka Daylight Savings) really stinks. I mean, it's one of the worst days of the year, losing an hour of sleep, then waking up to a dark morning instead of sunbeams and chirping birds. I think the effects of that one day have carried well into my week.
And what is it with the rain? The forecasters predict 2 more weeks of rain, and already we've had over seven inches in the past month! We're beating the Pacific Northwest in rainfall. What's up with that?
Let's see, what else can I be grumpy about today?
6 month evaluations coming up at work, a supervisor who keeps reminding me, and a stack of referrals so big I wonder how I'll see all the kids within a month!
Eating too much junk on vacation and now getting back into the swing of triathlon training/diet.
The fact that since we started a new small group study series, my time with the Lord has totally suffered, and the fact that I blame it on not having the daily workbook exercises to help me "look forward" to these times.
Trying to sell our other car and having it not pass smog and then putting another $800 into it in order to sell the stupid thing.
Having secondary insurance but then no providers actually bill secondary which means I have to spend at least two hours on the phone every week getting people to pay for things. Oh, and my primary insurance which keep denying coverage on infertility treatments, though I have called a few times, and they keep saying "oops! You're right, we shouldn't be denying, we should be paying!" Argh.
I apologize to all of you out there who know me as an optimistic, Pollyanna-type person. Today's a rough day, and I can't exactly vent to my teen clients. So you out in cyberland get to act as my empathic listener for a day. Lucky you.
Spring Forward (aka Daylight Savings) really stinks. I mean, it's one of the worst days of the year, losing an hour of sleep, then waking up to a dark morning instead of sunbeams and chirping birds. I think the effects of that one day have carried well into my week.
And what is it with the rain? The forecasters predict 2 more weeks of rain, and already we've had over seven inches in the past month! We're beating the Pacific Northwest in rainfall. What's up with that?
Let's see, what else can I be grumpy about today?
6 month evaluations coming up at work, a supervisor who keeps reminding me, and a stack of referrals so big I wonder how I'll see all the kids within a month!
Eating too much junk on vacation and now getting back into the swing of triathlon training/diet.
The fact that since we started a new small group study series, my time with the Lord has totally suffered, and the fact that I blame it on not having the daily workbook exercises to help me "look forward" to these times.
Trying to sell our other car and having it not pass smog and then putting another $800 into it in order to sell the stupid thing.
Having secondary insurance but then no providers actually bill secondary which means I have to spend at least two hours on the phone every week getting people to pay for things. Oh, and my primary insurance which keep denying coverage on infertility treatments, though I have called a few times, and they keep saying "oops! You're right, we shouldn't be denying, we should be paying!" Argh.
I apologize to all of you out there who know me as an optimistic, Pollyanna-type person. Today's a rough day, and I can't exactly vent to my teen clients. So you out in cyberland get to act as my empathic listener for a day. Lucky you.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
a weighty issue
I've read a few blogs in the past few days about how women view themselves in light of their weight, their bodies, their looks, etc. It's a vicious topic, and a universal battle, as evidenced by the following quotes from other women:
I hope there is more sustaining your attraction for each other than just superficial looks. If a husband is going to be upset that his wife doesn't always look like she did on her wedding day, the marriage won't last beyond her first wrinkle. Controlling your weight for your spouse is one thing, but you can't control everything; eventually, age, kids, gravity, and just plain life will turn you into something other than the attractive 23-year-old you were on your wedding day. If your spouse has a problem with you gaining 20 pounds in your 20's, you should be prepared for him dropping you like a bad habit when the first gray hairs sprout in your 40's.Many bloggers eloquently responded to MIM's "false advertising" post. And more than anything, I was struck by how many women (and these aren't morbidly obese women ... they are women who have put on 20 or 30 lbs) said that their husbands ask/pressure/guilt them to lose weight.
Hub didn't want me to go to his office Christmas party, nor has he invited anyone from work to our house. When I joked that this was because I was "no longer a wife worth showing off," he got very quiet. Saying nothing at all was infinitely worse than anything he could have possibly said.
I met with my girls last night and we discussed a chapter from the book we're reading: "Captivating" by John and Stasi Eldredge. The chapter was about the spiritual attack women face, about how we never feel we measure up or we feel like were "too much" for the people we love. There is an excellent discourse on Satan's fall, that it was becaue of pride over his beauty as the angel Lucifer. The Eldredges believe that Satan, because of his fall, attacks women where it hurts most--our beauty.
We are created in the image of God--created to reflect his beauty and his nurturing spirit--and yet I have met so few women who are pleased with their self-image. We bear the mark of our creator yet we hate our hair or our thighs or our freckles or our nose. The list goes on.
How do we claim our beauty and the mark of our creator? How do we go through life content, not comparing ourselves to every Barbie-esque creature that walks by? I wish I had a good answer. For the meantime, I will continue to struggle with this issue and how I might be able to respond personally and also to encourage other women in my life.
I hope there is more sustaining your attraction for each other than just superficial looks. If a husband is going to be upset that his wife doesn't always look like she did on her wedding day, the marriage won't last beyond her first wrinkle. Controlling your weight for your spouse is one thing, but you can't control everything; eventually, age, kids, gravity, and just plain life will turn you into something other than the attractive 23-year-old you were on your wedding day. If your spouse has a problem with you gaining 20 pounds in your 20's, you should be prepared for him dropping you like a bad habit when the first gray hairs sprout in your 40's.Many bloggers eloquently responded to MIM's "false advertising" post. And more than anything, I was struck by how many women (and these aren't morbidly obese women ... they are women who have put on 20 or 30 lbs) said that their husbands ask/pressure/guilt them to lose weight.
Hub didn't want me to go to his office Christmas party, nor has he invited anyone from work to our house. When I joked that this was because I was "no longer a wife worth showing off," he got very quiet. Saying nothing at all was infinitely worse than anything he could have possibly said.
I met with my girls last night and we discussed a chapter from the book we're reading: "Captivating" by John and Stasi Eldredge. The chapter was about the spiritual attack women face, about how we never feel we measure up or we feel like were "too much" for the people we love. There is an excellent discourse on Satan's fall, that it was becaue of pride over his beauty as the angel Lucifer. The Eldredges believe that Satan, because of his fall, attacks women where it hurts most--our beauty.
We are created in the image of God--created to reflect his beauty and his nurturing spirit--and yet I have met so few women who are pleased with their self-image. We bear the mark of our creator yet we hate our hair or our thighs or our freckles or our nose. The list goes on.
How do we claim our beauty and the mark of our creator? How do we go through life content, not comparing ourselves to every Barbie-esque creature that walks by? I wish I had a good answer. For the meantime, I will continue to struggle with this issue and how I might be able to respond personally and also to encourage other women in my life.
Monday, March 27, 2006
adios, sayonara, goodbye
Inevitably, in the field in which I work, people leave. The turnover rate is high in social services probably due to high stress, low pay, and little vacation (but who's keeping track?) Last week a colleague announced that she is leaving.
As an adult, I know that she is leaving for good reasons, making a decision she needs to make at this point. But for our students, even healthy goodbyes are hard. Goodbyes are not easy when you've been left or abandoned by people you loved or trusted. Goodbyes are just more complicated for these kids.
She's been like a mama to many of these students, a safe haven, someone to have your back, someone to talk to, not afraid to give advice or criticism. To other students she's a good friend or an older sister. But one thing is for sure. She will be missed when she goes.
My students are all upset, all grieving the loss of someone they care about, some angry she's going, others feeling like they are responsible for her choice to leave. And other kids act like they don't care at all, because they learned long ago not to invest care or emotion in others, because everybody leaves at some point.
The other staff members and I are working crisis after crisis, defusing kids' anger, handing kids kleenexes while they process their grief, helping kids plan a meaningful goodbye.
When this co-worker came to me with tears in her eyes, surprised and overwhelmed by the force of emotion she felt, I could sense so clearly her ambivalence. She was second-guessing her decision, consumed by the grief of her students who so badly want her to stay. I encouraged her that sometimes the best decisions for ourselves aren't the easiest ones to make. I let her know that she had been such a powerful influence on these kids, and in her leaving, she had the ability to leave in an equally powerful way. She has the ability to model for these students how to positively end a relationship, how to say goodbye in a way that facilitates healthy grieving.
And, in a way, I am glad for them. I'm glad that for once in their lives, these kids will feel some sense of control, will understand a little more clearly how positive, healthy relationships handle goodbyes. I know it won't be easy, but it will be transformative.
The kids are planning all sorts of wonderful goodbye rituals and gifts. We're thinking of doing a candle ceremony to mark the end of her time with us, and the beginning of her time with her new job. At the end of the ceremony, we'll allow her to blow out her candle, to extinguish the time with us.
And smoke and ash will remain where once the flame burned. We will have to mourn her leaving. We will grieve the loss of her presence and her gifts. We will learn to let go of hurt and anger and sadness.
But my blog isn't called "as the noonday" for nothing. I know in my heart that these kids will go on, they will learn to follow the flame of their own candles, to see light past the darkness, and noonday will come after the long night. I wish all grief could be this uncomplicated. But then, I'd be out of a job.
As an adult, I know that she is leaving for good reasons, making a decision she needs to make at this point. But for our students, even healthy goodbyes are hard. Goodbyes are not easy when you've been left or abandoned by people you loved or trusted. Goodbyes are just more complicated for these kids.
She's been like a mama to many of these students, a safe haven, someone to have your back, someone to talk to, not afraid to give advice or criticism. To other students she's a good friend or an older sister. But one thing is for sure. She will be missed when she goes.
My students are all upset, all grieving the loss of someone they care about, some angry she's going, others feeling like they are responsible for her choice to leave. And other kids act like they don't care at all, because they learned long ago not to invest care or emotion in others, because everybody leaves at some point.
The other staff members and I are working crisis after crisis, defusing kids' anger, handing kids kleenexes while they process their grief, helping kids plan a meaningful goodbye.
When this co-worker came to me with tears in her eyes, surprised and overwhelmed by the force of emotion she felt, I could sense so clearly her ambivalence. She was second-guessing her decision, consumed by the grief of her students who so badly want her to stay. I encouraged her that sometimes the best decisions for ourselves aren't the easiest ones to make. I let her know that she had been such a powerful influence on these kids, and in her leaving, she had the ability to leave in an equally powerful way. She has the ability to model for these students how to positively end a relationship, how to say goodbye in a way that facilitates healthy grieving.
And, in a way, I am glad for them. I'm glad that for once in their lives, these kids will feel some sense of control, will understand a little more clearly how positive, healthy relationships handle goodbyes. I know it won't be easy, but it will be transformative.
The kids are planning all sorts of wonderful goodbye rituals and gifts. We're thinking of doing a candle ceremony to mark the end of her time with us, and the beginning of her time with her new job. At the end of the ceremony, we'll allow her to blow out her candle, to extinguish the time with us.
And smoke and ash will remain where once the flame burned. We will have to mourn her leaving. We will grieve the loss of her presence and her gifts. We will learn to let go of hurt and anger and sadness.
But my blog isn't called "as the noonday" for nothing. I know in my heart that these kids will go on, they will learn to follow the flame of their own candles, to see light past the darkness, and noonday will come after the long night. I wish all grief could be this uncomplicated. But then, I'd be out of a job.
Monday, March 20, 2006
zoom zoom
So we got a new car. Yippee! It's fun to drive, and I can't help but smiling and singing "zoom zoom" every time I'm driving around town. At least that was my experience until Monday.
What are your worst fears when you get a new car?
Hitting something.
Scratching the beautiful paint job that is so perfect, so unadultered by the wear and tear of life.
Crashing.
Monday, my first "real" day of driving the new car (more than a five-minute trip to the store), it was pouring rain and I was on my way to Target to get some art supplies for work. Boom. I hit the mother of all potholes. It wasn't even like I was messing up. I was driving slowly, not tailgating anyone, watching the road. I didn't even see it at the last minute and try to swerve but hit it anyway. It just came out of nowhere, in the middle of a totally normally paved road.
I say to myself, "no, it's okay. I'm sure nothing's wrong. Pull in the parking lot and check it out."
Flat tire.
Roadside assistance comes to put on the spare. (Hey, I've got it. Why change my own tire?) The guy drops part of the jack against the side of the car. Scratch. A little one, but the first scratch on our new baby.
Did I mention that I started clomid last week? Thankfully I'm not an overly emotional or weepy person. I didn't even quiver at the moment, but I felt that deep dread of having to call Ben and tell him that something very sad happened to the zoom zoom.
Ben: no problem, hon. These things happen. Just take it to Firestone on your way home and have them fix it.
Problem? You bet. A tear in the sidewall, not fixable.
Fast forward a day, a trip to Goodyear, a handful of calls to the warranty people, the dealer, and a Mazda repair shop, and all I have to say is this:
Cost of a Firestone tire repair job: $33
Cost of a new Goodyear tire replacment: $260
Cost of a tire, with the nice Goodyear people giving us a break on our warranty: $130
Replacement tire for half off, free scratch repair by the tow company, a hubby who understands, and my worst fears now behind me: Priceless.
What are your worst fears when you get a new car?
Hitting something.
Scratching the beautiful paint job that is so perfect, so unadultered by the wear and tear of life.
Crashing.
Monday, my first "real" day of driving the new car (more than a five-minute trip to the store), it was pouring rain and I was on my way to Target to get some art supplies for work. Boom. I hit the mother of all potholes. It wasn't even like I was messing up. I was driving slowly, not tailgating anyone, watching the road. I didn't even see it at the last minute and try to swerve but hit it anyway. It just came out of nowhere, in the middle of a totally normally paved road.
I say to myself, "no, it's okay. I'm sure nothing's wrong. Pull in the parking lot and check it out."
Flat tire.
Roadside assistance comes to put on the spare. (Hey, I've got it. Why change my own tire?) The guy drops part of the jack against the side of the car. Scratch. A little one, but the first scratch on our new baby.
Did I mention that I started clomid last week? Thankfully I'm not an overly emotional or weepy person. I didn't even quiver at the moment, but I felt that deep dread of having to call Ben and tell him that something very sad happened to the zoom zoom.
Ben: no problem, hon. These things happen. Just take it to Firestone on your way home and have them fix it.
Problem? You bet. A tear in the sidewall, not fixable.
Fast forward a day, a trip to Goodyear, a handful of calls to the warranty people, the dealer, and a Mazda repair shop, and all I have to say is this:
Cost of a Firestone tire repair job: $33
Cost of a new Goodyear tire replacment: $260
Cost of a tire, with the nice Goodyear people giving us a break on our warranty: $130
Replacement tire for half off, free scratch repair by the tow company, a hubby who understands, and my worst fears now behind me: Priceless.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
biopsy shmiopsy
Earlier in life, I wanted nothing more than to be a doctor. I was enthralled by science, especially medicine, and enjoyed learning about anything involving the human body. Cadavers? Cool. Close-up photos of surgery? Awesome. Giving my own blood? Loved to watch that big ole' needle find its way into my vein.
So fast forward a few years. My doctor ordered a bunch of blood tests last year and I ended up giving like 7-8 vials of blood after a long afternoon with no snacks. Totally fainted. They assured me it had nothing to do with nerves, but due to the large amounts of blood and little to eat.
A few weeks ago I went in for a "routine" biopsy of my thyroid. Turns out I have some larger-size nodules that the doctor wants to check out. It started out just fine. I wasn't worried at all. I was told to lay down on the table and wait for the doctor. And wait. And...wait. After about a half hour I was ready to fall asleep or freak out, laying there thinking about a needle in my neck.
The procedure started. Ultrasound of the thyroid? No big deal. Using a pen to mark the spots for the needle to penetrate? Child's play. Needle with lidocaine? Okay, a little bit of a burn. More burning. Ouch. Little needle to take biopsy? Up and down, back and forth, dabba dabba dabba. It's weird that your thyroid is just there all the time, but you never really notice it until the needle is stabbing it again and again to get a sample. The doctor turns to walk away and it happens. Sweaty palms, queasy stomach, clammy, clammy, "Uh, doctor? Feeling a little clammy over here." Spun around, head down, legs in the air, cool washcloth on my head, spinning room starting to slow down and come back to normal. Sweat break.
"A physiological reaction to the trauma of a needle in your neck," the doctor says. "Nothing to worry about. Not even related to nerves." Hmm. When did I get so wimpy?
My OB/GYN nurse practitioner recommended getting my doc to prescribe a little ativan (aka anxiety meds) for the next time it had to happen.
That was today. And I took the teeny weeny anti-anxiety pill (.5 mg) before the procedure. He even had to go in 3 times to get a really good sample this time. I did some deep breathing and finding of my happy place (on the beach with Ben and Hanalei). A little bit of blood, a few bandaids later, and I'm just fine. As the title goes, biospy shmiopsy. Maybe I'm not going to turn out as big a wimp as I thought!
So fast forward a few years. My doctor ordered a bunch of blood tests last year and I ended up giving like 7-8 vials of blood after a long afternoon with no snacks. Totally fainted. They assured me it had nothing to do with nerves, but due to the large amounts of blood and little to eat.
A few weeks ago I went in for a "routine" biopsy of my thyroid. Turns out I have some larger-size nodules that the doctor wants to check out. It started out just fine. I wasn't worried at all. I was told to lay down on the table and wait for the doctor. And wait. And...wait. After about a half hour I was ready to fall asleep or freak out, laying there thinking about a needle in my neck.
The procedure started. Ultrasound of the thyroid? No big deal. Using a pen to mark the spots for the needle to penetrate? Child's play. Needle with lidocaine? Okay, a little bit of a burn. More burning. Ouch. Little needle to take biopsy? Up and down, back and forth, dabba dabba dabba. It's weird that your thyroid is just there all the time, but you never really notice it until the needle is stabbing it again and again to get a sample. The doctor turns to walk away and it happens. Sweaty palms, queasy stomach, clammy, clammy, "Uh, doctor? Feeling a little clammy over here." Spun around, head down, legs in the air, cool washcloth on my head, spinning room starting to slow down and come back to normal. Sweat break.
"A physiological reaction to the trauma of a needle in your neck," the doctor says. "Nothing to worry about. Not even related to nerves." Hmm. When did I get so wimpy?
My OB/GYN nurse practitioner recommended getting my doc to prescribe a little ativan (aka anxiety meds) for the next time it had to happen.
That was today. And I took the teeny weeny anti-anxiety pill (.5 mg) before the procedure. He even had to go in 3 times to get a really good sample this time. I did some deep breathing and finding of my happy place (on the beach with Ben and Hanalei). A little bit of blood, a few bandaids later, and I'm just fine. As the title goes, biospy shmiopsy. Maybe I'm not going to turn out as big a wimp as I thought!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
so much hurt
Today was a hard day. Not a busy day, like a few last week. But a hard day. My students are dealing with some major issues, some big stuff, and a whole lot of junk.
A student's parent told her she hated her because of her bisexuality.
Another student was raped last week and was afraid to tell her parents.
Two students have attempted suicide in the past and are starting to feel depressed again.
Another one has no one to talk to and so drinks and smokes out to numb the pain.
And a student was molested.
There is so much hurt in the hearts of these kids. They want so desperately to be loved, to be valued, to feel joy and meaning in their lives. Yet family, peers, teachers even have told them they are not lovable, not valuable, not capable of doing anything good with their lives.
And there I sit, trying to provide some sense of hope, some piece of love or goodness to hold onto. These kids are aching to be loved by someone, anyone. And I know they are loved and cared for so deeply by their heavenly father, by the one who sent his son that they might have life. At times, this is my only saving grace. My only hope. The only thing that keeps me in my chair after 8 hours straight of hurt. This man called Jesus, who came to earth to take away the pain of sin, to give companionship in the place of loneliness and despair, as a father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow, as the source of living water that fills every last unquenchable desire, as the example of perfect love that does not hurt, exploit or disturb. Perfect love, perfect peace.
After work I went for a long swim to leave behind the day's frustrations. And as I moved through the water, I prayed for these kids. I prayed that the God I know and trust and believe in would be enough for me in that moment, would be enough for these kids with so much hurt. And I left it all there, floating into the cool night in splashes of water.
A student's parent told her she hated her because of her bisexuality.
Another student was raped last week and was afraid to tell her parents.
Two students have attempted suicide in the past and are starting to feel depressed again.
Another one has no one to talk to and so drinks and smokes out to numb the pain.
And a student was molested.
There is so much hurt in the hearts of these kids. They want so desperately to be loved, to be valued, to feel joy and meaning in their lives. Yet family, peers, teachers even have told them they are not lovable, not valuable, not capable of doing anything good with their lives.
And there I sit, trying to provide some sense of hope, some piece of love or goodness to hold onto. These kids are aching to be loved by someone, anyone. And I know they are loved and cared for so deeply by their heavenly father, by the one who sent his son that they might have life. At times, this is my only saving grace. My only hope. The only thing that keeps me in my chair after 8 hours straight of hurt. This man called Jesus, who came to earth to take away the pain of sin, to give companionship in the place of loneliness and despair, as a father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow, as the source of living water that fills every last unquenchable desire, as the example of perfect love that does not hurt, exploit or disturb. Perfect love, perfect peace.
After work I went for a long swim to leave behind the day's frustrations. And as I moved through the water, I prayed for these kids. I prayed that the God I know and trust and believe in would be enough for me in that moment, would be enough for these kids with so much hurt. And I left it all there, floating into the cool night in splashes of water.
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