Community

When I think of the reasons folks go to the emergency room on New Year's Eve or NYE Day, I think "over-partying".   In this frigid weather, maybe slips on ice, or skiing, sledding, and ice-skating accidents, stuff like that  (Until now, to be honest, I never really gave it all too much thought). 

Just to add some spice to our lives, not that there isn't enough health-wise going on, I can now add "New Year's Eve Emergency Room" to my resume.  After 16 hours of unabated, sharp stabbing pain, along with nausea (which I mistook for indigestion), during which I tried desperately to make what ever was hurting stop. I took Tums and Ibuprofen. (Despite Zofran, I threw it all up anyways).  *Something*, maybe a bad stomach bug and pulled muscle, was simply not getting better.  It was, in fact, getting worse.  

My kids had tried to get me to go to the hospital hours earlier. (As is typical, my PCP's office wasn't helpful.  Returning calls in a timely manner, or even triaging them appropriately, are not strength areas).

At the ER, I got taken it right away.  Forget 1-10 pain scale ratings, I think ER triage nurses can read the pain simply by looking at you.
 
There, I learned all about gallbladders.  It turns out people can develop gall stones, and not know they have them for a long time.  I had just one, however it was blocking a duct, this presentation indicated emergency surgery.  I admit to being grateful it could be dealt with laproscopically.  However, it feels like, and I am quoting the surgeon, "having been stabbed" 5 times.

On New Year's Day, I watched the Tournament of Roses parade from my hospital bed.  Friends came to visit, doing (walking) laps in the hallway (only a really goof friend would do this) with me, and even bringing flowers.  (My best friend took two of my kids and she, and her parents, spoiled them to death during a sleepover).

Last night, I came home.  The scene that unfolded was a bit surreal.

If you happened to be a stranger looking at my house last night, you might have thought you were witnessing mass chaos. A boatload of dear friends here, bringing food and household stuff, putting out trash and recycling, doing dishes and laundry, making the bed, feeding cats,  even finding and going to one of the two pharmacies open on New Year's Eve, and general post Christmas clean-up.

But it wasn't chaos. It was community.  People who love my kids and me lending a hand, or seven, on a cold night to ensure I was supported and loved, and able to care for my kids despite being in tremendous pain.

I am so blessed to have such a village surrounding me and my kids. I love you guys! 

Ironically, last night, it was my son who showed such kindness and real empathy.  He asked to crawl into bed and snuggle, bears in tow.  He understood to be gentle.  Autism can shine and his heart is oh-so-big.

A perfect summer day

Best buddies

It's always fun to see friends who have moved away.  This weekend, we took a hike in the Fells, our goal to find one of the two towers that give you a nice view of the Boston skyline, with our now-Floridian friends.  We ended up at the Bear Hill Tower.  (I have my own painful issues with the locale, which I will keep to myself here).  The weather was perfect, no humidity.  Having always gone hiking there with friends who know where they are going and being directionally-challenged, it was amusing to have to park at one of the few lots (called Sheepfold), as opposed to a side street.  Why you might ask?  *Everyone* at Sheepfold has a dog.  Apparently, it is one of the few off-leash dog parks in the area.  I am scared of dogs no fan of dogs, but I will say everyone was super-friendly and no canine jumped on me.

It was a tad strange.  The family we met up with includes Emily's best buddy C (and her two younger siblings).  But, it wasn't her mom, who is my dear friend, who flew to Boston for the weekend.  Rather, it was their dad.  Another sad/bad divorce situation (do any of my friends stay married?),  so I smiled and just enjoyed it for the sake of the children.  (He was friendly and nice to me).  We all had so much fun.  Too much maybe- C's little sister suggested outloud (clearly 8 year olds do not have filters), "maybe you and my dad should get married."  

Oh my.

As I shrugged off the idea, I couldn't help but laugh. (I barely know the guy and he is the opposite of my "type").   No, I won't be dating my friend's ex-husband.

The morning and lunch were both lovely.  The kids had a blast, we enjoyed some yummy Mexican sandwiches called "tortas", and all was good.  Until, sadly, I realized I had pushed myself too far with the pulled muscle I already had, and the hiking caused *something* to tear/rip/cause excruciating pain.  After lots of ice and ibuprofen, a wonderful meal from an equally wonderful friend, and 48 hours having passed, I'll be hobbling to the doctor's this morning.

In the end, it was so worth it.  Hearing the kids' laughter is the BEST medicine for any parent.

An angel just showed up on Heaven's doorstep

Last night, someone who was very dear to me lost her fight with cancer(s).  Lynda was a neighbor for many years.  As well, she was part of my church family and a fellow Deacon. Recently, she insisted upon gifting my daughter with a cat-themed nightgown on her 9/11 birthday, despite the fact she was battling progressive cancer and very, very sick. This picture is of Lynda holding Julia at her baptism party so many years ago. I blogged about Lynda when she and I re-connected this past July.  We had a really special, long heart-to-heart conversation.  (It's cut-and-pasted at the bottom of this post).

Most importantly, Lynda was a friend. She was a friend who brought over a casserole (or three) when babies were born.   She was there when Andrew was diagnosed with autism, taking an especially caring role as she had a nephew who also is autistic.  When, in 2006, crisis came into the lives of good friends and my family (she reminded me just a few weeks ago that I still have her green casserole dish).  So intuitive and smart, she remembered how fragile we all seemed during that spring.  She came to the hospital when my kids was born. (Heck, it was Lynda who took me to the BI for a late-term amniocentisis to determine Andrew's lung maturity).  Lynda was "the" wonderful, non-judgmental friend who threw me a lovely baby shower in her backyard when I was pregnant with J.  At my wedding, her then early-elementary aged daughter danced up a storm at the reception.  She was a true "Angel" to my Andrew, diagnosed with autism at age 2 and in need of a 1:1 aide during Sunday School so I could get a brief respite.

Heaven has welcomed an angel, but we have lost a truly, kind, and compassionate person who symbolized grace to me.  Lynda very much wanted my daughter to come back home, and thought what J most needed was to be with her mother more than anything.  Lynda's own mother was steadfast in her love for her daughter and cared for Lynda over the many years she was sick. My heart goes out to her and to Lynda's two kids, 17 and 22.

Heaven's lucky right now.  Those of us here will miss Lynda so very much.  I loved her and didn't get a chance to say good-bye, but had sent a few emails and left a few messages on her voicemail letting her know I was thinking of her in recent weeks. May God bless her and be of comfort to her family. She was an extraordinary person, an Angel to Andrew in particular.   But, man would she be so uncomfortable hearing that word used to describe her.

Rest in peace, my dear friend.


7/26/08

A week ; a friend

Last night, I spoke to a long-time friend, Lynda, who is very sick with cancer.  She helped throw my baby shower.  I told her how sorry I was that I hadn't called sooner knowing that week after week I'd read of her illness in the church's bulletin and week after week, I did not call.  Strangely, she too apologized for the same thing. She said she felt so badly about what was going on with me, she too just couldn't call. She reminded me that one night, she brought over dinner for two families to share. She told me only now that she sensed such a disaster, that one little one was a mess and crying, and that the tensions between the adults seemed palpable. I sheepishly reminded her how much we all appreciated her casserole that night and that I still had the green dish in my cabinet. We ended our conversation with a few tears and promises to stay in better touch.

What happens when you don't nurture the friendships with the people who you care about?  What happens when you nurture them too much?  For many months, my family extended itself, becoming a family plus 4, taking care of the needs of our (then) friends who were in a crisis of which we had never witnessed before.  In reality, it may have provided the support that was needed for them, but it tore my family apart. It absolutely killed whatever vestige of a marriage I had left at that point (tenuous at best). You want to help those who you care about, who have helped you and cared about you. That's human nature and friendship.  Even in the middle of the crisis, I was taking care of 2 extra kids, plus both of their parents. I was lauded by our church and our pastor for it and hated and resented by my husband for it. What a mess.  Lynda helped a lot; others helped.  It wasn't enough; it was too much for everyone.  The village simply wasn't big enough.

Friendship, having seen it go when I wasn't ready for it to leave, is even more special and sacred because of this.  It's the one bond that shouldn't let men or other intricacies come between it. It's an amazing bond between women which I have yet to see replicated by men.

I saw something interesting on the Today Show. The "expert" said that women should not date men who don't have their own friends. The point being that the men need their own support system and it is unhealthy for them to rely on their new female partner for all support. Truer words have never been spoken.  Lynda said those words, gently as she said everything, to me over and over again.

Advice is good, healing necessary, but there is a profound sense of loss which tears at my heart and soul.  This loss hurt me, it hurt my kids, and their friendships, too. What a strange way for things to play out. And then what a sad, sad way they can just as easily all fall apart.  Thanks to friends like Lynda, any hurdle can be overcome.