Maybe, finally, we have heard enough about stains on blue dresses and will finally be able to shoot back, "Yes, but at least she was an ADULT" and not a 16-year-old on IM.
Maybe.
It's not as though the blowjob even caused mayhem and horror here or abroad like the fraudulent Iraq war has continued to do, but somehow its the unforgivable moral downfall of the Clinton administration that the right cannot move past. The "When Clinton Lied, No one Died" cliche/bumper sticker is accurate but old and tired. I see a new one: "At Least Lewinsky was LEGAL"! This had better be the scandal that finally takes the Republican leadership out. "Family Values" for all, read here: http://pageoneq.com/news/2006/foley_093006.html
As a disclaimer, if this exchange was between two men over the age of 18, no matter how politically powerful either was, I would have no problem with it at all. I would laugh at how dumb the Congressman would be to IM his boyfriend like some kind of teenie-bopper text messager, but it would be perfectly fine. But this is a different kind of stupidity: the criminal kind. Oh, and if it were two adults involved, I doubt neither would make reference to "my mom" walking in or to having "AP English" homework to do. What a sicko. He's blaming alcohol and a priest from his past. Nice try.
I haven't written here in ages. Since I last wrote, the baby boom has been completed. The final count was 3 boys and 11 girls. Everyone was healthy, even the 2 preemies. There were 2 Graces, an Eva and an Ava, a Lily and a Lillyan, a Sarah and a Zarah. All families are doing well and I've been able to meet almost all of the new little guys. I won't say who I think is the cutest because that would be mean and it might also require me to mention which one's picture nearly made me lose my lunch. Just kidding, that didn't happen.
We lost Tiawanna on August 21, that was the worst week of this summer. Bill McClellan wrote an article about her which is nice but inadequate: http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/columnists.nsf/billmcclellan/story/F1E7EE7A4959E18C862571D600321CF3?OpenDocument
I cannot believe she is gone even a month later, and for a long time I will be able to hear her laugh. We always talked about buying houses and I closed on my first one 4 days after her life was cut short. She would've liked to have heard about that!
And yes, I am a homeowner. I now read home improvement and repair books with the same voracity as novels and the newest People! My house is a 96-year-old historical Dutch Colonial that looks like a barn. The most exciting thing since the purchase and move was the car accident on Monday, October 2. Here's a letter I wrote to my alderman about that:
Hello Mr. Alderman.
My name is Lynn ---, I have lived at ------- for just over 1 month. I'm new to the area and haven't yet had time to look into neighborhood meetings and such but I do have a concern. You are likely aware of the serious accident that happened on my block Monday evening. It was caused by someone who may have been impaired by some chemical but was certainly exacerbated by speeding. I observe at least 5 cars daily who fly down ----- going 45-50 mph+ and I have yet to see one police officer around the area or one driver pulled over for speeding.
This is a very family friendly neighborhood populated by many children, bikers, pedestrians, and dogs. Someone is certain to be killed or seriously injured soon by one of these speeders. The accident Monday caused damage to a dozen parked cars and ultimately has likely totaled the driver's car. This accident was a very scary reminder of all the frighteningly fast driving I have observed in the last month. There is no possible way to damage 10+ cars and to total your own if you are driving at the posted 35 mph speed limit.
I would like to see how the speeding can be addressed. I would support a speed bump, stepped up police patrols, neighbors watching and recording license plate numbers of speeders, the reversal of our block's one-way direction to curtail drivers using it as a through raceway between ---- and -------, or any discussion on this matter that could resolve it in other ways.
I don't feel the the officers I spoke to after the accident recognized that this is an ongoing problem.
I am concerned. Please let me know what I can do, and as I am certain after Monday that other neighbors share this concern, and what we as a block can do about this. Thank you for your time.
Speeding IS a problem, and the drunkard that did it totalled a couple of cars. Fortunately, my car was on the opposite side of the street of the side the driver rammed. Apparently he has neither a license nor insurance, so I'd be paying for the mirror on the Focus myself if I'd parked to the south.
Besides that, I've constructed shelves, a compost, and patched cement on my house. That is the extent of my home repair thus far.
I need to figure our how to post photos here so I can show off my handiwork!
The Cardinals are up 1-0 in the NLDS vs. the Padres with another game tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Good News
There is all around good news this week. Andrea is cancer-free after a grueling 5 month treatment period, during which she has lost skin, hair, and appetite. Here thoughts on the news and suck are here:
http://www.caringbridge.org/cb/inputSiteName.do
She got the news July 3, a celebration followed as it should have.
The baby boom of 2006 is almost over, and everyone has fared quite well.
On the same day as Andrea's good news, baby Peri made his appearance. His name is Prahlad Sai, and with his genetic makeup, he has no choice but to become handsome, interesting, and smart. Poor kid. Shruti gave birth to the 13th of 14 babies that I expected to enter my life this year. One is left, a girl at the next month from the McNelleys. The tally was 10 girls, 4 boys. Two were tiny preemies but thriving now. There were two Lilys (Lillies?), a Sarah and a Zarah and an Eva and an Ava. The Wassilaks had the biggest at 9lbs, 14 oz and the Lowders the tiniest at 3lbs 12 oz. I believe 4 were c-sections, 10 not.
We begin again in September, as I have 5 expectanct friends/family members between mid-Sept and February.
The Cardinals are rolling along in sucky fashion. We are not used to losing here in the Lou and its been a rough month. Still, we have 3 all-stars (Eckstein was ROBBED), are in first place (terrible division), and will likely be playoff bound again. I don't think any NL team is capable of beating an AL team in the World Series anymore, so I no longer think it is important to get to the World Series. The Mets, Astros, or Cardinals will be swept by Detroit, the Yankees, Red or White Sox, so who cares about the WS anyway?!
I may save some cash and stay home during the playoffs this year. We'll see how I feel in September.
Rob and I traveled to the Bay Area and then the Lake Tahoe area in mid-June for the wedding of Kendyl and Mary. It was beautiful, every single part of it from scenery to ceremony to the entire vacation experience. Their website: http://www.donnerlakeinn.com/Kendyl&Mary/
has a number of my pictures and I took dozens more.
My must-leave-the-country-itch is likely not going to be scratched in 2006 but likely a no more cancer celebratory European adventure will commence in spring 2007 so I suppose I'll hold my anticipation and extra cash until then.
http://www.caringbridge.org/cb/inputSiteName.do
She got the news July 3, a celebration followed as it should have.
The baby boom of 2006 is almost over, and everyone has fared quite well.
On the same day as Andrea's good news, baby Peri made his appearance. His name is Prahlad Sai, and with his genetic makeup, he has no choice but to become handsome, interesting, and smart. Poor kid. Shruti gave birth to the 13th of 14 babies that I expected to enter my life this year. One is left, a girl at the next month from the McNelleys. The tally was 10 girls, 4 boys. Two were tiny preemies but thriving now. There were two Lilys (Lillies?), a Sarah and a Zarah and an Eva and an Ava. The Wassilaks had the biggest at 9lbs, 14 oz and the Lowders the tiniest at 3lbs 12 oz. I believe 4 were c-sections, 10 not.
We begin again in September, as I have 5 expectanct friends/family members between mid-Sept and February.
The Cardinals are rolling along in sucky fashion. We are not used to losing here in the Lou and its been a rough month. Still, we have 3 all-stars (Eckstein was ROBBED), are in first place (terrible division), and will likely be playoff bound again. I don't think any NL team is capable of beating an AL team in the World Series anymore, so I no longer think it is important to get to the World Series. The Mets, Astros, or Cardinals will be swept by Detroit, the Yankees, Red or White Sox, so who cares about the WS anyway?!
I may save some cash and stay home during the playoffs this year. We'll see how I feel in September.
Rob and I traveled to the Bay Area and then the Lake Tahoe area in mid-June for the wedding of Kendyl and Mary. It was beautiful, every single part of it from scenery to ceremony to the entire vacation experience. Their website: http://www.donnerlakeinn.com/Kendyl&Mary/
has a number of my pictures and I took dozens more.
My must-leave-the-country-itch is likely not going to be scratched in 2006 but likely a no more cancer celebratory European adventure will commence in spring 2007 so I suppose I'll hold my anticipation and extra cash until then.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
A Rough Day
My client Frank died today. He is survived by a wife, a teenaged son, a host of extended family members, co-workers, and friends, and 1 million others who live with HIV and AIDS in the United States today.
This death is particularly sad for many reasons. First, 40 year old men are not supposed to die. They are certainly not supposed to die in nursing homes, unable to feed themselves or to talk. Secondly, his young family is already struggling to cope with the loss of their beloved father, husband, and breadwinner and their rapid fall from the upper middle class into near poverty. Finally, it was a preventable death. Frank never saw a doctor, had bloodwork done, or took a single medication before falling suddenly, ultimately fatally ill just 2 months ago.
I have about 80 clients at a time, most of them have been living with HIV for many years. Some are more recently diagnosed, but the average length of life with HIV on my caseload is about 10 years. In 1996, the anti-retroviral medications came out and changed the way my clients, and all HIV+ people live and die. With regular medical care, and medications when necessary, life expectancy for positive people is indefinite. Frank’s wife recognized this. Both of them were diagnosed after a routine blood test for a life insurance policy. When it came back positive on both, they panicked, hid the letter that stated their positive result in their car, and drove 40 miles from their suburban home to my office to ask someone who knew more about HIV than they did how long they would live. They found me, and I sat with them 3 years ago, both of them shellshocked and humiliated, sure that they would die before their then-preteen child grew up. They had no idea how HIV entered their world. They both stated that they’d been faithful to each other, with only 2 other sex partners total and both of those before their marriage a decade and a half earlier. Neither claimed to have used drugs or had any transfusions or needle sticks. We never determined their risk factor, but does it really matter in the grand scheme of life? To some, who want to determine guilt or innocence in this epidemic, it does matter. But in this case, this young couple wanted information about their future. Their past was not mine to question or judge.
I told them about HIV, how it progresses, what they might expect if they went to a doctor. I told them about the medications, about how some people don’t need or want them but for some they are the answer to continuing a productive life. We talked about disclosure and both of them were adamant that no one know their status. They had their son tested, he was negative and his parents opted not to tell him about his their new crisis. They told me they felt dirty, damaged, and that if their friends and family knew then surely they would be abandoned. This couple made too much money to qualify for any of the services that my agency offers, but I made sure they knew that they could call at any time with any questions or issues or even just to talk. Frank was quiet, his nature and also this intrusion upon his very personal life by first a life insurance company, and now a strange social worker unwelcome. His wife worked up the nerve to see a doctor one year later. She began meds immediately. Frank never did. He collapsed at work 2 months ago, after days of debilitating headaches and double vision.
His brain was ravaged by an unusual opportunistic infection. His CD4 was 8, while a healthy immune system has 600-1200. He never walked or talked again, though his wife said he was conscious behind his closed eyes and that he communicated with her.
He died an AIDS death straight out of 1983. Uncomfortable, rapid, and away from the comforts of home. Few knew his HIV status. His obit will likely read “unexpectedly” and a possible reference to a brain tumor, but nothing about HIV.
Frank’s wife is left to pick up the pieces and decide how she will live. She will be told over and over again that Frank’s death is not her future. I’m not sure she will believe it. Right now, with the powerful meds, her immune system is as strong as any other 36-year-old woman’s. Her husband did not have to die as he did, and she has to live with that anger at him as much as with her own illness.
Many believe that the mere existence of such successful medication regimens encourages promiscuity and wreckless abandon in HIV prevention. If you can take a pill later, why use a clean needle or a condom now? It is, of course, more complicated than that. Anyone on an HIV med regimen can talk a blue streak about the lipodystrophy, the diarrhea, stomach pains, weight loss and gain, the loss of sex drive and the meticulous schedule one with HIV must keep of eating, sleeping, water consumption, and bathroom time when they start a med regimen. It’s no picnic, but it is survival.
If Frank’s wife chooses to stay in care and take her meds, she is highly likely to see her son grow up, to get older and to experience whatever hurdles aging and family history have in store for her. She might get diabetes, cancer, or heart disease. She might be in an accident, she could die of any of these or she might die peacefully in her sleep at 85, as we all should hope to do when we meet that ineveitable conclusion of a life well lived. She will probably not die of AIDS-related causes.
Frank chose denial, and it killed him. This was his choice and it saddens me, though compared to the heartbreak of his wife and son it is nothing.
(The story is true, some identifying details are altered)
The beta that keeps me company here in my cube at work also died today. It is the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing and Waco, and tomorrow the anniversary of Columbine.
This death is particularly sad for many reasons. First, 40 year old men are not supposed to die. They are certainly not supposed to die in nursing homes, unable to feed themselves or to talk. Secondly, his young family is already struggling to cope with the loss of their beloved father, husband, and breadwinner and their rapid fall from the upper middle class into near poverty. Finally, it was a preventable death. Frank never saw a doctor, had bloodwork done, or took a single medication before falling suddenly, ultimately fatally ill just 2 months ago.
I have about 80 clients at a time, most of them have been living with HIV for many years. Some are more recently diagnosed, but the average length of life with HIV on my caseload is about 10 years. In 1996, the anti-retroviral medications came out and changed the way my clients, and all HIV+ people live and die. With regular medical care, and medications when necessary, life expectancy for positive people is indefinite. Frank’s wife recognized this. Both of them were diagnosed after a routine blood test for a life insurance policy. When it came back positive on both, they panicked, hid the letter that stated their positive result in their car, and drove 40 miles from their suburban home to my office to ask someone who knew more about HIV than they did how long they would live. They found me, and I sat with them 3 years ago, both of them shellshocked and humiliated, sure that they would die before their then-preteen child grew up. They had no idea how HIV entered their world. They both stated that they’d been faithful to each other, with only 2 other sex partners total and both of those before their marriage a decade and a half earlier. Neither claimed to have used drugs or had any transfusions or needle sticks. We never determined their risk factor, but does it really matter in the grand scheme of life? To some, who want to determine guilt or innocence in this epidemic, it does matter. But in this case, this young couple wanted information about their future. Their past was not mine to question or judge.
I told them about HIV, how it progresses, what they might expect if they went to a doctor. I told them about the medications, about how some people don’t need or want them but for some they are the answer to continuing a productive life. We talked about disclosure and both of them were adamant that no one know their status. They had their son tested, he was negative and his parents opted not to tell him about his their new crisis. They told me they felt dirty, damaged, and that if their friends and family knew then surely they would be abandoned. This couple made too much money to qualify for any of the services that my agency offers, but I made sure they knew that they could call at any time with any questions or issues or even just to talk. Frank was quiet, his nature and also this intrusion upon his very personal life by first a life insurance company, and now a strange social worker unwelcome. His wife worked up the nerve to see a doctor one year later. She began meds immediately. Frank never did. He collapsed at work 2 months ago, after days of debilitating headaches and double vision.
His brain was ravaged by an unusual opportunistic infection. His CD4 was 8, while a healthy immune system has 600-1200. He never walked or talked again, though his wife said he was conscious behind his closed eyes and that he communicated with her.
He died an AIDS death straight out of 1983. Uncomfortable, rapid, and away from the comforts of home. Few knew his HIV status. His obit will likely read “unexpectedly” and a possible reference to a brain tumor, but nothing about HIV.
Frank’s wife is left to pick up the pieces and decide how she will live. She will be told over and over again that Frank’s death is not her future. I’m not sure she will believe it. Right now, with the powerful meds, her immune system is as strong as any other 36-year-old woman’s. Her husband did not have to die as he did, and she has to live with that anger at him as much as with her own illness.
Many believe that the mere existence of such successful medication regimens encourages promiscuity and wreckless abandon in HIV prevention. If you can take a pill later, why use a clean needle or a condom now? It is, of course, more complicated than that. Anyone on an HIV med regimen can talk a blue streak about the lipodystrophy, the diarrhea, stomach pains, weight loss and gain, the loss of sex drive and the meticulous schedule one with HIV must keep of eating, sleeping, water consumption, and bathroom time when they start a med regimen. It’s no picnic, but it is survival.
If Frank’s wife chooses to stay in care and take her meds, she is highly likely to see her son grow up, to get older and to experience whatever hurdles aging and family history have in store for her. She might get diabetes, cancer, or heart disease. She might be in an accident, she could die of any of these or she might die peacefully in her sleep at 85, as we all should hope to do when we meet that ineveitable conclusion of a life well lived. She will probably not die of AIDS-related causes.
Frank chose denial, and it killed him. This was his choice and it saddens me, though compared to the heartbreak of his wife and son it is nothing.
(The story is true, some identifying details are altered)
The beta that keeps me company here in my cube at work also died today. It is the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing and Waco, and tomorrow the anniversary of Columbine.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Opening Day
April 10 was the first game at the new Busch. I was able to get a sneak preview during an exhibition game on April 4. Link to the photos is below:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lfcardinalsandmore/sets
In other news, babies 3 and 4 have been born. For those keeping track at home, we've got Zarah on Valentine's Day, Sarah on March 15 so far. Then, Grant Christian made his appearance on March 27, the day of his late Great Grandpa Tony's birthday. He's great grandchild #2, #3 is to be named Lillyan, is due in May and gave her parents quite a scare this weekend by not moving around while her mom and dad were enjoying opening day. She's fine, though, and still due in May. Baby #4 in my baby boom was due around the same time as Lilly but decided not to wait those extra 50 days and showed up on April 8. She's tiny but fine, so the little pack of newbies is now 3-1 girls to boys. Next up is probably Dave and Emily's little guy. This one will be the fourth in his/her household, so perhaps he or she is in no hurry to make an appearance. This might be his/her last few weeks of peace and quiet- ever.
The Cardinals are 4-3, I've seen so far just the disgusting final game of the sweep in Chicago. I also saw 2 fights in Wrigley and Izzy doling out a GRAND SLAM to Michael Barret who, incidentally, beat us with a homer the night before as well. Itwas painful to watch, and Izzy tried his damndest to lose opening Day in Busch III also, but just didn't quite make it. He did reduce Mulder's 6-2 lead to 6-4, and jacked his ERA to above 15 so it was a valiant effort. I have no problem with fans booing him, despite TLR reminding us all that Izzy already has 3 saves. Who cares?! He's scary.
I missed the immigration rally in STL, but am still baffled by the sudden interest in this issue. Immigration reform is the new gay marriage, I suppose. I wish the Iraq war was the new gay marriage. The bipartisan immigration reform proposed is dead now, but I'm still left to wonder: When you are undocumented, how do you prove you've lived in the US for 2 years, 5 years, or 3 years. If you've never been able to get legal driver's license, buy a house, sign a lease, or pay taxes, how do you prove your residence? Do you expect your employer to vouch for you, rendering bigger companies liable to bad press about how they employed undcoumented folks for years in large quantities? I doubt it.
How would that work? That plan seems as absurd as the idea of the great Berlin/wall of China Wall that some genuises want to use billions of dollars to erect on the southern border. What kind of garbage is that?! How about throwing a billion or two to the Mexican people who don't have potable water? How about addressing systemic problems that keep their children starving and their parents crossing the border in hopes of finding work that might keep their families alive. NAFTA, people, NAFTA. We did it, now we have to deal with the consequences. A wall is not "dealing with it".
Brilliant.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lfcardinalsandmore/sets
In other news, babies 3 and 4 have been born. For those keeping track at home, we've got Zarah on Valentine's Day, Sarah on March 15 so far. Then, Grant Christian made his appearance on March 27, the day of his late Great Grandpa Tony's birthday. He's great grandchild #2, #3 is to be named Lillyan, is due in May and gave her parents quite a scare this weekend by not moving around while her mom and dad were enjoying opening day. She's fine, though, and still due in May. Baby #4 in my baby boom was due around the same time as Lilly but decided not to wait those extra 50 days and showed up on April 8. She's tiny but fine, so the little pack of newbies is now 3-1 girls to boys. Next up is probably Dave and Emily's little guy. This one will be the fourth in his/her household, so perhaps he or she is in no hurry to make an appearance. This might be his/her last few weeks of peace and quiet- ever.
The Cardinals are 4-3, I've seen so far just the disgusting final game of the sweep in Chicago. I also saw 2 fights in Wrigley and Izzy doling out a GRAND SLAM to Michael Barret who, incidentally, beat us with a homer the night before as well. Itwas painful to watch, and Izzy tried his damndest to lose opening Day in Busch III also, but just didn't quite make it. He did reduce Mulder's 6-2 lead to 6-4, and jacked his ERA to above 15 so it was a valiant effort. I have no problem with fans booing him, despite TLR reminding us all that Izzy already has 3 saves. Who cares?! He's scary.
I missed the immigration rally in STL, but am still baffled by the sudden interest in this issue. Immigration reform is the new gay marriage, I suppose. I wish the Iraq war was the new gay marriage. The bipartisan immigration reform proposed is dead now, but I'm still left to wonder: When you are undocumented, how do you prove you've lived in the US for 2 years, 5 years, or 3 years. If you've never been able to get legal driver's license, buy a house, sign a lease, or pay taxes, how do you prove your residence? Do you expect your employer to vouch for you, rendering bigger companies liable to bad press about how they employed undcoumented folks for years in large quantities? I doubt it.
How would that work? That plan seems as absurd as the idea of the great Berlin/wall of China Wall that some genuises want to use billions of dollars to erect on the southern border. What kind of garbage is that?! How about throwing a billion or two to the Mexican people who don't have potable water? How about addressing systemic problems that keep their children starving and their parents crossing the border in hopes of finding work that might keep their families alive. NAFTA, people, NAFTA. We did it, now we have to deal with the consequences. A wall is not "dealing with it".
Brilliant.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Life and Death, Part II
Addendum to earlier post because I just checked my e-mail and Sarah Bukaty Sheiber was born yesterday, one day before Mo!
Of the 14 pregnant people I knew 1 month ago, she's baby #2 and the second girl. Zarah Michelle Brown came on Valentine's Day. Next up is baby Reinneck, a new cousin and I expect that she, too, will be a girl because none of the 14 seem to be having boys.
So I go from birth to a small death, though I hesitate to use such a grave word on such a relatively mundane activity. I have to go to sleep because I have to go wig shopping with Andrea in about 4 hours. Its the cancer thing again, and no I don't associate it with death but rather the demise of Andrea's hair as we know it. She's never had short hair since I've known her. Any day now, it will be gone and she'll look like I've never seen her. Eh, its just hair- but what a cruel irony that you can't even keep what you look like when trying to just beat something so mean and difficult. Birth and wigs, I should call it. What's the death of a few follicles among friends anyway?
Happy Birthday, Sarah. I love that you have your mom's last name!! Woo-hoo!!!
Of the 14 pregnant people I knew 1 month ago, she's baby #2 and the second girl. Zarah Michelle Brown came on Valentine's Day. Next up is baby Reinneck, a new cousin and I expect that she, too, will be a girl because none of the 14 seem to be having boys.
So I go from birth to a small death, though I hesitate to use such a grave word on such a relatively mundane activity. I have to go to sleep because I have to go wig shopping with Andrea in about 4 hours. Its the cancer thing again, and no I don't associate it with death but rather the demise of Andrea's hair as we know it. She's never had short hair since I've known her. Any day now, it will be gone and she'll look like I've never seen her. Eh, its just hair- but what a cruel irony that you can't even keep what you look like when trying to just beat something so mean and difficult. Birth and wigs, I should call it. What's the death of a few follicles among friends anyway?
Happy Birthday, Sarah. I love that you have your mom's last name!! Woo-hoo!!!
Life and Death
Just under one hour ago, at 3:23 AM to be exact, I witnessed my first birth. It was a boy, a very big, 8lb, 15oz boy that his Somali mother delivered naturally with zero pain meds. Amazing. It was her 5th birth, she spoke no English so there was not much chatting going on. She hardly even groaned when she pushed him out, and groaned only a little louder when his shoulders were briefly stuck. She was circumcised and had scars from that ritual, but besides that she did not look injured and did not tear. Her baby was huge and wide-eyed, cried for a minute then just laid calmly on the warming table while the 2 nurses and Darryl, the OB cleaned up his mother. We asked what she was going to name him, she and her baby daddy (husband? Who knows?) didn't seem to understand the question, so I'll just call him Mo after a nickname for their names. Mo is the first little guy I saw born.
Five minutes after Mo was cleaned up and left with his mom to start breastfeeding, I saw the first person die that I've seen since I watched my Grandpa Tony breath his last. Truly, this was the first because technically I was about 10 feet away when my grandpa stopped breathing and I didn't really notice he had until my Aunt Renae said that was it. I realized I'd been watching but hadn't really seen him go.
The first person I truly watched die was not going to live long anyway. He was a tiny, tiny boy who was only 22 weeks, 4 days from his conception. There is no technology to save such a tiny body. Darryl says at 24 weeks the hospital can fight like hell to save a preemie, at 25 weeks there's a pretty good shot. After 30 weeks, its almost guranteed as long as the baby has gained enough weight. That's not to say the preterm kids are going to be healthy or unimpaired. Nope, they will simply live, the quality of that life is completely unknown.
This was the second preterm birth of the night I spent following Darryl around checking on his patients. Neither was his patient, and the first preterm- a 21 weeker- was born and died before I got there. The nurses were making up a little care package with a Certificate of Being for the first one while I waited for Mo's mom to progress. They had his tiny footprints preserved in plaster, several certificates that stated his vitals (1lb, 4.2 oz, 12 inches long, parent's names, date and time of birth and death which were identical), and a little outfit that he'd worn. They'd taken some pictures of him and already had then printed out and were pasting them in a memory book for the parents. There was, at the time they worked on their gutwrenching project, on the board three preterm labor patients- another 21 week, a 23 week, and a 24 week. When I walked out of Mo's room, I watched the 23 week (which turned out to be 22, 4 days) being wheeled into the nurse's station. The nurse had a finger on his chest, he was wrapped in a blanket on his cart, and she was gently telling another nurse that they had to have a doctor come and declare the heartbeat stopped- except it was still beating. It stopped while she stood there. The baby was still bloody and wet, they had covered him up but his tiny chest was exposed to her hands. The nurses were all so gentle and spoke softly. When he died, the one who'd had her finger on his last heartbeat just shook her head and commented on how hard that was. Another nurse followed her into their handwashing room also shaking her head. This is a delivery center for high-risk pregnancies, so I'm sure each nurse had seen this before and would again. They'd see it again at least one more time tonight, I'm sure. The little guy was half exposed to the light and Darryl motioned for me to come look at him. He just looked like a tiny, toy version of human. He had the tiniest penis, smaller than my pinky fingernail and little spindly legs that almost looked human but not quite. I'm not sure why the parents didn't keep him in the room until he died like the first family had, but then I guess everyone has different comfort levels and ideas about what they want.
I'm sure now the nurses are making up another keepsake book for a baby without a birth certificate.
But on the bright side, I'll bet Mo is nursing and looking at his mom right now. I'll bet she is looking down at him and thinking, How the Fuck did I push that massive melon-headed child out of me?!.
I got to see how the nurses work, how all the moniters track progress, what all the jargon on the board means (Gravita- # of pregnancies, Prema- # of births), some fun pneumonic devices- Florida Gas and Light, Something Gravita, abortion, and Living. Hmmm. I'm bad at this medical crap. I watched an epidural go into a teenager whose 4 young female friends twittered around her like they probably do while gossiping at the restaurant where they all appear to work, given that 3 of the them (not the mother) were wearing shirts with the restaurant's name. No baby daddy or even baby momma momma in sight. Sad. I wandered through the NICU seeing tinier babies barely alive, but still breathing. One little guy, he was over 2 lbs by now, was born at 27 weeks and was squalling and the nurse said he was hungry. Her hand covered his entire torso when she went to feed him. He had a full head of hair, just like he was a newborn on his way home.
I did all this from 10PM when I walked out of Block Party at Darryl's page ( I got a refund, thanks Esquire!) to 3:45 am when Mo was safely delivered, epidural mom was asleep, and Darryl said it was time to head home. I was absolutely fine during the delivery, no wincing or passing out. It did smell a bit, but how could I complain when it was little Mo's face right up in the mess that probably smelled worse. I'm sure that's immature to comment on, feces are no joke during delivery, just a fact of life- but Darryl and the nurses joked about the kid getting a faceful too. There was one scary moment when it looked like his shoulders might get stuck, but crisis averted when he slid down and the nurses pushed on the delivering mom's abdomen to push him out. I can't say it was Beautiful, the Most Inspiring Moment or anything hokey, but it was really cool. He was really perfect looking, too, just 4 minutes after being squeezed out. That's when I touched his tiny head, and he just wriggled his legs. Happy Birthday, Mo.
Five minutes after Mo was cleaned up and left with his mom to start breastfeeding, I saw the first person die that I've seen since I watched my Grandpa Tony breath his last. Truly, this was the first because technically I was about 10 feet away when my grandpa stopped breathing and I didn't really notice he had until my Aunt Renae said that was it. I realized I'd been watching but hadn't really seen him go.
The first person I truly watched die was not going to live long anyway. He was a tiny, tiny boy who was only 22 weeks, 4 days from his conception. There is no technology to save such a tiny body. Darryl says at 24 weeks the hospital can fight like hell to save a preemie, at 25 weeks there's a pretty good shot. After 30 weeks, its almost guranteed as long as the baby has gained enough weight. That's not to say the preterm kids are going to be healthy or unimpaired. Nope, they will simply live, the quality of that life is completely unknown.
This was the second preterm birth of the night I spent following Darryl around checking on his patients. Neither was his patient, and the first preterm- a 21 weeker- was born and died before I got there. The nurses were making up a little care package with a Certificate of Being for the first one while I waited for Mo's mom to progress. They had his tiny footprints preserved in plaster, several certificates that stated his vitals (1lb, 4.2 oz, 12 inches long, parent's names, date and time of birth and death which were identical), and a little outfit that he'd worn. They'd taken some pictures of him and already had then printed out and were pasting them in a memory book for the parents. There was, at the time they worked on their gutwrenching project, on the board three preterm labor patients- another 21 week, a 23 week, and a 24 week. When I walked out of Mo's room, I watched the 23 week (which turned out to be 22, 4 days) being wheeled into the nurse's station. The nurse had a finger on his chest, he was wrapped in a blanket on his cart, and she was gently telling another nurse that they had to have a doctor come and declare the heartbeat stopped- except it was still beating. It stopped while she stood there. The baby was still bloody and wet, they had covered him up but his tiny chest was exposed to her hands. The nurses were all so gentle and spoke softly. When he died, the one who'd had her finger on his last heartbeat just shook her head and commented on how hard that was. Another nurse followed her into their handwashing room also shaking her head. This is a delivery center for high-risk pregnancies, so I'm sure each nurse had seen this before and would again. They'd see it again at least one more time tonight, I'm sure. The little guy was half exposed to the light and Darryl motioned for me to come look at him. He just looked like a tiny, toy version of human. He had the tiniest penis, smaller than my pinky fingernail and little spindly legs that almost looked human but not quite. I'm not sure why the parents didn't keep him in the room until he died like the first family had, but then I guess everyone has different comfort levels and ideas about what they want.
I'm sure now the nurses are making up another keepsake book for a baby without a birth certificate.
But on the bright side, I'll bet Mo is nursing and looking at his mom right now. I'll bet she is looking down at him and thinking, How the Fuck did I push that massive melon-headed child out of me?!.
I got to see how the nurses work, how all the moniters track progress, what all the jargon on the board means (Gravita- # of pregnancies, Prema- # of births), some fun pneumonic devices- Florida Gas and Light, Something Gravita, abortion, and Living. Hmmm. I'm bad at this medical crap. I watched an epidural go into a teenager whose 4 young female friends twittered around her like they probably do while gossiping at the restaurant where they all appear to work, given that 3 of the them (not the mother) were wearing shirts with the restaurant's name. No baby daddy or even baby momma momma in sight. Sad. I wandered through the NICU seeing tinier babies barely alive, but still breathing. One little guy, he was over 2 lbs by now, was born at 27 weeks and was squalling and the nurse said he was hungry. Her hand covered his entire torso when she went to feed him. He had a full head of hair, just like he was a newborn on his way home.
I did all this from 10PM when I walked out of Block Party at Darryl's page ( I got a refund, thanks Esquire!) to 3:45 am when Mo was safely delivered, epidural mom was asleep, and Darryl said it was time to head home. I was absolutely fine during the delivery, no wincing or passing out. It did smell a bit, but how could I complain when it was little Mo's face right up in the mess that probably smelled worse. I'm sure that's immature to comment on, feces are no joke during delivery, just a fact of life- but Darryl and the nurses joked about the kid getting a faceful too. There was one scary moment when it looked like his shoulders might get stuck, but crisis averted when he slid down and the nurses pushed on the delivering mom's abdomen to push him out. I can't say it was Beautiful, the Most Inspiring Moment or anything hokey, but it was really cool. He was really perfect looking, too, just 4 minutes after being squeezed out. That's when I touched his tiny head, and he just wriggled his legs. Happy Birthday, Mo.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
The Big C
Oh, man, what is this about?
Today is supposed to be a post about how pitchers and catchers report in a week, or maybe about how bad the State of the Union sucked or about how long its been since I have written and how THANK GOD blogspot is allowing little old me to post again after an absence and major blog migration fiasco.
All of it to be explained later- maybe.
But tomorrow starts a new era. The era of being the Best Friend of the Girl With Cancer. Not really, that actually started when she got diagnosed a week ago, on February 9. The dramatic title of BFotGWC was not actually her idea or mine, but a concoction Shruti and I came up with for when I write my book or go on Oprah. It is very theatrical and whoa-is-me and I think perhaps an ABC afterschool special if we were 15. But we are not 15, we are 31 and 32 and have known each other since she was 15 and I 14. I think we bonded over New Kids on the Block and a friend that neither of us even sees or speaks to anymore. Now we have breast cancer to bond over, but that has happened only to one of us and that is the good news. The other good news is that its treatable and treatments are more tolerable, quicker, and more successful than ever.
There will be no pink ribbons here. I think she is boycotting them, and I for one am mad at them. I mean, if you wear pink ribbon t-shirts and buy candy with pink ribbons and bottles of wine that benefit pink ribbon funds and eat and drink and run and walk for pink ribbon campaigns- then why has that money not made breast cancer go away?
There will also be wigs, for her and I imagine for anyone else who wants to borrow the silver, pink, Cardinal red, or afro wigs that she ends up with. Probably she's the only one who will get to wear the genuine, luxurious Felicity wig that is the epensive one.
There will be pity and confusion and some pain, some surgery and chemo and radiation and hopefully some fantastic celebration in August when the remission comes. I hope I do OK as the Best Friend of the Girl with Cancer because I don't know how to do that. I already hope I have not told too many people or not enough, or called too much or not enough. I'm nervous about calling and also about not calling. Why is that?! How fucked up is it that you can know someone for 17 years and then get nervous about calling them? Ecchhhh. I'm inventing drama of course. Cancer is not like it used to be, they even do radiation around your work or family schedule and give you special parking so you duck in and duck out like you are running in to pick up some fast food- only its high dose radiation instead of breakfast or lunch.
I hope she's OK. I hope I'm OK at this. I hope we still get to go to games and make fun of mullets and ogle Mark Mulder and drink beer on Bryan Cave, even if we are wearing Cardinal scarves or cheesy Cardinal red afros. Of course I'll wear one too, if she wants. I'm not going to be allowed to touch the Felicity wig, this much I know from the first 17 years. Hair is HER thing.
And being the Best Friend is mine, I guess.
Today is supposed to be a post about how pitchers and catchers report in a week, or maybe about how bad the State of the Union sucked or about how long its been since I have written and how THANK GOD blogspot is allowing little old me to post again after an absence and major blog migration fiasco.
All of it to be explained later- maybe.
But tomorrow starts a new era. The era of being the Best Friend of the Girl With Cancer. Not really, that actually started when she got diagnosed a week ago, on February 9. The dramatic title of BFotGWC was not actually her idea or mine, but a concoction Shruti and I came up with for when I write my book or go on Oprah. It is very theatrical and whoa-is-me and I think perhaps an ABC afterschool special if we were 15. But we are not 15, we are 31 and 32 and have known each other since she was 15 and I 14. I think we bonded over New Kids on the Block and a friend that neither of us even sees or speaks to anymore. Now we have breast cancer to bond over, but that has happened only to one of us and that is the good news. The other good news is that its treatable and treatments are more tolerable, quicker, and more successful than ever.
There will be no pink ribbons here. I think she is boycotting them, and I for one am mad at them. I mean, if you wear pink ribbon t-shirts and buy candy with pink ribbons and bottles of wine that benefit pink ribbon funds and eat and drink and run and walk for pink ribbon campaigns- then why has that money not made breast cancer go away?
There will also be wigs, for her and I imagine for anyone else who wants to borrow the silver, pink, Cardinal red, or afro wigs that she ends up with. Probably she's the only one who will get to wear the genuine, luxurious Felicity wig that is the epensive one.
There will be pity and confusion and some pain, some surgery and chemo and radiation and hopefully some fantastic celebration in August when the remission comes. I hope I do OK as the Best Friend of the Girl with Cancer because I don't know how to do that. I already hope I have not told too many people or not enough, or called too much or not enough. I'm nervous about calling and also about not calling. Why is that?! How fucked up is it that you can know someone for 17 years and then get nervous about calling them? Ecchhhh. I'm inventing drama of course. Cancer is not like it used to be, they even do radiation around your work or family schedule and give you special parking so you duck in and duck out like you are running in to pick up some fast food- only its high dose radiation instead of breakfast or lunch.
I hope she's OK. I hope I'm OK at this. I hope we still get to go to games and make fun of mullets and ogle Mark Mulder and drink beer on Bryan Cave, even if we are wearing Cardinal scarves or cheesy Cardinal red afros. Of course I'll wear one too, if she wants. I'm not going to be allowed to touch the Felicity wig, this much I know from the first 17 years. Hair is HER thing.
And being the Best Friend is mine, I guess.
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