My daughter was adopted from an orphanage in Russia when she was almost 7 years old. She has hemiparesis caused by cerebral palsy. We don't think about it very much, it's just part of who she is; much like her black hair and black eyes. She tries not to let it affect her, although sometimes it's out of her control. She is not the fastest soccer player or the kid who is picked first to play kickball. But the bigger picture is she always plays, she never shies away from anything. My Dear Daughter is a teeny, tiny girl with a very big voice and a big personality to match.
In her middle school PE class, she has to run a weekly 1.5 mile cross country course, called The Ram, under 24 minutes. She comes home every Friday to report on her time and I'm ashamed to admit but I usually let it go in one ear and out the other. Yet every week she lets me know. One day I asked her how other students do and was quite surprised to learn that there are some kids who often don't finish under the 24 minutes. That got my attention. Here is my kid who, every week, goes out and gives it her all, regardless of her physical obstacles. Wow. Then today, I learned that she was named the Ram Runner of the Week. This kid knocks my socks off. I wish I could take the credit but she is proof of nature vs. nurture. I thank God that we were able to make her our daughter. My only regret is that we didn't find her sooner.
Pepper and Pals: Musings from an ordinary woman with a job, husband, teenagers, animals and opinions.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Luke Skywalker Arrested
My oldest turns 16 tomorrow. That blows my mind and it got me thinking about
all the things my kids have done over the years to get in trouble, which
led me to thinking about the bad things I did when I was a kid, which led me to
thinking about how things are so different today than when I was a kid, the
consequences are so much more extreme now. Which then led me to think
about maybe that's why parents overreact and instead of letting their
kids learn the lesson, they defend them, along the way losing the opportunity to teach the moral of what's right and wrong. (Yes, you just got the nickle
tour of how my brain works... I'm not officially diagnosed ADHD, but, you see the thought 'trail'....) I am ashamed to admit it, but I am guilty of being one of those parents.
Instead of embarassing my birthday boy by telling about one of his misdeeds, I'm going to share a
story about my middle child.
We live in the desert; home to dirt, heat and cactus. Our house is older and on an acre and we have a lot of cactus, more than I would like to have. I guess the technical term for several cactus is cacti. Some cacti are not tall and beautiful like the majestic saguaros, they're more like weeds. You could burn prickly pear cacti and it would grow back with double the enthusiasm. When the rainy season arrives some cacti fill up with so much water that they tip over, pulling up their roots. We have a barrel cactus in our front yard that is held in place with cable because it did that very thing. When a cactus is filled with water it can be soft, a little mushy, and almost like a ripe pineapple pinata. A rain filled cactus is like a gift from the gods to an 11 year old boy with an imagination.
It was in December of 2007 and we had just gotten a ton of rain. The rivers and washes were flowing, streets were flooded, and there were cacti tipped over everywhere. My 11 year old decided to go out and play in the backyard. Go child; have fun, get dirty, breathe the fresh air! Four days later, I was home sick from work when the doorbell rang. It was our new neighbor, fresh to Tucson from the east coast, and he needed to show me something that my son had done.... Great, can't wait. In between the back of all the houses in my neighborhood is a wash and when Middle Kid had been out playing in the rain 4 days earlier, he was playing Star Wars and Mr. East Coast Neighbor's poor prickly pear cactus was Darth Vader. Lord Vader did not fare well against young Middle Child's light saber. Now, had it been in the 1980s, my parents would have sent me over to clean it up, plant a new cactus, offer to sweep his driveway for penance and that would have been that but this was 2007 and Mr. East Coast watches America's Most Wanted. My child was the devil and had to be stopped! He was somehow under the impression that his weed - er, prickly pear, was worth $2,000 and that I owed him that much or he was pressing charges (a felony, according to him). At that point, I said, "We're done here." and turned to walk back home. This is when he said (and I swear I'm not making this up) that my child "needed help." "Today it's sticks and cactus, tomorrow it's people and knives." I spun back around, looked him dead in the eye and responded with two words, "He's eleven." 45 minutes later the police were at my door and paper arrested my 11 year old. Of course my husband was not home or things would have gone vastly differently. When the officer showed up, we sang like canaries. When KC found this out, he shook his head and proceeded to tell me that I should have just shut my mouth and made them prove it. I told him I didn't want to be "that parent" but after my boy was arrested, I wished I had been. Feeling like that pissed me off for multiple reasons but I think the biggest reason was because instead of turning this into a life lesson for my son about stupid decisions and their consequences, I became what I loathe; the parent who finds excuses, does not hold her child accountable, and attempts to fix everything for him. But I really didn't feel like I had a choice. My barely double digits boy was arrested for fighting with a cactus. Arrested! As in, we were now in the criminal system. Sorry, but we were going to fight this, to hell with the life lesson. I had a surveyor out two days later to make sure it was actually Mr. East Coast's property and not the city's. It was on the edge of Mr. EC's. Damn. My husband went to three different plant nurseries to get quotes on prickly pear cactus (although most people told me to just cut a paddle off one of ours, bury it in the ground and in no time, one would appear. Weeds, I'm telling ya! Weeds!) The highest quote was $50 for the largest one they had. Score one for us. We talked to our friend who is a prosecuting attorney. We talked to a lawyer. Both were incredulous that the situation was allowed to manifest into what it had. I was cautiously optimistic but I still lost five pounds in five days. I couldn't sleep, I was sick to my stomach and a wreck. My child, a convict. The day came for Middle Kid to go meet with a probation officer - I'm not sure why he never had an actual court date. She was a sweet woman whose grandson whacked things in her backyard with a stick all the time and it wasn't because he "needed help", it was because he was a little boy. She saw where the cactus was located in relation to the wash; he didn't jump a fence to get into the man's yard, the cactus was practically in the wash. Most importantly, she recognized he was ELEVEN. His punishment was he had to write an apology letter. Done! Had our new neighbor (who moved away about a year later) not been a crotchety old man who thought all cacti were protected species and who was convinced that all young people are speed freak vandals, he would have gotten an apology, his yard cleaned up, a new cactus, and his driveway swept. And my boy would have gotten a valuable lesson. Instead, neighbor got a letter from a 6th grade boy with horrible penmanship saying he was sorry. But, at that point, after all Middle Kid went through, he probably wasn't sorry. He probably was daydreaming about the Halloween when he was 16 and able to go to the store and buy eggs and toilet paper and do the job right. Maybe Mr. EC realized that and decided to get out of town while the gettin' was good. But we're still not done with this, when Middle Child turns 18, we have to go apply to have his record expunged.
So, I get it, Mrs. Parent-That-I-Loathe. Our society today doesn't let kids just be kids and screw up without throwing the book at them. Poor Todd Peterson (sorry for throwing ya under the bus, Todd!) punched me in the eye in third grade for calling him Pee Pants Peterson. I think he had to stay home one day from school and I'm sure he got his butt whipped by his parents; plenty of punishment. But not today! Today, if a kid gets in a fight at school, even elementary school, he's suspended long-term and subject to arrest. Parents know this and instead of being able to teach their kid that fighting is bad, they have to worry about defending him legally so they can't work with the school while providing punishment at home, they're on the phone with their lawyer - over a playground fight. Fighting kid learns that parents make consequences go away and he isn't accountable for his actions. And I also get it, Little Couch Potato Johnny. Any time an adult sees a kid outside playing, he calls the cops. It's easier to just stay indoors and play video games. Ugh. It's hard to advocate for fresh air when arrest is the possible end result. I hope this pendulum starts to swing the other way but I don't see that happening any time soon. We now call for people to be fired for any mistake they make. I think it may be that people don't know how to spell reprimand, so it's easier to just go with "FIRE HIM!" But, it goes hand-in-hand with arresting Johnny for fighting on the playground (or Middle Kid for kicking Darth "prickly pear" Vader's ass.)
We live in the desert; home to dirt, heat and cactus. Our house is older and on an acre and we have a lot of cactus, more than I would like to have. I guess the technical term for several cactus is cacti. Some cacti are not tall and beautiful like the majestic saguaros, they're more like weeds. You could burn prickly pear cacti and it would grow back with double the enthusiasm. When the rainy season arrives some cacti fill up with so much water that they tip over, pulling up their roots. We have a barrel cactus in our front yard that is held in place with cable because it did that very thing. When a cactus is filled with water it can be soft, a little mushy, and almost like a ripe pineapple pinata. A rain filled cactus is like a gift from the gods to an 11 year old boy with an imagination.
It was in December of 2007 and we had just gotten a ton of rain. The rivers and washes were flowing, streets were flooded, and there were cacti tipped over everywhere. My 11 year old decided to go out and play in the backyard. Go child; have fun, get dirty, breathe the fresh air! Four days later, I was home sick from work when the doorbell rang. It was our new neighbor, fresh to Tucson from the east coast, and he needed to show me something that my son had done.... Great, can't wait. In between the back of all the houses in my neighborhood is a wash and when Middle Kid had been out playing in the rain 4 days earlier, he was playing Star Wars and Mr. East Coast Neighbor's poor prickly pear cactus was Darth Vader. Lord Vader did not fare well against young Middle Child's light saber. Now, had it been in the 1980s, my parents would have sent me over to clean it up, plant a new cactus, offer to sweep his driveway for penance and that would have been that but this was 2007 and Mr. East Coast watches America's Most Wanted. My child was the devil and had to be stopped! He was somehow under the impression that his weed - er, prickly pear, was worth $2,000 and that I owed him that much or he was pressing charges (a felony, according to him). At that point, I said, "We're done here." and turned to walk back home. This is when he said (and I swear I'm not making this up) that my child "needed help." "Today it's sticks and cactus, tomorrow it's people and knives." I spun back around, looked him dead in the eye and responded with two words, "He's eleven." 45 minutes later the police were at my door and paper arrested my 11 year old. Of course my husband was not home or things would have gone vastly differently. When the officer showed up, we sang like canaries. When KC found this out, he shook his head and proceeded to tell me that I should have just shut my mouth and made them prove it. I told him I didn't want to be "that parent" but after my boy was arrested, I wished I had been. Feeling like that pissed me off for multiple reasons but I think the biggest reason was because instead of turning this into a life lesson for my son about stupid decisions and their consequences, I became what I loathe; the parent who finds excuses, does not hold her child accountable, and attempts to fix everything for him. But I really didn't feel like I had a choice. My barely double digits boy was arrested for fighting with a cactus. Arrested! As in, we were now in the criminal system. Sorry, but we were going to fight this, to hell with the life lesson. I had a surveyor out two days later to make sure it was actually Mr. East Coast's property and not the city's. It was on the edge of Mr. EC's. Damn. My husband went to three different plant nurseries to get quotes on prickly pear cactus (although most people told me to just cut a paddle off one of ours, bury it in the ground and in no time, one would appear. Weeds, I'm telling ya! Weeds!) The highest quote was $50 for the largest one they had. Score one for us. We talked to our friend who is a prosecuting attorney. We talked to a lawyer. Both were incredulous that the situation was allowed to manifest into what it had. I was cautiously optimistic but I still lost five pounds in five days. I couldn't sleep, I was sick to my stomach and a wreck. My child, a convict. The day came for Middle Kid to go meet with a probation officer - I'm not sure why he never had an actual court date. She was a sweet woman whose grandson whacked things in her backyard with a stick all the time and it wasn't because he "needed help", it was because he was a little boy. She saw where the cactus was located in relation to the wash; he didn't jump a fence to get into the man's yard, the cactus was practically in the wash. Most importantly, she recognized he was ELEVEN. His punishment was he had to write an apology letter. Done! Had our new neighbor (who moved away about a year later) not been a crotchety old man who thought all cacti were protected species and who was convinced that all young people are speed freak vandals, he would have gotten an apology, his yard cleaned up, a new cactus, and his driveway swept. And my boy would have gotten a valuable lesson. Instead, neighbor got a letter from a 6th grade boy with horrible penmanship saying he was sorry. But, at that point, after all Middle Kid went through, he probably wasn't sorry. He probably was daydreaming about the Halloween when he was 16 and able to go to the store and buy eggs and toilet paper and do the job right. Maybe Mr. EC realized that and decided to get out of town while the gettin' was good. But we're still not done with this, when Middle Child turns 18, we have to go apply to have his record expunged.
So, I get it, Mrs. Parent-That-I-Loathe. Our society today doesn't let kids just be kids and screw up without throwing the book at them. Poor Todd Peterson (sorry for throwing ya under the bus, Todd!) punched me in the eye in third grade for calling him Pee Pants Peterson. I think he had to stay home one day from school and I'm sure he got his butt whipped by his parents; plenty of punishment. But not today! Today, if a kid gets in a fight at school, even elementary school, he's suspended long-term and subject to arrest. Parents know this and instead of being able to teach their kid that fighting is bad, they have to worry about defending him legally so they can't work with the school while providing punishment at home, they're on the phone with their lawyer - over a playground fight. Fighting kid learns that parents make consequences go away and he isn't accountable for his actions. And I also get it, Little Couch Potato Johnny. Any time an adult sees a kid outside playing, he calls the cops. It's easier to just stay indoors and play video games. Ugh. It's hard to advocate for fresh air when arrest is the possible end result. I hope this pendulum starts to swing the other way but I don't see that happening any time soon. We now call for people to be fired for any mistake they make. I think it may be that people don't know how to spell reprimand, so it's easier to just go with "FIRE HIM!" But, it goes hand-in-hand with arresting Johnny for fighting on the playground (or Middle Kid for kicking Darth "prickly pear" Vader's ass.)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Oh, the Grammy Awards with teenagers... such an interesting experience
Sorry for the week off - I was in Las Vegas! I was planning on blogging about that adventure and then I sat down by my daughter who was watching the Grammy Awards. If you want to feel archaic, watch an awards show with a 14 year old. The following are excerpts:
Bruce Springsteen opened the show. I exclaim, "Oh, the Boss." My daughter looked at me and said, "What? Who is he the boss of? I've never heard of him." Gut punch #1.
After the opening with the flashback of Whitney Houston singing, I Will Always Love You, I asked Dear Daughter if she knew any other Whitney Houston songs. She replied, "Well, yesterday at Nana's when the news kept playing stuff about her, it showed some songs from, like, 1916." Excuse me? 19-when? "I mean like 1960, 1970, you know, when she was really famous." Gut punch #2
Foo Fighters take the stage and within 10 seconds she announces, "They're already boring me. Have I heard anything by them -- that I would like?" I try to explain their Nirvana origins and I'm met with, "What's Nirvana?" For reals?!? Then she adds, "They could have dressed a little nicer." I decide I'm not even going to try to explain grunge, it will just give me a headache... In 1992, I definitely did not think someday I'd have to give a tutorial on the Seattle Sound to my child. RIP Kurt Cobain, I apologize if you are rolling over in your grave right now.
KC walks in while Rhianna is performing and asks (to piss her off) "Who's this loser?" Oh dad, you're so... so... so.....stupid.... Then Chris Martin takes the stage. "Coldplay? Who?" He also was boring.
My middle child enters right as the Beach Boys start. This is a kid who has gone to a Beach Boys concert; he loves music and he comments, "Wow, they're old." Blasphemer! Ok, wait, yeah they were old when I was a kid, so I'll give him that. Daughter comments, "IF they're not lip-syncing, they're pretty good for old guys." There's hope. Then, Stevie Wonder comes on and says something about Whitney Houston being in heaven. Middle Child, who was at a band competition all day yesterday and doing homework, allegedly, during the opening, says, "Wait, who is Whitney Houston?" Dear Daughter says, "Yeah, I didn't know who she was either." Hope dashed. Middle Kid did know who Stevie Wonder was though. (Dear Daughter, however, not a clue.)
Sir Paul McCartney comes on and music loving - including The Beatles - son asks who he is. When I shoot him a look, he back pedals and says he knew he was from The Beatles, he just didn't know what role he played. Uh, the freakin' singer/song writer role, kid.
Taylor Swift, damn that girl is talented. Daughter knew everything about her. The announcer lets us know that Katy Perry and Adele are coming up and daughter says, "It's about time! We're finally getting to the good people." I am taking solace in the thought of her explaining to her daughter who Adele, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry are.
Bruce Springsteen opened the show. I exclaim, "Oh, the Boss." My daughter looked at me and said, "What? Who is he the boss of? I've never heard of him." Gut punch #1.
After the opening with the flashback of Whitney Houston singing, I Will Always Love You, I asked Dear Daughter if she knew any other Whitney Houston songs. She replied, "Well, yesterday at Nana's when the news kept playing stuff about her, it showed some songs from, like, 1916." Excuse me? 19-when? "I mean like 1960, 1970, you know, when she was really famous." Gut punch #2
Foo Fighters take the stage and within 10 seconds she announces, "They're already boring me. Have I heard anything by them -- that I would like?" I try to explain their Nirvana origins and I'm met with, "What's Nirvana?" For reals?!? Then she adds, "They could have dressed a little nicer." I decide I'm not even going to try to explain grunge, it will just give me a headache... In 1992, I definitely did not think someday I'd have to give a tutorial on the Seattle Sound to my child. RIP Kurt Cobain, I apologize if you are rolling over in your grave right now.
KC walks in while Rhianna is performing and asks (to piss her off) "Who's this loser?" Oh dad, you're so... so... so.....stupid.... Then Chris Martin takes the stage. "Coldplay? Who?" He also was boring.
My middle child enters right as the Beach Boys start. This is a kid who has gone to a Beach Boys concert; he loves music and he comments, "Wow, they're old." Blasphemer! Ok, wait, yeah they were old when I was a kid, so I'll give him that. Daughter comments, "IF they're not lip-syncing, they're pretty good for old guys." There's hope. Then, Stevie Wonder comes on and says something about Whitney Houston being in heaven. Middle Child, who was at a band competition all day yesterday and doing homework, allegedly, during the opening, says, "Wait, who is Whitney Houston?" Dear Daughter says, "Yeah, I didn't know who she was either." Hope dashed. Middle Kid did know who Stevie Wonder was though. (Dear Daughter, however, not a clue.)
Sir Paul McCartney comes on and music loving - including The Beatles - son asks who he is. When I shoot him a look, he back pedals and says he knew he was from The Beatles, he just didn't know what role he played. Uh, the freakin' singer/song writer role, kid.
Taylor Swift, damn that girl is talented. Daughter knew everything about her. The announcer lets us know that Katy Perry and Adele are coming up and daughter says, "It's about time! We're finally getting to the good people." I am taking solace in the thought of her explaining to her daughter who Adele, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry are.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
You're only as old as you feel... or as your mom tells you you are...
I refuse to tell my children how old I really am. I don't see why they need to know. I don't know why anyone needs to know, frankly. I'm old enough to buy wine, vote, and enter into contracts - that's really all you need to know; beyond that, you're just being nosy. For some reason, this drives my mother crazy and she took it upon herself to tell my kids my real age (which I have since denied and chalked it up to Nana being a little senile.) Lately, I've noticed I've been more forthcoming with my oldest on our drives to and from school and he's somewhat shocked to learn my real feelings about some things and has seen this as an opportunity to inquire about that off-limits subject.
Eldest son: So, you really didn't like Mrs. *Smith when I was in elementary school?
Me: No, I thought she was mean and grumpy. She should have retired 10 years before she taught you.
Eldest: You always said she was a great teacher and how much you liked her!
Me: Well, of course I did! I had to be the example, I'm the grown-up. You still needed to be respectful to her and if I would have let you know I didn't like her, you would have thought you didn't have to be.
Eldest: That makes sense, I guess. What about Mr. *Jones? Remember when he told me there was no Santa Claus?
Me: I wanted to go kick him in the nuts, I was so mad. I mean, who tells someone else's kid something like that? What an ass.
Eldest: Wow, you are always so nice to him. What else don't I know?
Me: I'm not sure, nothing comes to mind.
He sees this as his opening.
Eldest: Are you really **30 years old, like Nana says you are?
Me: No, I don't know why Nana continues to lie to you about that.
Eldest: Mom, I think you really are 30.
He then goes through some simple math. All of a sudden my B average math student has become Sir Isaac Newton, math genius: You're 8 years older than your sister, and she's **22. You graduated in 1999. You got married when you were **13 and you and dad have been married for 17 years....
I tell him that his calculations are wrong, that I'm the same age as his father, and ask him if he put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. He tells me yes and we both pretend to believe each other while changing the subject. There are just some things we don't need to know right now. Would it have made any difference had he told me the truth? It wasn't like I was going to turn around so he could actually take care of his dishes. I'll discover the truth in the afternoon when I get home, unless he calls his sister and bribes her to do it for him before we get home, then I'll never be the wiser. Same with my age. He can have his suspicions, but until he really needs to know (like when I'm dead) he can just pretend to believe me. When it matters is when he'll know for certain.
So, does it make a difference that I'm a few years older than I tell my children - and anyone else rude enough to ask? Does it change anything? Exactly!
*Names have changed, for obvious reasons
**Ages have been changed, because it's none of your damn business
Eldest son: So, you really didn't like Mrs. *Smith when I was in elementary school?
Me: No, I thought she was mean and grumpy. She should have retired 10 years before she taught you.
Eldest: You always said she was a great teacher and how much you liked her!
Me: Well, of course I did! I had to be the example, I'm the grown-up. You still needed to be respectful to her and if I would have let you know I didn't like her, you would have thought you didn't have to be.
Eldest: That makes sense, I guess. What about Mr. *Jones? Remember when he told me there was no Santa Claus?
Me: I wanted to go kick him in the nuts, I was so mad. I mean, who tells someone else's kid something like that? What an ass.
Eldest: Wow, you are always so nice to him. What else don't I know?
Me: I'm not sure, nothing comes to mind.
He sees this as his opening.
Eldest: Are you really **30 years old, like Nana says you are?
Me: No, I don't know why Nana continues to lie to you about that.
Eldest: Mom, I think you really are 30.
He then goes through some simple math. All of a sudden my B average math student has become Sir Isaac Newton, math genius: You're 8 years older than your sister, and she's **22. You graduated in 1999. You got married when you were **13 and you and dad have been married for 17 years....
I tell him that his calculations are wrong, that I'm the same age as his father, and ask him if he put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. He tells me yes and we both pretend to believe each other while changing the subject. There are just some things we don't need to know right now. Would it have made any difference had he told me the truth? It wasn't like I was going to turn around so he could actually take care of his dishes. I'll discover the truth in the afternoon when I get home, unless he calls his sister and bribes her to do it for him before we get home, then I'll never be the wiser. Same with my age. He can have his suspicions, but until he really needs to know (like when I'm dead) he can just pretend to believe me. When it matters is when he'll know for certain.
So, does it make a difference that I'm a few years older than I tell my children - and anyone else rude enough to ask? Does it change anything? Exactly!
*Names have changed, for obvious reasons
**Ages have been changed, because it's none of your damn business
Friday, February 3, 2012
I've got a lot of Pep and Zip
 |
| Mutt |
 | ||
| Zippy |
We made it to Michigan and it was chilly! It was awesome. Unfortunately, we don't have a fenced yard in Michigan like we do in Arizona, so every time one of the canines had to go out, someone had to go with them. There is nothing sadder than an underweight chihuahua on a cold Michigan morning trying to pee while shivering uncontrollably. Frank handled the cold surprisingly well. He was kind of an old pro in Michigan and he surprised everyone in my family because he had turned into a really well-behaved boy, which was quite different than how he had behaved in the summer. Pepe took his place as the rotten dog. He barked at everyone, wouldn't mind, was bossy and rude and just was an overall stinker. And I loved him.
 |
| Pep |
Monday, January 30, 2012
Let's talk about MS
I'm pausing in telling the story of how Pepper came to be our dog...
I had a dear friend call me this weekend to talk to me about something she had come across that she was certain would help combat my MS. Now, I have had someone tell me about a treatment, diet, or supplement that is supposed to be a cure at least once a month since I became sick two and a half years ago so I sometimes am not the most patient or gentle person any more when told of these amazing therapies. I love this woman dearly and know she only has my best interest at heart so I had to step back before I responded. After explaining that I was very happy with my current treatment, she commented; "you know, you never read about people who are dealing with the disease successfully." and that got me thinking. I haven't written much about my relationship with MS and when I started examining why, I realized that I didn't think I had much to tell. I also think I felt guilty, like I wasn't sick enough to warrant telling my story; I have to really be suffering before I have anything worthwhile to say. Then, I realized I was doing such a disservice to people who don't know much about the disease, or more importantly, may be newly diagnosed and are scared about what having MS in 2012 may mean. MS treatment has come a long way and it no longer means a life certainly destined for a wheelchair, or worse.
I was "unofficially" diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in July of 2009. I had been experiencing intense pain in my eyes and my husband made me go to the doctor - that morning. Then my doctor got me an appointment with an ophthalmologist that same afternoon where I was diagnosed with optic neuritis. I asked my ophthalmologist what caused that and she said, "well, usually, MS." Um, what? In the words of Vizzini from The Princess Bride, "Inconceivable!" I can't have MS and I walked down the stairs from her 2nd floor office, rather than take the elevator, as if that was going to prove I didn't have the disease. My doctor got me in for an MRI the next day because I was leaving the next night to go to Las Vegas for the 4th of July weekend. I learned that my MRI indicated "probable MS" while sitting in a Flamingo hotel room. Needless to say, I don't remember much else of that weekend. I came back to Tucson and was given a referral for a neurologist who I could not get an appointment with until the end of August. The end of August. How on earth was I going to stay sane until the end of August?
Unfortunately, I spent a lot of time researching Multiple Sclerosis on the internet while waiting for that appointment. I read about diets, vitamin deficiencies and supplements, metal allergies, viruses, immunization reactions, stem cell research, CRAB drugs, blood brain barriers, remylination research, Big Pharma conspiracies, and so much more. I have a friend who is a doctor and one of the first things he said to me when I told him my situation was, "stay off the internet." Oh, how I wish I had taken his advice. I was more confused and scared than ever. I wanted to have some control over this and became convinced diet was the answer. I went on a strict, no sugar, caffeine, gluten or processed foods diet and was adamant about following it. I even ate salmon weekly (and I hate fish). I lost 20 pounds in six weeks and yet I still felt terrible. I was exhausted all the time; I felt drunk, dizzy, fuzzy and weak. Was this how my life was going to be from now on?
The time for my neurologist appointment finally arrived. KC and I went in and the doctor spent over an hour answering our questions and discussing treatments. He told me I would have to have a lumbar puncture, a.k.a. spinal tap, in order to be 100% sure of the diagnosis. Gulp. Spinal tap? I probably should mention that I had a horrible fear of needles. I would feel faint whenever I had to have blood drawn or get a shot. One time I passed out when I was having an IV put in. The thought of having a giant needle inserted into my spine, literally, made me cry. I'm happy to report that the procedure itself was a piece a cake, it was the days after while the hole in my spine was healing that were a bitch. The results of the spinal tap made it official, I have MS. That was in September, 2009.
My doctor initially prescribed Rebif for my treatment but my insurance company said, "sorry, she's taking Beta Seron." I was mad. All the drugs (available in 2009) are administered by injection but Rebif is taken every three days while Beta Seron is injected every other day. I didn't know how I was going to be able to give myself a shot once, let alone every other day for possibly the rest of my life. The thought was almost surreal and the irony that the thing I feared so much was going to be the thing that helped me was not lost on me.
I began my treatment and I started to feel better, not nearly as tired and weak as I was, but my vision was still very impaired so I went on a three-day intravenous treatment. I panicked when having the IV inserted the first day, but it got easier each day and more importantly, the treatment worked. A short time after, my vision came back, almost completely. Other than the occasional day, what I now refer to as 'an MS Day' when I feel exhausted or my equilibrium is off, I am flare free and have been since November, 2009. I have responded to the medicine beautifully. Except my body is not beautiful where I have injected myself. I jokingly say I look like the Spotted Beast from the cartoon Maggie and the Spotted Beast because I have big red spots all over my bum, thighs, stomach, and arms. But it is a small price to pay. Speaking of small prices.... MS drugs are not. I am fortunate and grateful that my husband has good insurance through his job. Beta Seron would cost more than I make each month otherwise. As I began to feel better, I got lazier about following my diet. I am now convinced, since I was basically the guinea pig, that neither diet nor supplements are a substitute for my medication. I have not noticed a difference when I change how I eat; at least not as far as the MS is concerned.
The pain from optic neuritis went away in a few days and I probably would have carried on without seeing the doctor, had my husband not actually dialed the phone to her office and handed me it and then driven me there for my appointment. And my disease would have continued to progress unabated. The gods intervened and I was given a diagnosis - crappy as it may be - and I was started on drug therapy that has slowed the MS; my last MRI showed no new damage. So I can feel sorry for myself, which, to be fair, I did for a little while, or I can accept it, face it, take care of myself and be grateful that I am sick at a time when there is effective treatment and a hope for a cure in the future. My ophthalmologist said something to me that put it in perspective when I went back for a follow-up visit after my first visit to the neurologist. She told me that now I know what is wrong and I can begin to deal with it, so, deal with it. (My eye doctor is a very no-nonsense lady.)
So, in short, I have MS and it has changed my life, most definitely, but it has not ruined it. Change can be good. I have learned to not sweat the little things and to take better care of myself. I appreciate my husband and friends more than ever and make a more concentrated effort to enjoy my children. I do these things because Multiple Sclerosis came into my life.
I had a dear friend call me this weekend to talk to me about something she had come across that she was certain would help combat my MS. Now, I have had someone tell me about a treatment, diet, or supplement that is supposed to be a cure at least once a month since I became sick two and a half years ago so I sometimes am not the most patient or gentle person any more when told of these amazing therapies. I love this woman dearly and know she only has my best interest at heart so I had to step back before I responded. After explaining that I was very happy with my current treatment, she commented; "you know, you never read about people who are dealing with the disease successfully." and that got me thinking. I haven't written much about my relationship with MS and when I started examining why, I realized that I didn't think I had much to tell. I also think I felt guilty, like I wasn't sick enough to warrant telling my story; I have to really be suffering before I have anything worthwhile to say. Then, I realized I was doing such a disservice to people who don't know much about the disease, or more importantly, may be newly diagnosed and are scared about what having MS in 2012 may mean. MS treatment has come a long way and it no longer means a life certainly destined for a wheelchair, or worse.
I was "unofficially" diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in July of 2009. I had been experiencing intense pain in my eyes and my husband made me go to the doctor - that morning. Then my doctor got me an appointment with an ophthalmologist that same afternoon where I was diagnosed with optic neuritis. I asked my ophthalmologist what caused that and she said, "well, usually, MS." Um, what? In the words of Vizzini from The Princess Bride, "Inconceivable!" I can't have MS and I walked down the stairs from her 2nd floor office, rather than take the elevator, as if that was going to prove I didn't have the disease. My doctor got me in for an MRI the next day because I was leaving the next night to go to Las Vegas for the 4th of July weekend. I learned that my MRI indicated "probable MS" while sitting in a Flamingo hotel room. Needless to say, I don't remember much else of that weekend. I came back to Tucson and was given a referral for a neurologist who I could not get an appointment with until the end of August. The end of August. How on earth was I going to stay sane until the end of August?
Unfortunately, I spent a lot of time researching Multiple Sclerosis on the internet while waiting for that appointment. I read about diets, vitamin deficiencies and supplements, metal allergies, viruses, immunization reactions, stem cell research, CRAB drugs, blood brain barriers, remylination research, Big Pharma conspiracies, and so much more. I have a friend who is a doctor and one of the first things he said to me when I told him my situation was, "stay off the internet." Oh, how I wish I had taken his advice. I was more confused and scared than ever. I wanted to have some control over this and became convinced diet was the answer. I went on a strict, no sugar, caffeine, gluten or processed foods diet and was adamant about following it. I even ate salmon weekly (and I hate fish). I lost 20 pounds in six weeks and yet I still felt terrible. I was exhausted all the time; I felt drunk, dizzy, fuzzy and weak. Was this how my life was going to be from now on?
The time for my neurologist appointment finally arrived. KC and I went in and the doctor spent over an hour answering our questions and discussing treatments. He told me I would have to have a lumbar puncture, a.k.a. spinal tap, in order to be 100% sure of the diagnosis. Gulp. Spinal tap? I probably should mention that I had a horrible fear of needles. I would feel faint whenever I had to have blood drawn or get a shot. One time I passed out when I was having an IV put in. The thought of having a giant needle inserted into my spine, literally, made me cry. I'm happy to report that the procedure itself was a piece a cake, it was the days after while the hole in my spine was healing that were a bitch. The results of the spinal tap made it official, I have MS. That was in September, 2009.
My doctor initially prescribed Rebif for my treatment but my insurance company said, "sorry, she's taking Beta Seron." I was mad. All the drugs (available in 2009) are administered by injection but Rebif is taken every three days while Beta Seron is injected every other day. I didn't know how I was going to be able to give myself a shot once, let alone every other day for possibly the rest of my life. The thought was almost surreal and the irony that the thing I feared so much was going to be the thing that helped me was not lost on me.
I began my treatment and I started to feel better, not nearly as tired and weak as I was, but my vision was still very impaired so I went on a three-day intravenous treatment. I panicked when having the IV inserted the first day, but it got easier each day and more importantly, the treatment worked. A short time after, my vision came back, almost completely. Other than the occasional day, what I now refer to as 'an MS Day' when I feel exhausted or my equilibrium is off, I am flare free and have been since November, 2009. I have responded to the medicine beautifully. Except my body is not beautiful where I have injected myself. I jokingly say I look like the Spotted Beast from the cartoon Maggie and the Spotted Beast because I have big red spots all over my bum, thighs, stomach, and arms. But it is a small price to pay. Speaking of small prices.... MS drugs are not. I am fortunate and grateful that my husband has good insurance through his job. Beta Seron would cost more than I make each month otherwise. As I began to feel better, I got lazier about following my diet. I am now convinced, since I was basically the guinea pig, that neither diet nor supplements are a substitute for my medication. I have not noticed a difference when I change how I eat; at least not as far as the MS is concerned.
The pain from optic neuritis went away in a few days and I probably would have carried on without seeing the doctor, had my husband not actually dialed the phone to her office and handed me it and then driven me there for my appointment. And my disease would have continued to progress unabated. The gods intervened and I was given a diagnosis - crappy as it may be - and I was started on drug therapy that has slowed the MS; my last MRI showed no new damage. So I can feel sorry for myself, which, to be fair, I did for a little while, or I can accept it, face it, take care of myself and be grateful that I am sick at a time when there is effective treatment and a hope for a cure in the future. My ophthalmologist said something to me that put it in perspective when I went back for a follow-up visit after my first visit to the neurologist. She told me that now I know what is wrong and I can begin to deal with it, so, deal with it. (My eye doctor is a very no-nonsense lady.)
So, in short, I have MS and it has changed my life, most definitely, but it has not ruined it. Change can be good. I have learned to not sweat the little things and to take better care of myself. I appreciate my husband and friends more than ever and make a more concentrated effort to enjoy my children. I do these things because Multiple Sclerosis came into my life.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Those horrid, evil chipmunks.
 | |
| "I love you, KC. |
 |
| Damn you, chipmunks! |
 |
| Lil Bit |
 |
| Pepper and his pal, Zippy |
The next one that got another chance is asleep right now on my bed. He stayed too long and there was just no way I could part with him, or his partner in crime.
More on that next time.
More on that next time.
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