Rocks In My Dryer

What I'd Like For You To Know: Home Birth

Welcome to a long overdue edition of What I'd Like For You To Know. If you're new here, the idea behind this series is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

When Kate of Now There Are Three offered to explain some misconceptions about home birth, I was eager to hear what she had to say.  Though I know and respect many people who have made this birthing choice, I've always been a hospital birther myself, due partly to my tendency to deliver a little too early and partly to (let's just be honest) my deep love for the people with the pain medicine.  I know you'll enjoy reading Kate's reasoned and gentle perspective...

The What I’d Like For You To Know series has made me keenly aware of one area of my life that is often misunderstood and sparks heated defensiveness in women.  Home birth.  I have had two home births and in July I will have my third.  Here’s what I’d like for you to know about why I have chosen to give birth at home.

When my husband and I made the decision to have a home birth my family was a little nervous. My grandma was beside herself. She would ask, "Why would you want to do that without pain medication? What if something happens? Why would you want to deal with all that clean-up and the 'icky' stuff?  Hospitals and doctors are there for a reason, USE THEM!"

No matter what I said, there was no way I was going to change her mind. It taught me one thing:  There was a good chance that I wasn't going to change most people’s mind, especially my grandmother’s, and I had to be okay with our decision despite what others thought.

Here are the most common questions and comments I receive about homebirth:

Why did you choose a home birth?

It started with a friend asking me to go to her first appointment with a lay midwife.  She brought with her a list of questions ranging from newborn care to safety precautions. As I listened, my mind started to open to the possibility of birth looking different from the mainstream.

Nine months later, she had her little girl at home. Just hours after having the baby, my husband and I went for a visit. It was so peaceful, relaxing, and quiet. I was so impressed with how calm it all was. Family was there, mom and baby were resting in the bedroom and dinner was in the oven. I decided in that moment that a home birth was the best fit for our family.

Another reason was the epidural needle.  I once saw how it was done on a morning show and almost passed out. I know from many women that it is heavenly and I'm fairly certain that it is, but there is no way that gigantic needle is coming within 10 feet of my back.

I wanted to feel childbirth, pain and all. It is not beautiful and I had no expectation that it would.  But I did want that connection.  This is not to say that the connection I had with my babies was any more powerful than women who have conventional, mainstream births in a hospital.  It simply means that I wanted to experience childbirth in its wholeness.  And home birth provided a means for me to do that.

Aren't you afraid something will go wrong?

I am well aware of the risk I'm taking. Fortunately, I have had two low-risk pregnancies and births. Professional midwives will only take low-risk births and track the health of pregnancy just the same as a doctor would. I have the same access to testing and am given standard preventative care should problems arise.

A good midwife is trained to respond well in emergencies. Most are equipped with life saving devices and a “transport” plan to help deal with emergencies safely and effectively. A good midwife has about a 5-10% transport rate and any higher should be called into question. In addition, my midwife is incredibly cautious. If there is a bad feeling or you insist on going to the hospital, she is supportive and responsive.

Who cleans up? Isn't it messy?

This is always a fun one.  People always seemed incredibly grossed out by not having the “sterile” environment of the hospital.  I assure you, it still is sterile.  I do not clean up after my own birth. The midwives do this. I had a plastic sheet, spare sheets, and surgical pads down on our bed. The mess was easy to contain and quickly cleaned up before I even had a chance to notice. 

Don't you want nurses to take care of you?

Thankfully, I have a mom. She doesn’t do blood pressure checks at 2 a.m. but she makes sure everyone is well-fed, my house is clean, and my babies are loved.  My midwife stays with me for several hours after the birth or until I have successfully passed a post birth checklist.  She will then come to my home at 24, 48, and 72 hours after the birth and four more times over the next six weeks to do routine newborn and post-partum care. 

What do you love about it the most?

I love being able to walk around during labor. I love that my midwives come to my home and stay for the entire birth. And while they are there, they interact with my family and celebrate with me. 

I love the intense rush of adrenaline you get just after you push the baby out. One moment you are in the most intense pain and the next you are experiencing the greatest sense of relief you've ever felt in your life. Then you look down to find this little purplish, blue creature lying on your tummy and you’re done!

I love that my husband is able to be comfortable in his own home. He doesn't deal well with me being in pain. So I labor with women who know exactly what I'm going through and can offer support. He is able to flow in and out of the room based on his comfort level and he knows I am still well taken care of.  Then at the last minute I can call him in to witness the birth of our baby.  I love that my midwife knows this about him and doesn't put any extra expectations on him. 

Some women become defensive when they find out I've given birth at home. I find that it somehow makes them uncomfortable. I always hear, "I want the drugs. I could never do it without them". I think any woman can, but if you don't want to, that's perfectly fine.  Again, I’m so thankful we all get to choose where and how we want to give birth.

Speaking for myself and possibly for most home birth moms, we do not in ANY way think we are superior for giving birth at home or giving birth without drugs.  It does not mean our birth was more beautiful or more whole.  I know there are women out there that sometimes give off that vibe, and for any feelings they give you of being inferior, I am sorry. I can tell you for the majority of us, we are just glad we have the choice to give birth the way that we want.

To read more of Kate's posts, visit her blog Now There Are Three.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Alzheimer's

Welcome to another edition of What I'd Like For You To Know.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest poster is Carol of She Lives, one of the first blog friends I ever met in real life.  Carol has--not once, but twice--walked with a parent through the extraordinary difficulty of Alzheimer's disease, and I asked her if she'd share with us some of what she has learned.

January 21st marked the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.  He had just turned 65.  His was the rare type of Alzheimer’s, the hereditary type, found in less than five percent of cases, marked by early onset, directly traceable from child to parent to grandparent to great-grand. 

For the other 95%, Alzheimer’s strikes randomly.

A lot of people mistakenly think of Alzheimer’s as “loss of memory” and leave it at that.  Unfortunately, the disease progresses beyond the memory.   The victim regresses verbally, mentally and physically to the state of an infant.  Eventually, complications end their life. That’s the sugar-coated picture.  Each person’s journey through the disease process is different, usually taking years to reach its inevitable and tragic end.

There is no cure.  Nothing can prevent it. Nothing can stop it once it starts.  There are drugs on the market that can slow down the progression, postponing the inevitable, drawing the entire process out longer than it would otherwise take. 

There is no treatment. There is no surgery. There is no prevention. There is no cure.  Nobody recovers.  Nobody goes into remission.  Nobody!

Imagine the shock, the fear and the despair my brother, my sister and I felt this past fall, just a few short years after Dad’s death, when we were told our mother also has Alzheimer’s Disease.   What are the odds that we would face the horror twice?  

The odds, I’m afraid, are very high that you will have to face Alzheimer’s Disease at least once in your lifetime as well.  If not in a loved one, then in yourself.

Here are a few things you should know about Alzheimer’s Disease:
• It is the 6th leading cause of adult death in the United States.
• Someone develops Alzheimer’s every 71 seconds.
• Approximately 5.2 million people in the United States currently live with Alzheimer’s.
• Hereditary Alzheimer’s Disease can develop in persons as young as 30 years old.
• More women develop Alzheimer’s than men.
• By age 65 years, you have a 1 in 10 chance of getting Alzheimer’s.
• By age 80 years, that chance goes up to 50/50.
• More facts here.

Here's what you can do to help NOW:

Learn.  When dad was diagnosed, it took us a while to realize what was happening.  His doctor told us it wasn’t Alzheimer’s, it was depression.  By the time we got an accurate diagnosis and could legally intervene, Dad had been arrested twice on traffic violations (he’d never gotten a single ticket in his pre-Alzheimer’s life!) and was financially ruined (we had to file his bankruptcy papers).  

We were better prepared with Mother and obtained Durable Power of Attorney before things spun out of control.  Either way, attorneys are going to be involved.  Find a good one.  If you suspect Alzheimer’s in a loved one, do not settle for one medical opinion.  No matter what any doctor says, always get a second opinion, preferably from a good neuro-psychiatrist.

The more you know, the better equipped you will be to deal with the eventuality that someone you know will develop Alzheimer’s.  The Alzheimer’s Association is there to educate and support anyone directly or indirectly affected by this horrible disease. 

Become a Champion.  The Alzheimer’s Association is looking for five million people, one for each person who suffers from the disease, to champion the cause.  As of this writing, they were at the 1.7 million mark.   See the page of celebrity champions to get more information.

Grab a widget for your blog or other social network.  Spread the purple around!  Let others know you support the cause to end Alzheimer’s.  Everything you do to help moves us all closer to a cure.  When Dad got sick, I looked around and saw no purple.  Seeing more purple in the world can be so encouraging to those of us feeling isolated in our plight!

Take A Walk.  Each fall, there is an Alzheimer’s Memory Walk in a city near you.  Contact your chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association to get on board.  One year, my small team of six scrapbooking friends raised over $3,000 – more than any other team in our county! 

Donate.  Everyone has their hand out.   Everyone wants your money.  But nobody wants Alzheimer’s Disease.  Can you set aside a dime each day?   Just a dime a day.   Involve the kids. By the 2009 Memory Walk, you will have collected over $25.00 It’s tax-deductable and you won’t even miss it.  Follow up with a purple party that includes playing the Memory Game to celebrate how good it feels to help!

Create Awareness. This past fall, my rock band, Elixir, played at the local Memory Walk for free and donated our tips and earnings from the gig just prior to the Walk. In the workplace, at school, at church, on your blog, . . . Here are other ideas you can use to keep Alzheimer’s Disease at the forefront of people’s minds.  Some of these are actually quite fun!

Adopt a Caregiver

• Visit.  Caregivers cannot leave their loved one alone.  Ever.  They could use a little company from time to time.
• Light shopping.  On your way to the grocery store, pharmacy or post office?  Call to ask if you can pick anything up for them while you’re out. 
• Elder-sitting.  Offer to stay with their loved one while they go to the hair salon or run an errand or attend church.  This is absolutely the single biggest thing you can do to help.
• Reach out.  A card, a note,  email, a phone call.  They feel so isolated and just need to know someone cares.
• Light housekeeping.  Caring for an Alzheimer’s sufferer is physically and mentally exhausting.  Housekeeping is low on the priority list. Can you do a few chores to ease the burden? 
• Listen.  You have to be Job, Mother Theresa and Solomon all rolled into one just to make it through a day with an Alzheimer’s sufferer without wanting to scream.  Sometimes all the caregiver needs is someone to listen to them vent.

And please, spread the purple around.  It helps us so very much to see it!

To read more of Carol's posts, visit her blog, She Lives.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Losing a Parent

Christmas is a merry time of year.  Except when it's not.  For all the comfort and joy around us this time of year, there are plenty of people bearing heavy hurts.  .

Today's guest poster in my What I'd Like For You To Know series (details are found here) is Nicole of Here's the Diehl.  Her mom passed away this summer, and Nicole is now walking through her first holiday season since her loss.  Here's a little of Nicole's story, and some ideas on reaching out to others...

Thirty-one years seems like a long time. However, it’s much too short when you’re talking about how much time you had with a parent. My dad, my 3 siblings and I are gently navigating our way through our first year without Mom. She passed away on July 7th, 2 days after my 31st birthday.

My mom was diagnosed with cancer in the fall of 2004, right after I found out I was pregnant with my second son. We knew from the beginning that her odds of beating this cancer were not good; her cancer, a thymic carcinoid tumor, was extremely rare and unfortunately, very resilient to any kind of treatment. Over the course of the next 3 years, she spent the majority of the time planning for, thinking about, or undergoing various treatments: injections, chemo, radiation, surgeries. When in May of ‘08 we found out that the tumors had metastasized all over her body, including her brain, we knew that there wasn’t much time left. Quite quickly, her speech started to become more incoherent, and she wasn’t able to walk anymore. Miraculously (and I don’t mean that lightly), she was able to make it to my brother’s wedding on June 7th, even though hospice care had already begun.

My husband, (and by now, three!) sons and I live two hours away from our hometown. On June 26th, the boys and I went to stay for what I thought was one night, but turned into 15 nights away from home. When I got there on the 26th, it seemed like Mom didn’t have much time left, and I just couldn’t leave. My husband packed enough clothes for all of us and drove over with them that night. The feeling was definitely that it would not be much longer. And then the days dragged by…it’s a horrible place to be, knowing that she could pass away at any time, and literally praying for that to happen so that the pain ends for her and the agony of limbo ends for the family. My mom passed away at home, where she wanted to be, after being in a coma for the last 36 hours of her life.

So I guess this brings me to the first thing I’d like for you to know: when a death occurs in this manner, the family might be feeling some guilt over praying for the end. For me, I think I felt guilty about not grieving instantly; in the immediate days after her death, it was simply a feeling of relief that she wasn’t in pain anymore. And that just feels wrong, I guess. So know that if a friend is going through this, there might initially be feelings of guilt mingling with mourning over their loss.

We had an overwhelming outpouring of love and support from friends and extended family in a variety of ways. I thought that sharing them might give you some ideas of ways to reach out to grieving families.

The obvious answer is food, and it’s a great thing to bring! We had lots of casseroles, meat/cheese/vegetable/fruit trays, etc., and all of those were a huge help. It’s comforting to know that when you’re hungry, there’s enough food to feed a small army in the fridge, so you don’t have to cook. Some less-traditional food items that we enjoyed included breakfast food (egg casseroles, biscuits and gravy, cinnamon rolls) and snacks (homemade salsa and chips, veggie pizza).

Now, for the maybe slightly-less-known, but still-very-much-welcomed ideas:

• Coolers full of drinks, which was a big help, since there was so much family in and out through the week.
• Paper products, including cups, plates, silverware, paper towels, napkins, toilet paper, and ziploc bags.
• Stamps. There are so many thank you notes to write and it’s nice to not have to run directly to the post office. Plus, if you don’t live in the same town as the family, but want to do something to help, these slip into a sympathy card so easily!
• A family friend brought us a gift bag of snack foods for the boys (even Gerber puffs for the baby!) as well as a new DVD for them to watch…very thoughtful, and it kept them busy for a bit while we were taking care of arrangements.
• Books for the children about death and heaven (but be certain that they are aligned with the family’s beliefs).

Everyone says, “Let me know if I can do anything.” I KNOW that they mean well, but at least for me, it’s difficult to say, “Can you take my kids for the afternoon?” If you know the family well, instead call them and say something like, “I could take your kids to the park today or tomorrow; which would work better for you?” A friend did this spur-of-the-moment for me one day after I was back in St. Louis and feeling lousy, and it made a huge difference.

Also, please know that it’s okay for you to talk about your own mom, good stories and bad. Don’t feel bad for talking about what you’re doing for Christmas. It’s a normal part of most people’s lives. I realize, too, that not everyone has a good relationship with their mom like I did, and it’s also okay to talk about the not-so-good stuff. I would just encourage you to take the steps needed to mend whatever damage is there. I am fortunate that I was not in that situation, and that my family had the time to say everything we wanted to say to my mom before she passed away. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel that I’d missed that chance.

More than anything, people dealing with the loss of a loved one want to know that people are thinking of them and praying for them, especially during the holidays. Don’t be afraid to ask them how they’re doing. Whatever you can do to help them will go a long way towards mending their hearts.

To read more of Nicole's posts, visit her blog, Here's the Diehl.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Surviving Poverty

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

This is a time of year when even those of us with our heads on straight can sometimes get side-tracked by all the stuff.  Today's guest poster, Kate from A Simple Walk and Happy To Be At Home provided me a much-needed perspective shift. 

Here is her family's story.

I was convinced there would be no Christmas. We did not have money for presents for the children. We were barely able to scrape together the few dollars that it cost to buy a tree. But we found a way, because no matter what, presents or not, we had a lot to celebrate. We were healthy, we had a roof over our heads, and we had each other. We were quickly coming to realize that beyond that, it did not matter what else we had.

That was just the start of what would prove to be a very long year for us.

Our annual income throughout that time put us far below the national poverty line for a family of five. In fact, our monthly income was so low, we now look back in complete astonishment. How did we do it? How did we keep our home, stay clothed and warm, fed and happy?

Here are some things I want you to know about what it is like surviving (and even thriving) well below the poverty line:

1. The children always came first. Whatever we did, and whatever we had or did not have, we made sure our kids were taken care of and that they were loved and happy. We kept all burdens and stress from them as much as possible.

2. There was no room for pride. At the end of the day, all that mattered was getting it done. We had to cast pride aside in order to go to the food pantry at church. We had to cast pride aside in order to accept offers of help from the wonderfully generous and compassionate family and friends in our lives. We realized there was actually a great deal of pride in doing whatever necessary to take care of our family.

3. We were broke, but not broken. The world wanted us to believe that because we were "poor," we should be broken, miserable shells of our former selves. That's just not who we were though. Instead, we focused on our faith and our family. We drew together to support one another and became more whole than we could have ever imagined.

4. We coveted prayers, but not pity. We did not want anyone to feel sorry for us. Honestly, that just doesn't help anyone. Pray for us, support us, push us, understand our position, but please don't pity us.

5. We were not about to accept the status-quo. It's true, we were happy throughout that whole year. That did not mean that we were naïve to our situation though. Nor were we willing to settle and think that was what our life would always be like. Not at all! We fought everyday to grow, move forward, and put ourselves in a better financial position.

6. There was opportunity at every turn for growth and creativity. We just needed the right perspective to see that. I will admit, there were times when I struggled with perspective, but they never lasted long. I saw that time as a wonderful learning opportunity. I remember one specific day when I was certain I wouldn't be able to pull anything together for dinner. The refrigerator and freezer were empty, there was no money for more groceries until the next day, and there were only a few bags and cans in my pantry. I decided, instead of allowing self-pity to creep in, that I would face down the challenge and come out victorious. I remembered reading that lentils and rice made a complete protein. There were a few jars of tomato sauce in the pantry too. I added some frozen vegetables and spices. We dined like royalty on a very delicious lentil and rice vegetarian chili that night. We still love that meal today.

As that difficult year went on, we began to see a very small light at the end of the tunnel. We weren't surprised though, because we had never given up hope that it was there, even though a lot of other people told us we should. We knew perseverance would pay off in the end.

We began to realize that even though we knew our situation was improving, many people were not able to see it that way. We were still treated as "that poor family with lots of kids" by many. Our struggle became not only about continuing our financial growth and improvement. We also had to struggle to prove ourselves.

Here are some things I want you to know about crossing over to the other side of the poverty line:

1. We are well aware of our current and past financial situation. We know we have a long way to go and a lot of work ahead of us. Please know that we are honest with ourselves.

2. When we turn down offers of help, it is not because we have suddenly become too proud or too naïve. We have crossed that line and now we need to forge our own way with our own means. We can do it!

3. We have learned the common sense of frugality and will not change our spending habits just because we can. We will continue to spend wisely and only on necessities. Living frugally does not mean that we are depriving ourselves or our children.

It was a difficult year, but I continue to be grateful that we lived through it and that we keep moving forward. We learned we are a stronger family when we work together. We learned God's promises are real. And that Christmas I mentioned earlier? It turned out to be the BEST Christmas of our lives. We were blessed to be adopted by a wonderful group from our church who showered the children with gifts. Looking at the piles of presents under our Christmas tree through teary eyes, I realized that whatever the upcoming year held for us, we would survive.

We did.

And not only that — we thrived.

To read more of Kate's posts, visit her blogs, A Simple Walk and Happy To Be At Home.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Surviving Post-Partum Depression

This edition of What I'd Like For You To Know is one that is especially close to my heart; I had my own painful struggle with post-partum depression (PPD) after the birth of my third child.  From e-mails I've received, I know it's all too familiar for many of you, as well.*

Today's guest poster is tackling this hard subject.  She's Tara Mock of Out Of the Valley Ministries (her personal blog is Giggles-n-Gulps).  And here is what she'd like for you to know...

I laid on the floor, curled into a fetal position, in the hallway of our home.  I had given birth only eight days ago.  As I lay there with the rough carpet scratching my cheek, I knew I did not want to move – ever again.  The unending nausea and physical pain would not go away, nor the inner turmoil that was trying to convince me life could not go on like this.  I could still picture the scissors on the kitchen counter...

As hot tears poured from my swollen and tired eyes, I cried out repeatedly, "I can't do this anymore!"  I could hear my husband in the background speaking urgently with the doctor about taking me back to the hospital.  My head was swimming.  What was I thinking, having a baby?  I could not even look at my son much less hold him, which was so heartbreaking to experience after praying for him through two and a half years of infertility.

To this day, my heart hurts when those memories cross my mind.  I was in the valley of the shadow of death and I hated that I knew exactly what that meant for me.  I was in the throes of postpartum depression.

PPD is a serious illness that affects more women than you realize.  It happened to affect me very quickly after my son's birth, but it can affect a mom anytime within the first year after giving birth.  Postpartum mood disorders affect approximately 15% of women, regardless of whether it's a first child or subsequent children. 

Through my journey, I learned a lot about postpartum mood disorders as well as how to help those women who come behind me suffering from them.  It is my life's passion now to let them know they are not alone.  I share my story freely in the hopes that another woman will make it out of the valley instead of succumbing to the despair.   

What I'd like for you to know about what NOT to say:  The underlying rule of thumb in this category is to not say anything at all.  Just listen.  Here is a top ten list of what not to say:

• "I don't see how anyone who just had a baby can be depressed!"  (Said to me by the sales clerk when I purchased Brooke Shields' "Down Came the Rain.")
• "You need to have more faith."  (My faith is all I have right now and I'm hanging on to it with everything I've got.)
• "You just need to pray more."  (If you think I'm not praying to even take the next breath some days, then you'd better think again.)
• "Christians don't get depressed."  (Oh, really?  Read Psalms, David sure did struggle a lot.)
• "Just buck up and get over it." (Does that work for your cancer?  Your diabetes?  You try it and let me know.)
• "It's supposed to be the happiest time of your life!  Enjoy it!" (I'm angry that it's supposed to be the happiest time of my life and I'm not enjoying it, but for now I am sick and do not need to hear the obvious.)
• "You should appreciate what you have; a thousand women would die to have a baby in their arms." (We went through infertility treatments, too!  Infertility alone puts women at risk for PPD for a variety of reasons.)
• "It's just the baby blues."  (There is a big difference between baby blues and PPD.  See the chart here.  And its really not helpful to minimize or shrug-off what someone is going through.) 
• "You asked for it."  (Referring to our prayers for our baby due to infertility issues.  I did not ask to go through this.  We prayed for a baby, not postpartum depression.  PPD is no respecter of persons.)
• "You don't need medicines for this, those are just for the crazy people."  (I believe God granted some amazing people with the gifts to create medicines that truly help people overcome and/or cope with serious illness - cancer, diabetes, heart disease, a headaches just to name a few.  If you take medicine for any of those, how is a legitimate illness such as PPD any different?  An anti-depressant helped me recover in a significant way and was a major contributor to saving my life.)

What I'd like for you to know about how to help a loved one going through PPD:

• Listen, love, hug.
• Practical help.   Just show up and do something.  It will be very hard for her to call and ask for help.
  Take her out for coffee, a walk or a girls' night out.
• Email her a Scripture-a-day or a note of encouragement.
• Let her know she is a great mom!  Her self-confidence is shot and her sense of what is "normal" is out the window.
• Husbands need a break, too.  Most likely, the stress and worry is taking a toll on him.  Encourage your husband or another guy to take him out for lunch.
• Prayer!
• You may have to be more bold in your friendship if you notice she is not herself, suspect PPD,  and need to question her and take her to the doctor yourself.  It is ok to do that, just use wisdom.

What I'd like for you to know if you are suffering from PPD: 

Please do not be ashamed of what you are going through.  This is a legitimate illness and you need medical attention and counseling if you have not already sought it out.  Talk about how you are feeling and ask for practical help with your child(ren) and around the house and don't feel badly for it!  There is time enough later to "pay it forward" for someone else who will be hurting later.  You can find more help at Out of the Valley Ministries and Postpartum Support International.  And most importantly, you are not alone, this is NOT your fault, and you WILL get better!   

You can read more of Tara's writing at Out Of the Valley Ministries, or at her personal blog, Giggles-n-Gulps. 

*I second Tara's good advice: If you suspect you may be suffering from depression (post-partum or otherwise), I urge you, wholeheartedly, to seek medical attention right away.  If you're too overwhelmed to seek help, find a friend you trust and ask them to help you take the next step.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Mom of a Hearing Impaired Child

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest is Julie from Octamom--she's the mother of eight, and one of her daughters is hearing impaired.  (You can read more specifics about her diagnosis here.) 

Note: To keep things simple, Julie writes about her kids using their birth order number as a nickname.  "4 of 8" is her daughter.

Here is their story.

We sat, 4 of 8 on my lap, in a hard plastic chair in the confining little room.  I looked through the thick glass wall I faced, trying to discern the expression of the audiologist on the other side.  Tweets, beeps, high squeaks and low rumbles issued from speakers mounted in the corners at unpredictable intervals.

And 4 of 8 seemed oblivious to it.

I was about to be told that my child had a severe hearing loss.

Our path to this little room had begun routinely enough.  4 of 8's language at the age of 2 ½ was not in keeping with the speech development I had experienced with her older siblings.  A trip to the pediatrician's office yielded reassurances that my expectations were set too high, that she seemed healthy, that her ears were clear and her motor skills at age level.  At my insistence, the pediatrician decided to play along and scheduled us for a round of speech and development evaluations, with a routine side trip to the audiologist.  It never dawned on me she might not be hearing us.

Hearing loss is the most common birth defect in the U.S., affecting 3 babies out of 1,000.  Add to that number the population of children who go on to develop conductive losses (chronic ear infections, illness, etc.) and that number soars to 15% of school age children.  Obviously not all children have enough loss to warrant intervention through hearing aids or cochlear implants, but a steady population of children with hearing issues grows each year in this country.

One of the reasons for my complete shock at 4 of 8's diagnosis was my misconception that hearing impaired means completely deaf.  Actually, 95% of all hearing impaired individuals have some level of residual usable hearing.  4 of 8 would react to the lawn mower, to a loud noise, to a telephone.  Her greatest level of loss is in the high frequency range, the levels where most human speech takes place, hence her lack of language development.

I was also unaware that the challenges of hearing loss are not just that sound is quieter, but that sound can be morphed and muffled.  4 of 8 perceives our speech as sounding something like the grown-ups in the Charlie Brown cartoons, a soft, warbling cadence in which vowel sounds are the easiest to discern and non-percussive consonants the most difficult. 

4 of 8 was just over 32 months old when she was diagnosed.  We entered a whole new world of decisions for her:  what type of hearing aids, what type of practical  approach toward her education, what philosophical approach to our parenting.  We learned that most insurance companies do not cover the cost of hearing aids, which usually run in the price range of $4000 to $8000.  Yes, you read that right; insurance does not cover hearing aids.  Viagra, yes.  Hearing aids, no.  We were hit with so much information, so many decisions and so many questions.

We also entered a political mine field of which we had been completely unaware.  To us, it seemed obvious that if there were technology and therapy available to help 4 of 8 make the most of her residual hearing, to help her learn to listen and talk, then, just as we would provide a kid with glasses to help them read the blackboard, so we would provide 4 of 8 with these resources.  But part of the hearing impaired community believes vigilantly that individuals with hearing loss comprise their own unique group, noted with the moniker of Deaf with a capital D,  American Sign Language as their native tongue. We have received criticism for choosing to use technology and Auditory Verbal Therapy for 4 of 8, being told that we are keeping 4 of 8 from experiencing her own 'kind'.  In the midst of her diagnosis, to so passionately desire to give her every advantage and opportunity, those opinions were wrenching.  I do not pretend that I know what approach is right for every family.  But now, over seven years later, we know that we were guided to make the right decision for 4 of 8, choosing to raise her as a hearing child, with challenges, yes, but with amazing opportunities to leverage technology and therapy.  If 4 of 8 would like to learn American Sign Language (ASL), we would be happy to help her achieve that goal.  But as she has said to me, “I like to talk.”

I am often asked if we have considered a cochlear implant for 4 of 8, the bionic-esque device that taps the auditory nerve and delivers sound frequency directly to the brain.  The FDA has strict regulations on who can be considered a cochlear implant candidate and 4 of 8 at this time falls just below their thresholds.  However, if a time comes when she could be considered for the surgery, we would be delighted.  Cochlear implants, with appropriate therapy, can be considered modern magic.  We have seen incredible results amongst several of 4 of 8's peers.

But perhaps more than the statistics and strategies, there is one truth I want you to know, a paradigm shift that I hope brings a fresh perspective.

Through it all, an incredible thing has happened.  This hearing loss has come to not feel like a 'loss' at all, rather, an astonishing experience for us as a family, an opportunity to meet other incredible families, to interact with a community of therapists who coach and guide and love, to have a view into a window of what I've called one of humanity's most common miracles, the miracle of language.  It has shifted from 'loss' to 'gift'--astounding.  And it is so intrinsic a part of who 4 of 8 is, how it has shaped her, how she experiences her world, that is has become a beloved part of who she is.  And therefore, of who I am.

To read more of Julie's posts, visit her blog, Octamom.  Additionally, click here to see a photo-journalistic walk through 4 of 8's experiences, and click here for more information about their therapy group, Hearts For Hearing.

What I'd Like For You To Know: A Single Adult

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest poster is Tammy from Single Solitary Things.

The year I turned 30, my birthday happened to fall on Father’s Day.  A few days before the combined event, I phoned my dad to tell him I wouldn’t make the three hour drive home to visit.  I had just recently moved back to the city of my youthful stomping grounds after 3 years away, and I was the first of my friends to hit the big 3-0.

Dad graciously understood, and asked “So, how old are you this year?”

“Thirty.”  I replied.

“Oh.” He sighed, and paused. “I never thought you would be an old maid.”

I know what you’re thinking.  But coming from my dad, I wasn’t offended.  I knew that in his generation, that was the plain truth.  Moreover, I knew that he was really saying, “I can’t believe some man hasn’t snapped up my charming, smart and attractive daughter.”

Eight years later, I’m still not married, and still have no children.  I am sure that many people I encounter see an old maid.  Of course they don’t say it in as many words as my dad.  They show it instead.

They show it when they say, “Not married? Oh, you must be picky.”

I hear it when others, incredulous, refuse to take it as fact.  “Just kidding.” I want to say in such cases, “ I am married.  Don’t worry.  I’m normal.”

I think the inability to categorize me makes some people uncomfortable.  If I were divorced, they could make sense of it.  Were I a single mom, I’d find sympathy and compassion.   But by admitting my single, never married, no-child status is akin to announcing there is something wrong with me.   I’m reasonably attractive, funny and pass for intelligent, so people are only left to ponder my fatal flaws.  Some people actually ask, “So what’s wrong with you?”

Our society sort of views marriage as a given. A rite of passage.  When I read news accounts of a young woman or even a child who died tragically, her parents inevitably say “I’ll never walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. I’ll never hold her children.”  It is assumed that everyone who was born will marry and have children.  I assumed I would too.  When it just doesn’t happen, knowing that it is expected of us only deepens the pain.

That is why it is so hurtful when it is suggested to a single person that they “must be picky.”   As if we can just pick a guy and get married.  After all, did you settle?  Now you’re suggesting that you could have married just anyone.  Would you have had as successful a marriage if you had ended up with one of your exes?  As much as I long for marriage, I sure am glad I didn’t marry any of the men in my life so far.

That’s the trick about marriage as a goal. It’s not like learning to dance, or committing to losing weight.  It doesn’t take will power to find a mate.  It takes a mate. It takes a miracle.  Oh, that I could just go to the store and pick one up!

True, single for some people is a choice. For those of us who truly desire marriage and children and family, it is not.  Marriage is a vocation that two people agree to take on together.  I can’t do it by myself.  I learned, in just the last two months that I can’t make someone love me.  No matter how much I love him, or how strong in faith he might be. Not even that our shared faith made us both stronger.  No matter how happy we are together until all the Ifs and Buts step in. 

And the simple fact of the matter is, I’ve never been asked.

That alone makes me question my womanhood and my desirability. It’s a very uncomfortable place.  I am a woman who desperately desires motherhood.  My clock is tocking not ticking.   I am very aware that my best reproductive years are over.

What not to say

Please don’t remind a single woman that her chances for a healthy baby are diminishing every year she is over 30.   But also, please do not try to encourage us with stories of women who successfully bore children well into their 50s.   All of this is completely irrelevant to a woman without a husband or serious boyfriend.

While we’re on the topic, yes, I know adoption is an option.  I am adopted myself and believe that adopted babies are indeed the best kind.  If I were blessed with marriage, adoption would defiantly be a consideration.   But adoption is as far out there as infertility treatments when there is no man in your life.

You’ll find him when you’re not looking

I’m never not looking.  Yes, my life is full and happy.  But I am a mother without a child. I am a wife without a husband.  I want my other half.  Think of the loss you would feel if your husband or child suddenly were not there.    I feel, not daily, but often, that an important part of my life is missing.

And by the way… dating after age 30 is not fun.  It is a chore, like scrubbing the bathtub but less rewarding.  It’s hard to look forward to dinner and disappointment.   I want to anticipate a nice evening, but this much experience has taught me what to look for in a man – and more often than not, it’s not there.

In the meantime, sometimes I just want to dote my pent-up motherhood on your kids. It’s probably terribly inappropriate, but I will snuggle your baby and sniff its’ head to soak up that sweet smell.  I’ve been guilty of tickling and twirling a smiling baby until it spits up.  Sorry.  I will nosh on your toddlers’ chubby legs and lift his shirt to plant a raspberry, just so I can hear that throaty, from-the-gut baby giggle that makes my heart sing.  If it’s no trouble, please just indulge me.  (I promise not to do that to your husband.)

Seeing women my age or younger with kids in tow – can stir a pang of deep pain. I once called my church office to ask when Baptisms were scheduled, as I needed to avoid them.  Second Sunday of the month, I would attend a different church just so I didn’t have to see the happy couples with their beautiful babies.

That’s another point. Church is no place for a single woman.  Church is all about family. That’s why you see so few single adults there.  It’s not that they no longer believe, the fact is they don’t feel welcome.  When your pastor asks you reach out to share a blessing, do you turn to your family first?  I stand there waiting for a hand to embrace.

I worry this writing might sound all bitter and lonely and sad.  I am happy.  I am blessed with an incredible network of friends.  My family is amazing. I enjoy my single life to the best of my ability.  People remind me that marriage is not easy.  I remind them; neither is being single.

Oddly, Barb in last week’s post on Empty Nesting provided me a point to expound upon.  She wrote:

“Life is a circle. You flow from one stage to the next. And with a little time, you become comfortable with the newest stage.” --Barb, A Chelsea Morning

For a perpetually single person, that’s not so. My life is a wandering squiggly line – darting in and out of other people’s circles.  Everyone else is buzzing along on a predictable cycle but there is no circle of life in my world.  There are no ‘stages’ for me to move through, save the aging process.

I am not Less Than

I realize I may sound contradictory – as I have already pointed out here that I feel a part of me is missing.  But I am a whole person.  Perhaps I have not yet realized that God intends for me to be alone, and that to Him I am complete and not in need of a husband.   I’m still working on trusting God’s divine providence.

What I mean to emphasize is that you need not view me as pathetic and alone.  I am not waiting for my life to begin.  Marriage is not going to make my life worth living.  My life is worthy now.  I’m just a little lonely. 

Invite me over to play with your kids while you tackle the laundry.  Seriously.

Think about introducing me to someone.  Don’t wait until you find the ‘perfect guy’ for me.  It’s just nice to meet people.  You never know who they might lead you to!

If you do make an introduction, don’t make a big fuss.  Don’t tell either of us you’re setting it up.  Just put us in the same room.  If we’re interested, we’ll figure it out.  But feel free to point out after the fact, that you introduced me to so-and-so if sparks did not fly.

Pray for single adults.  There are ministries for single moms, working moms, elderly widows/widowers, and petitions for the sick.  But when does society reach out to the single?  Pray that your single friends might daily, feel the love of God and of their friends and neighbors in a tangible way.

Invite your single friends for a meal.  We’ll help prepare.  I attend my church’s weekly fish fry during Lent – even though I’m allergic to fish.  My priest teased me until I explained at home, I have to eat alone.

Keep in touch with your single friends.  They’re not out tearing it up and having orgies.   We’re not out to steal your husband.  Sometimes we just want to experience the hum of a household with a family.  Look for things in common with single adults.  We might not share your challenges, but we can still relate.

If you'd like to read more of Tammy's posts, you can check out Single Solitary Things here.

What I'd Like For You To Know: An Empty Nest

I have a great guest poster today, and she's going to encourage us all!  So many of us in the mom blogosphere are in the thick of raising kids that it can be hard to see past that season.  So for today's edition of What I'd Like For You To Know (details here, if you're new) I asked Barb of A Chelsea Morning to write about what it's like being an empty nester.

When Shannon asked me to write on this subject, my immediate thought was, “Well, yes! I know all about how an empty nest feels.” My second thought was, “Wait a minute. Lately, my nest hasn’t felt empty at all.”

But the truth is, both my daughters are grown and married and there are no longer any chicks living in my nest.

I could tell you how an empty nest feels in exactly two words. Stunning. And shocking. Somehow, it feels like I should say a little more than that.

Let me back up to when I built my nest. It was thirty years ago, this month. My husband and I built our nest and we had a wonderful time living in it, with just each other. We thought it was perfect. As soon as we discovered we were expecting our first baby, we knew that nest was about to become a lot more perfect. We added our first chick in 1979 and less than two years later, we added our second. Suddenly, the nest was full.

And then we got on with it. I know a lot of you reading this today are in the midst of raising your children. You’re probably so busy, the thought of an empty nest is about as far from your mind as it can be.

The first thing I’d want you to know is  that it’s going to happen, and a lot more quickly than you think it will.

Raising my daughters was a constant blur of motion. And emotion. I was a full time working mother and I was so busy, for so many years, I honestly have black holes in my memory of large chunks of time from those years.

It’s true that daughters have a special connection with their daddies. But it’s also true that there’s a very special bond between mother and daughter. My daughters and I were, and still are, very close. I felt very needed, very necessary, all the time.

Fast forward the usual number of years, eighteen, to the day we drove our older daughter across Colorado and deposited her at Mesa State College. The nest felt different but not empty. My younger daughter had such a busy high school career going on, life was still hectic and busy and LOUD all the time. Clue: She was a competitive cheerleader and a volleyball star. And she was competing for a full ride scholarship to college. She was a busy, busy girl and by association, I was still a very busy mom.

Still, there was that one room in our house that was very, very quiet. I closed the door to that room because it was too empty. Somewhere inside me, I felt a loss and it hurt, so I tried to not think about it too much. Four long distance calls a night from my missing daughter helped, but still, she wasn’t physically there. And the first inkling of how an empty nest feels set in.

Now fast forward two years. We made the same trip across Colorado to leave our younger daughter at Mesa State, and I knew on the long drive home, my life had completely changed. Forever. Somehow I knew, my children would never live with me again.

The truth is, I cried all the way home. I simply didn’t know how to handle all the feelings I was experiencing. I said stupid things to myself, like, “They’re gone forever. They’re grown. They don’t need me any more.”

Not true, of course, but you couldn’t have convinced me of that, on that drive home. That night we ate dinner, alone, and we sat in our living room, alone. That’s when it hit me.

It was quiet. It was totally quiet in our house. I realize, looking back, it probably had a lot to do with the fact that the phone wasn’t ringing off the hook. If you have teenaged daughters, I don’t need to tell you how much, how constantly, the phone rings. For some reason, the fact that the phone stopped ringing undid me.

I walked around for two weeks, with such an ache in my chest, I could barely function.

So the second thing I’d want you to know is, after having a full nest for years and years, it just feels wrong when it becomes empty, seemingly overnight. And it hurts. For me, it was actually physically painful.

The next thing I’d want you to know is, and I know this sounds cliché, it gets better. You get used to it. It stops hurting so much. In my case, it took me about two years to really feel OK with it. I realized that although they no longer lived with us, both my daughters still needed my husband and me very much.

When I realized both my girls were probably going to stay in Grand Junction, and never move home again, it was OK with me. I’d had time to accept that something like this might happen. So we did what any reasonable set of parents would do. We moved to where they lived!  ;)

Seriously, Rob’s job at a nuclear facility had just ended, I was technically retired, we knew we never wanted to live far away from our children and their futures, if we had that choice. We did have that choice, so here we are.

As long as the girls were single, it didn’t feel like things were too terribly different. They just didn’t sleep in our house any more. But when they got married, the empty nest really became, permanently, empty.

You look around and see things differently. Here’s what I saw: two bedrooms that could be converted into an office and a craft room. Or a guest room. For, you know, when one of them came to visit overnight. I’d left their rooms untouched for years.

By the time my daughters got married, it had stopped hurting. I’m going to be honest here. It took several years for me to accept that they no longer needed to live in my nest to be successful and happy and content. They’re both strong young women, happily married, one with babies in her own nest and the other trying. And they don’t need me the way they did when they lived in my nest.

But they do need me. I’m still the mom and I know every day of my life, I’m still very needed by both of them. They don’t need me to help them through a crisis with a boyfriend, or to take their phone privileges away for a week because they broke curfew. But they need advice on how to handle an argument with a husband, or what to do when the baby is teething and feverish. My older daughter has given me grandchildren and let me tell you, if your grandchildren live close by, your nest is not really empty.

I’ve tried to describe the feelings and emotions I went through when my children grew up and our relationship changed.

I saved this for last because I’m convinced it’s the most important thing you need to know about how to survive the empty nest.

Build a good marriage. Too many couples lose each other along the way, as they get caught up in the craziness and busyness that is raising a family, from birth through college and marriage.

I’m sure we all remember those first few months or years of being a newlywed. I’m not going to try to convince you that you’ll feel like newlyweds again. We certainly didn’t. But Rob and I like each other. And we’ve reached the point that it’s kind of nice having an empty nest again.

To be honest with you, my nest doesn’t really feel empty now. My children and my grandchildren are nearby and we spend a lot of time together.

But you know that saying, the one about how nice it is to spoil the grandchildren because they go home with their parents at night? It’s true. It’s very, very true. I’ve become very protective of my quiet time.

Life is a circle. You flow from one stage to the next. And with a little time, you become comfortable with the newest stage.

And it’s really, really nice to have a couple of spare rooms you can do anything your heart desires with. ;)

To read more of Barb's posts, visit her blog, A Chelsea Morning.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Dealing with Food Allergies in a Child

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest poster is Jane Anne from Gravity of Motion--she's the mom of a child with a serious food allergy.  I really learned something reading her story, and I think you will too...

I had an eventful morning at church this past Sunday. Our church has a “Children’s Time” where the children go down front and are presented with a quick lesson. After the lesson, they go to another room for a children’s program. This week the pastor decided to use a Trick-or-Treat illustration to talk about sharing. He began by handing out paper bags to the kids. Then he pulled out a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups. That’s the moment I stopped paying attention to the story. My husband jumped up and got our son out of the group. I bolted out the door. All I could think was, “I have to get the antibacterial wipes out of the car!” It wasn’t entirely rational but I was in protection mode. I didn’t know if the kids already had the candy or not and in a matter of seconds I was imagining trying wash (or at least wipe) the hands of about 20 kids. I flew to my car in a frenzy, found the wipes and located a bag of Dum Dum lollipops. I bounded back up the church steps 2 or 3 at a time, breezed down the aisle and plopped the bag of lollipops on the podium. When I sat down in my seat, I was shaking. I felt a bit like Superwoman and a lot like a crazy woman. From behind me, I heard someone say: “Someone has a peanut allergy.”  I quickly found out that several people in the congregation had stopped the pastor from handing out the peanut butter candy. 

My 5-year-old son, David, has a life-threatening allergy to peanuts.  If you are not familiar with food allergies, it may sound strange to hear that a food can be life threatening. It can be and it is for my son.

I want everyone to know: A true food allergy is a very serious condition. A food allergy is extremely different from a food intolerance (such as lactose intolerance) or a food sensitivity. A true food allergy is an immune system response to a food that the body mistakenly believes is harmful. The body creates antibodies to the food. When a severely food-allergic person eats even a tiny amount of the food to which he is allergic his immune system releases massive amounts of chemicals and histamines. Symptoms, which can begin within seconds of exposure to the allergen, can range from mild (such as a few hives on the face) to an extreme, potentially fatal reaction known as anaphylaxis. Anaphylaxis can make one or more bodily systems go haywire. The biggest danger is that the person’s throat can swell shut, his blood pressure can drop rapidly, and he can literally “drop dead” – all within minutes of ingesting even the smallest amount of allergen. There currently is no cure for this type of food allergy, and the only course of action is complete avoidance of the offending foods.

When I first found out David had food allergies, I did not realize what it meant for my son, for myself and my family. In the beginning, David was allergic to fish, wheat, eggs, and peanuts. The allergist told us he appeared to be outgrowing the wheat, egg and fish allergies. By age 2, he had outgrown those allergies. I did not realize the seriousness of his peanut allergy. I still had peanut butter in the house. I still made peanut butter sandwiches for my older child. I did not grasp the chance I was taking. When I look back, I am grateful that nothing happened during that time.

Let me tell you a bit about our day-to-day battle with my son’s peanut allergy. Our home is now peanut-free. I read food labels constantly. Grocery shopping requires reading labels. I must always check the ingredients. Some products have allergy warnings and some just list the ingredients. I cannot think “once safe, always safe.” Companies change food production. One of David’s worst experiences was when he had some crackers that had previously been safe. He had hives for 4 days because they “contained traces of peanuts.” Just knowing an item doesn’t contain nuts is not enough. Food that is made on the same equipment where nuts have been processed posses a risk. We cannot get anything from a grocery store bakery (or any bakery). Going to a birthday party usually means bringing an individual cupcake for David. He cannot have store bought cake. Even if it is homemade, he cannot have the cake if I don’t know if the mix has a peanut warning. Eating out is challenging, to say the least.

I appreciate efforts by friends and family to keep David safe. There are times when I know that people have tried to avoid peanut products but I still don’t feel comfortable letting David eat the food. Without knowing the ingredients first-hand, I cannot trust that an item does not contain nuts or contain a product that has a peanut warning. I am gracious and appreciative but I cannot take any chances. When his allergy is forgotten (like at church), I do not feel angry. I do not expect other people to protect him. I may appear panicked or emotional, but I am not upset with anyone.

I want you to know that parents of allergic children do not have all the answers about food allergies and protecting their children. We are constantly learning.

I ask you not to share frightening stories. (I have had people at different times tell me they knew someone that died from a peanut allergy.) Parents of allergic children do not need to be reminded of the worst-case scenario.

Please be understanding if you try to make something allergen free and the allergic person is still not comfortable eating the item. Above all, an allergic person has to be safe and cannot take risks.

I want you to understand that we do not want to inconvenience anyone; we only want to protect our child.

It has been impossible to protect my son from all peanut contact. He has been exposed to peanuts through physical contact. He was exposed from a child booster seat (at a restaurant that served PB&J to kids). He was exposed at an airport (touched something that someone who had eaten peanuts had touched and then rubbed his eye). He was exposed in a kid cart at Wal-Mart. He has been exposed at a friend's house. Contact exposure (except when rubbed in his eye) has so far caused hives.

My son has not had a life-threatening reaction. But that does not mean that he does not have a life-threatening allergy. He has only ingested a tiny amount of a peanut product (peanut butter) once. With every exposure to an allergen, a body is going to fight the allergen more. One mild reaction does not guarantee another mild reaction. There is no way to know the intensity of the next reaction. David has had allergy tests yearly. The tests indicate his allergy is only getting more intense. He is required to have an EpiPen (an auto-injector of epinephrine used to treat anaphylactic shock) with him at all times.

Before I found out about my son’s peanut allergy, food allergies didn't mean anything to me. Now, I am constantly aware of the possible danger. I do all I can to education myself. I pray for my son’s safety and I pray not to be overwhelmed with fear.

I hope that this glimpse of our struggle with a food allergy makes you more aware. If you want to do something helpful, one simple thing you can do this time of year is provide “safe” items for Halloween. Two great candy options are Dum Dum lollipops or Smarties. Another idea is to provide stickers or something non-edible.

If you'd like to read more of Jane Anne's posts, you can check out Gravity of Motion here.

What I'd Like For You To Know: A Mother of Multiples

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest poster is Jen from 4Tunate--she's mom of quadruplet boys!  Here's her story...

Never in all my days of playing "house" as a child, did I ever, EVER, pretend to be a mother to quadruplets. When I'm approached in public with the infamous "Did you plan on having quadruplets?" question, I cannot help but chuckle.  I'm completely tempted to answer with a, "Yes ma'am. We ordered the 4 for the Price of 1 Full Meal Deal."  I think it's safe to say that no one plans to leave the reproductive endocrinologist's office with a litter of babies in tow.

Likewise, I could have never imagined a life full of so much joy, satisfaction, and laughter.  Instead of focusing on 4x the diapers, teeth, food, emergency room visits, and eventually driver's licenses, I daily make a conscious effort to see my glass more than 1/2 full.  You see, we have the privilege of living a miracle.

August 2006 turned out to be THE defining month of our lives.  On the seventh of the month, we were given the news that we were finally pregnant after a difficult battle with infertility.  The "catch" was that despite our conservative efforts, there were three babies.  Two weeks later, after the shock of triplets had subsided ever so slightly, we found out there were two babes in one of the sacks, upping our count to four. Carrying quadruplets is an extremely high-risk situation; however, there were even more risks associated with our pregnancy.  We were told that our particular scenario was undocumented, extremely unlikely, and most likely unsurvivable for the 4 heartbeats that were beating strongly on the ultrasound machine. However, God had control over those tiny lives, and chose to give us the best case scenario: Four Healthy Miracles! In addition He decided to display His sense of humor by giving us all BOYS!

Although I'm experiencing a life that not many can imagine, I'd like to believe that we have more in common than you realize.  Although I'm a mama to four little guys, I'm still technically a first time mother.  I have countless flaws, weaknesses, and struggles that disqualify me from superhero title that is often assumed.  Hindsight has taught me much, and I'd love to share a few ways to encourage a mother of twins, triplets, or more.

*TIME
Often times people are intimidated by the overwhelming number of babies and shy away from offering help to a new mother of multiples.  They picture a house of complete chaos and disorganization.  On the contrary most high order multiple families discover that routine and organization is their sole means of survival. Countless times a relieved first-time volunteer would say, "This is not what I expected at all when I signed up to take a shift."   Your time is a priceless gift. Although we currently take care of the boys independently, we could not have weathered the first few months without our faithful volunteers.
If babies aren't your specialty, offer to serve by washing bottles, helping with neglected yard work, delivering a prepared meal, or washing a few loads of laundry. You will be blessed by being a blessing!

*PRAYERS
Praying for a mother of multiples is the greatest gift you can offer. What an incredible way to show your love for their lives!

*NOTES, CARDS, EMAILS
While hospitalized over a month on bed rest, I received a note a day from a beloved friend. After reading them about 5x each, I would use them to decorate the white walls of my hospital room. It was comforting to know that even though I felt so isolated she was thinking of me daily.

*PHYSICAL PROVISIONS
Anything from registry items to diapers in ANY size, even gift cards to restaurants or grocery stores, are an enormous blessing!  Did I mention diapers?

*FRIENDSHIP
It becomes exceedingly difficult to maintain friendships during the first year of raising multiples, so please, please continue to pursue your relationships. Your friendship is highly valued.

Finally, I would like for you to know some phrases or conversations that are not beneficial to a mother of multiples. Words have a way of causing unintentional wounds.  Please use careful discretion when discussing the following with multiple mamas that you may meet:

~Questions Regarding Infertility Drugs or Treatments.  Infertility is a painful struggle.  It isn't pleasant to be singled out for it constantly, when thousands of single babies have been conceived through the same methods. On top of that, it's inappropriate to have these discussions in front of young children. (You can find excellent insight on this topic in the What I'd Like For You to Know:Infertility

~Telling us about every set of twins you've ever come in contact with...(If you're about to start your sentence with "My aunt's brother's great uncle's best friend's barber was a twin...", refrain from doing so.  Instead, just stop and smile.)

~Asking if they each have their own personalities.  Yes, they are humans AND they are individuals.

~Talking about how it "only gets worse."  Definitely NOT beneficial.

~ Even though it might be the first thing that pops in your head, don't say, "Wow, you've got your hands full!" We know.  We've heard it a million times, and you aren't the first one to say it out loud today.

~Comparing your non-preemie baby in size or development

~Mentioning how "lucky" they are for having a c-section, having time to sleep while the babies are in the NICU, or getting out of part of the pregnancy due to premature birth.  We fought hard to keep these babies on the inside for as long as possible.  A mother already struggles with guilt associated with premature birth.

Thanks to Shannon for asking me to be a part of this insightful and impacting series.  Also, a heartfelt thanks to you as readers for allowing me to share a little piece of my heart today.

To read more of Jen's posts, visit her blog here.

What I'd Like For You To Know: An American Mom Overseas

Welcome to another edition of the What I'd Like For You To Know series.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to ask women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Today's guest poster in is Elizabeth, from Planet Nomad, a fascinating blog that is one of the very first ones I started reading regularly.  Rather than telling you her interesting story myself, I'll let her jump right in...

When we tied the live sheep to the top of our car, I told the kids, “In America, they’d probably put us in jail for this.” They stared back at me, wide-eyed. When my daughter, then 8, was asked for her hand in marriage by a man who was probably 25, she took it all in stride. “He’ll probably be dead by the time I’m old enough,” she said. “In America, they’d probably put him in jail for that,” joked her father dryly.

My husband and I have chosen to raise our family overseas. So far, our children have lived in Oregon, Mauritania, France, and now Morocco. They’ve had a lot of experiences that make them different, both from their peers here and from their American friends. Sometimes, they feel themselves to be truly global citizens; other times, they feel that nowhere is really home, and no one else is like them.

One of the unique challenges faced by expatriate mothers raising their children in a culture not their own is to teach them enough about their “home” so that they can feel comfortable there, while also somehow helping them function in a place where, for example, intergenerational marriage is common and animal rights don’t exist. This is intensified by the fact that we go through our own culture shock and adjustments.

My children look and sound typically American, but they’re not. They’ve never gone to an English-speaking school. For them, camels and caravans are everyday sights, as is watching a family of four whiz by on a moped. Snowball fights and trick-or-treating for Halloween, on the other hand, are wildly exotic and much to be envied.

During our times in the US, we feel very torn. It’s nice to feel anonymous as we walk down the street, to not stand out in public places. We enjoy being able to understand all the conversations overheard in parks and restaurants. It’s fun to be home. Sometimes I see my children trying desperately to act in a way they think is American, but they don’t always get it quite right. They’re lucky to have good American friends who unconsciously help them blend in. I cut my kids a lot of slack during those times of transition, but I know that others may not understand our circumstances and judge. I may be grumpy myself, suffering from jet lag or reverse culture shock, unsure once again of how to assimilate another set of new surroundings. And we have a lot to do and not very much time to do it, and sometimes friends don’t understand how tired we are, how we long to have an evening or two alone, relaxing.

And yet, I want to fit in. Although I have just spoken of being too busy, sometimes the opposite is true. I’m just a visitor into everybody’s already full lives, and I long to feel at home. Last year, we spent a year in Oregon after six years overseas, and I so much appreciated those friends who made an effort to make sure we felt included, not just by having us over for meals, but by inviting us along to meet new people, to participate in outings to cut Christmas trees or neighbourhood gatherings.

As someone who experiences a moment of panic every time she has to speak to her children’s teachers (who are all French or Moroccan), I would like to encourage everyone to be patient with foreigners on their own soil. I’m relatively intelligent, I’ve taught English in a university, and yet when I stumble over conjugations and forget words in my new language, a lot of people assume I’m not very bright. I even had someone say to me once, “Why are Americans so stupid at other languages?” It’s frustrating! Conversely, when you are the one who perfectly speaks the language, it’s nice if you assume the stranger you’ve just met is smart but just hasn’t mastered all the intricacies of our language. I’ve had other mothers here be patient and encouraging with my imperfect French and non-existent Arabic; they spend time chatting or invite me for coffee or a meal. I am grateful for their patience.

When we first moved to Africa, a lot of people were shocked at our decision. “Isn’t it awfully dangerous to take children there?” they asked me. Even now, 7 ½ years later, people often ask, “Are you in danger?” They are thinking of Scary Muslims—the kind you see on television, with their turbans and scraggly beards and angry eyebrows, their women mere triangles of black not daring to raise their eyes. But this picture is not reflected in our daily experience. Oh sure, fanatics and extremists exist everywhere. But I have many women friends who are well-educated, articulate, ambitious, and working in business or government.

Arabs in general excel at hospitality. They are kind, welcoming hosts, going out of their way to make sure their guests are comfortable and well-fed. Even though we may disagree on all sorts of things, friendship is still possible across the barriers of culture, language, and religion.

Our culture sometimes doesn’t know how to deal with differences and glosses them over, pretending they don’t exist or don’t matter. But culture isn’t always neutral; there are positive and negative things about any way of life. Differences exist. But I’m glad I have the opportunity to raise my family this way. Although there are things we had to give up for this lifestyle, I feel that what we have gained is far more than what we have lost.

In case you were wondering, that sheep on top of the car was a present for a friend of ours who lived in a remote desert village. We ended up eating it. It’s a very normal way to transport livestock. Also, just for the record, our daughter Ilsa is now 11 and still not engaged!

You can read more of Elizabeth's posts at her blog, Planet Nomad.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Adoption

Today's guest poster in the What I'd Like For You To Know series is Mary, from Owlhaven.  Mary is one of my favorite bloggers, and (I'm happy to say) a real-life friend too--we stayed together at BlogHer this summer.  AND--I'm so excited about this--she's one of the bloggers going on Compassion's upcoming trip to the Dominican Republic.   Mary has a precious, gentle heart, and I asked her to write a little about her family's experience with adoption.

If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to allow women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Here's Mary's story.

Like most folks, John and I didn’t set out to become adoptive parents.  We fell in love, got married, and started having babies.  Four of them:  two boys and two girls.  Then we were done.   Or so we thought.

Until our baby turned three and I found myself awash in angst over being done with babies.  It was 1997 and news stories were all over about the many baby girls in China who needed families.  We started talking.  Eventually my idea of a baby girl from China became, in 1998, a little boy from Korea.  And another little boy from Korea in 2000.  By then we were so in love with adoption that between 2004 and 2007 we also adopted four daughters from Ethiopia, two as babies, and two as older girls. Yes, we have ten kids.  Yes, it is crazy.   But it is also an incredible awe-inspiring blessing.

One of the things adoptive moms wish people understood is that our adopted kids are just our kids.  Period.  It’s a slap in the face to constantly have people qualify our relationship to each other, to hedge the description with the word ‘adopted’ in every context. 

When reporters talk about Angelina Jolie’s children they seem incapable of saying the name Zahara without also saying she was adopted.  The same thing happened at the funerals of Bob Hope and Jane Wyman, when mentioning children who themselves were senior citizens and whose adoptions had probably been finalized fifty or more years earlier. 

Along those same lines, I feel awkward when people ask me how many of the kids are ‘mine.’  I know darned well that people are asking whether I genetically contributed to their creation.  But shouldn’t family just be acknowledged as family, whether blood is involved or not? After all, a family begins from the union of two unrelated people.  My husband is ‘mine’.  Period.  So are my children, adopted and not. 

Don’t get me wrong-- the contribution my children’s biological parents made is priceless, essential, and should not be swept under the carpet as if it does not exist.  And especially when adopting older children, it takes time for hearts to grow together, for the relationship to be full and strong. 

However, my heart does not differentiate between my children born to me and the ones who came after the completion of mountains of paperwork.  My interest is just as passionate.   My pride is just as fierce.  My hopes are just as big.  My prayers are just as fervent. My love is just as deep. They’re my kids.  Period.

Parenthood is amazing however your children arrive. Adoptive parenthood is neither better now worse than parenting children born to you.  Some things are different, yes, but the majority of it is exactly the same. I am humbled to be blessed by the presence of each of my children in my life. 

The next time you make introductions involving a friend with adopted children, do everyone the honor of skipping the word ‘adopted’.  If your friend and her child don’t look like each other, she fields questions every day, and that will likely be the first question out of the other person’s mouth.  But I promise, your friend will appreciate that you chose to honor her very real relationship with her child without making any qualifiers.  Family is family, however we come together, and we all would do better to remember that.

Mary blogs at Owlhaven.  Her book A Sane Woman’s Guide to Mothering a Large Family will be available for pre-order on Amazon.com in early 2009.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Working Outside the Home

Today's guest poster in the What I'd Like For You To Know series is Shalee, of Shalee's Diner.  I know that many of us are either stay-at-home moms or work-at-home moms, and I asked Shalee to share a little about her experience as a mom working full-time outside the home.

Ironically, Shannon requested that I tell you what I know about being a working mom as I search for new employment. I’m actually enjoying this extended vacation as a coffee-dates-with-other-women, laundry’s-all-caught-up, house-actually-looks-good, cookies-in-the-oven, home-for-the-kids-after-school SAHM.  Let’s pretend that I’m in the normal mode of working outside the home, and all this will go down easier, okay?  Thanks.

So I’m a working mom.  In addition to my 40 hours/week job, I keep house, raise my kids, am a great wife, volunteer to help others and find “Shalee” time. But what can I say that will hold any weight with you people?! 

I mean, what about ‘I’m tired!’ is all that thrilling?  That’s what I thought.  No sympathy from you on that front…

Let me give you a typical schedule for me:

4:30ish – awake, read Bible, blog, read another book, do household cleaning
6:30 – wake everyone up
8:00 – 5:00 – work, shop/read over lunch, pay bills
5:30 – 8:30 – make dinner, help kids, answer a bajillion questions, talk, play, baths
8:30 – put kids to bed, date Mr. Right (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
10:30 – fall into bed, trying to turn off my mind
11:30ish – sleep

Busy huh?  I know it can be exhausting, but I love this life of mine.  I see the results of what I accomplish.  It’s not for everyone, but it works for me/us.

I have been asked questions over the past years from SAHMs:

• Shouldn’t a woman’s first priority be to her family and staying home? 
• How on earth do you stay sane and find time to work, read, blog, cook from scratch and have dates with Mr. Right as well as family time in a single week?!

I think God intended for us to be working women, whether it’s working as a homemaker or a career woman. Look at Proverbs 31.  This passage honors the woman who bought a vineyard from her earnings, made garments to sell/trade and governed the fields that she purchased.  She worked from morning to night, inside the house and out, all for her household.  Therefore, working supports putting family first.  Not being idle for the benefit of your family is exactly what God planned.

I’m employed because my family likes to do this little thing called “eating”.  Funny how they want clothes, heat and water too…  I know!  They’re so demanding! 

I’m not putting a career before them.  I’m putting them before my desires because, if I were to be completely honest, I would much rather stay at home living the life of luxury like you do (*wink*) than spend half a day in an office and dealing with people.  What?!  You don’t eat bon bons and watch soaps all day?  Hmmm, to think that I’ve been misinformed all these years…  *grin*

Sometimes I’m glad to have an escape from the daily grind of parenting. Knowing that I can go to the bathroom without someone asking me a question outside the door sort of makes that commuting thing worthwhile.

As for staying sane, well, no comment.  I’m not sure I resemble that remark. 

I do have tips that help me manage, but I have to tell a story to help you understand how I became so wise. (*snort*)  Disclaimer: Mr. Right is a wonderfully thoughtful husband whose mama trained him right.

When my daughter was born, I worked full-time, cared for the house, paid the bills and was active in church.  One day Mr. Right politely requested that some task be done. I looked at him and just started crying, bawling really. Then I told him that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t be the one-woman-show, wowing my family, juggling everything that was being thrown at me. Mr. Right stared at me and then said the most comforting thing: “You’re right.  I’m sorry; I’ve been unfair. I just didn’t think.” He immediately shared the load.

1. I learned to ask for help.  Not even the Proverbs 31 woman did it all on her own; she had servant girls.  If I hadn’t acted like I could handle it all on my own, Mr. Right would have helped earlier.  He asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t know why. I thought being the perfect wife/mother meant being able to do it all, but that’s a lie. It includes knowing when to ask for assistance. 

My kids help too.  They have daily chores: making beds, putting away things/laundry, helping clean after dinner.  They also have assigned chores.  The Boy unloads the dishwasher, and The Girl vacuums and cleans the litter box.  Not huge tasks, but they free up time for us as a family. 

2. I lowered my standards.  I quit trying to be Martha Stewart.  Not everything has to be perfect. Sometimes I say, “I’ll get to that - but not right now.”

3. I prioritized. I made a list of what is important to me. Then I lived that list. Sounds too simple, doesn’t it?  To me, spending time with my family comes before watching tv, helping on 29 committees, shopping or other activities. People call me for help on things that I don’t want to do, and I say no without guilt.  I control how I want to live my life. I don’t let things control me.

4. I keep a planner that has the main events for everyone.  No school days, meetings, dinner plans, activities, bill payments: all goes on the calendar to keep my head from spinning circles.  One glance tells me what I need to do for that week, freeing space in my overloaded noggin.

5. I quit comparing myself to any other people. One of my favorite saying is “The grass may be greener on the other side, but you don’t know how much manure they used to get it that way.”  I’ll just let that one sink in and move on to the next point.

6. This point should have been first: I pray about it. God helps me manage my time so that I can be the best servant for Him. You know what?  It’s amazing how much more I can done and feel good about it too when I give it all over to God. 

It’s not easy maintaining this life.  Just think about single working mothers!  Those women are true wonder women to me. 

The next time you see a working mom and she looks a bit frazzled, give her some grace and a hug.  She’ll appreciate having both.  Heck, throw in a dinner too.  You’ll earn her undying gratitude to boot as she crosses something off her to-do list…

To read more of Shalee's posts, visit Shalee's Diner.

What I'd Like For You To Know: Infertility

Today's edition of What I'd Like For You To Know is actually by request--several of of you asked to hear from a woman who had struggled with the issue of infertility.  It is a painfully private subject, but GiBee of Kisses of Sunshine has shared her own journey below, with her typical gentleness and grace. 

If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to allow women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.

Here's GiBee's story...

First, let me start by sharing a little bit about me, and an abbreviated version of my own story: I am what I like to refer to as a recovering infertile, and through my own personal journey, I have learned to try to bring a sprinkling of humor into daily life struggles, while trying to be a vessel of encouragement, tremendous sympathy, and God's shining love. I’m not always good at it, but I give it my best shot, because I feel that my life’s struggles have led me to a place in my life where I can help others going through similar circumstances. I get goose bumps even now as I write this, because this topic… infertility, and the pain and struggles that other women face … well, it is right in the heart of my heart.

My years of primary infertility struggles were filled with difficult months of “temping,“ three years of (un-monitored) Clomid treatments (which eventually led to PCOS), followed by three IUI's, 3 IVF's, six “recorded” miscarriages, and a lot of pain, sorrow and loss. In total, 14 years of struggles with infertility.

Today, I can praise God and honor his name, because He is faithful to complete the work he began in us. He has blessed us tremendously with our beautiful son – therefore, I take on the term “recovering infertile,” but as recently as February 2007, we were still struggling with secondary infertility. We had our third IVF procedure and had all of our remaining frozen embryos (2) transferred, which resulted in my sixth miscarriage, and our final and painful decision to stop trying to have another child.

Even through all the pain, we found a way to place our hope and joy in the Lord, and we celebrate each and every day with our precious son! The road hasn’t been easy, and through that time, I have experienced my share of painful comments, thoughtless remarks, and words/actions from people who just didn’t know how to offer support or ministry to me and my husband.

There were times when we experienced painful loss through miscarriage, and we hesitated to share with others, because we knew that loving, well-meaning people would end up saying things that were well-intended, but unknowingly hurtful. At the same time, we also had a tremendous support group through friends, family, and pastors that were very helpful, loving and caring during our difficulties, and I know that during my lowest times, one of them would reach out and touch me in ways they didn’t realize was ministering to my wounded soul.

Infertility is a painful, ugly, bitter struggle for women. It can leave them feeling “stripped” of their “rightful passage” of becoming a mother, as well as feeling empty, dark, un-whole, and like a failure. The treatments can be humiliating and uncomfortable, even painful. The mere sight of a young infant in a mother’s arms can set a woman with infertility into uncontrollable bouts of tears. It can come at any time – at a baby shower, a baby dedication, or the grocery store. Infertility is an “equal-opportunity” demon that can rip a woman’s life apart regardless of age, financial status, race, or faith. Just because you are a Christian, saved by grace, does not exclude you from the possibility of struggling with infertility, and you are not guaranteed a happy and large family. Infertility causes sorrow, self-doubt, bitterness, and brings unwanted grief into your life. If you allow it to, it can really harden your heart.

I acknowledge that each person's outcome to their journey of infertility is different, but we each have the same choices on how we can personally “handle” the journey and its outcome. We can either 1) hide our heads in the sand, choosing to ignore the issues, 2) become angry, bitter, resentful and blame God as we slowly harden our hearts towards him and walk away from him, or 3) we can run to God and seek his guidance, love, compassion, joy and peace, trusting all the while that he knows and understands what we are going through, that he has a plan for our lives, and that his ways are always the best way. And, whether he chooses to heal us here on earth, or heal us in heaven (in my case, he gave me a child here on earth, as well as a gaggle of them in heaven), we can find joy in our circumstances, although it may not come immediately.

So … what can you do or say when someone you know and love is struggling with infertility (whether it is primary or secondary)? You can love them. Wrap them in a hug, and tell them you are so sorry for the sorrow they are feeling. Offer to pray that God’s peace will rain down on them. Offer to be their prayer partner, and pray daily for them. Ask them how you can help. If they are fearful of the doctor appointments and their spouse can’t go with them, offer to be their “doctor’s office buddy.” If their spouse has to travel while they are scheduled for a round of injections, set aside any squeamish feelings you might have, and offer to help out with administering them (and take chocolate – you MUST take chocolate). And remember that your friend is on a LOT of different hormones, and emotions can easily do a “180” on them at any given moment. Don’t take it personally.

You might also want to flat-out ask them what they are feeling about the whole issue. Ask questions about infertility. Become informed so when they do talk to you, you’re not in the dark. You will need to understand buzz words like temping, IUI, IVF, daily monitoring, injections, 18 gauge needles (no one will EVER choose to have this in their body except an infertile, and this is where chocolate plays a very large role!), chemical pregnancy (in my opinion, a liberal term for a miscarriage), MTHFR, PCOS, Gonadotropins, FSH, luteinizing hormone (LH) etc. (See what I mean? Lots of terminology!)

Or honestly, just hold their hand, place an arm around their shoulder, say nothing, and let them cry their hearts out, understanding that it may happen more than once. Be available for them.

Some of the things that I found to be incredibly thoughtful and healing to me were prayers, flowers, a card, a heart-felt note, a meal, a phone call to see how I’m doing, an email to let me know they are thinking about me. My sister-in-law allowed me to be very involved in my niece’s life – almost in a motherly role. That went a long way towards healing my heart. To this day, I still have a close relationship with my niece and a special bond that will never be broken. It’s not the same as having my own child, but it was like a soothing balm to my broken heart. I had friends and family offer to clean my home. My previous pastor and his wife constantly hugged me, prayed with me, and offered help in anyway possible. They allowed me to speak honestly, openly, and even cry my eyes out and share my anger. Our candidating pastor and his wife embraced me, prayed over me, and then took back my story and had their small group praying for me… even months before they knew that we would offer them a position in our church! I didn’t even know this until a month or so after they came to pastor our church.

Most importantly, show unconditional love – even when you don’t know what to say. Each gesture someone made, whether small or large showed me unconditional, and unquestioned love. THAT, my friends, is how you can minister to someone that is experiencing the agonizing pain and struggle of infertility.

What should you avoid saying? Well, there are many things I’ve heard that I found to be unbearably painful… for instance: “At least you know you can get pregnant.” Or, “you can try again” or, “well, at least you have another baby waiting for you in heaven” or, “maybe it is God’s will for you not to have children,” or even, “maybe something was wrong with that baby and it was God’s way of taking care of the problem.” Honestly? That did absolutely nothing to help me work through the raw pain, emotions, and anger I was dealing with. Take the old motto to heart: When in doubt, do without. In other words, keep your mouth shut, and don’t try to come up with profoundly witty and spiritual things to say. It just isn’t necessary.

I also found that many people would tell me that they understood how I was feeling; people with two, three children that would get pregnant if they so much as looked at their husbands sideways. Really? They understand how I was feeling? I can’t tell you how that would anger me. So try to avoid saying that unless you’ve really walked a mile in the person’s shoes (empathy being quite different than sympathy).

Finally, not everyone that struggles with infertility will be able to bear their own child, and it is a painful realization when they conclude that their battle is over and it is time to look at other options (adoption, foster parents, etc). Those are excellent options, and make them a complete and whole family just as if they had given birth, but a woman still mourns not being able to bear their one child. Just be there for them. Let them dissolve into a heap. Let them cry, let them scream, let them rage, and let them process. Then, pray with them. Pray that God will begin to heal their heart, bring peace to their heart, and teach them how to rejoice once again.

One of my favorite scriptures is found in Philippians 4:6-7 -- "Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life." (The Message)

Partner with them in bringing their concerns to God ... before you know it ... A SENSE OF GOD'S WHOLENESS will come and SETTLE THEM DOWN. It may not be immediate, but if they trust in God, it will happen.

To read more of GiBee's post, visit her blog, Kisses of Sunshine.

What I'd Like For You To Know: The Mom Of a Child With Cancer

Get your tissues out, girls, because today's edition of What I'd Like For You To Know will take your heart for a spin.  If you're new here, the idea behind this series to is to allow women to share something about a specific life challenge or circumstance, addressing some of the misconceptions and (most importantly) telling us all how we can reach out better.  Today I've invited Anissa Mayhew to tell us her family's story.  Please be sure to see the important note at the end of this post. 

When Shannon asked me to be a part of the “What I’d Like For You To Know” series, I was so honored.  I’d read the other posts and found myself so engaged and touched by their honesty and willingness to just put it all out there. I felt very humbled by their words. T o be allowed to share my words with you is a gift from Shannon, one for which I am very thankful.  Please bear with me, as this goes a bit long.

If I had known that July 12, 2006 was going to be my last “normal” day as the mom of three healthy kids, I would have held tighter to each precious moment.  In June of that year, my kids had shared a summer cold…a virus that ran its course through the bodies of my older two children, yet lingered in Peyton’s 2 year-old system in the form of a low-grade fever that she couldn’t seem to shake. 

Can I tell you how NOT worried I was about that fever?  So little that three weeks later, it took two nights of her waking in indefinable pain for me to take her for her third visit to the pediatrician. I’d been told it was a virus. I’d been told not to fret about the fever, that it would go away in time. I’d been told that there was nothing to worry about. 

They were wrong.

“We’re going to take some blood and run some tests, she looks a little pale.  She could be slightly anemic or it could possibly be something like mono.” 

They were very wrong.

The morning of July 13, the constant ring of telephones interrupted my peaceful sleep. First the house phone rang.  Then my cell phone rang.  The house phone rang again. It never crossed my mind to associate those frantic phone calls with the doctor’s visit from the previous day.  Never.  How could it?  I was still blissfully unaware of what answering that call was going to do to our lives. 

“Mrs. Mayhew, the doctor would like to speak to you.”

Those words jarred me awake faster than any other 10 words in the dictionary of the world.  The doctor wants to speak to me?  The doctor DOESN’T call you at home.  Why would he want to call me at my house?  Part of my brain, a part functioning in deep denial, tried to comfort the rest of my consciousness with thoughts of clear test results and diagnoses of anemia. 

The phone call itself was short and direct.  I needed to get my daughter to the children’s hospital.  I needed to pack a bag for her and me for at least a week. Her test results came back abnormal. We already had an appointment with a pediatric oncologist. 

WAIT!  Wait right there. I know that word. I know what oncologist means. 

“What do you think is wrong with her?  Does she have cancer?”

His quiet affirmation stopped my heart. 

I don’t remember hanging up the phone. I don’t remember walking through the house. All I remember was kicking my sleeping husband in the butt and sinking to the floor, wailing, “She’s sick. Peyton’s sick.” 

She had cancer.

The bouncy child that was never without a smile and a giggle had cancer. 

The next hours were filled with phone calls, packing, dropping off my older two kids…a long quiet drive to the hospital with our hearts pounding and questions whirling through our heads. 

A battery of tests answered our questions.  Peyton was diagnosed with Pre-B Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, CNS positive.  Unlike other cancers that concentrate in one part of the body, hers was a blood cancer that was everywhere throughout her body, including her spinal fluid and possibly her brain.  The day of her diagnosis, her bone marrow was 96 percent cancer cells.

Her body was losing.

I’ve tried a thousand different ways to describe what that day felt like. They all fall short.

I cannot fully explain the pain that I felt, except it was excruciating. 

There aren’t words available to relate the fear, except it was overwhelming. 

My heart raged at God.  How can you do this to my child?  My baby?  What has she done to deserve this?  I begged to take it from her body into my own, but as the reality settled in, so did the knowledge that no amount of pleading with God was going to make this go away. This was His plan in our lives and it was our job to find our way through it.

On July 13, Peyton began a two and half year long regiment of treatment that would include toxic chemotherapy drugs that drained her body, stole her energy, took her hair and robbed her of a childhood.  She underwent cranial radiation that leaves the door wide open for learning disabilities and neurological problems.  Everything we have done to her creates the possibility for secondary cancers, because all the treatments are carcinogenic.

But at this moment, the cancer is gone.

It’s gone from her body but never from our hearts.  I have yet to discover the secret to forgetting the numbing fear that accompanies the knowledge that your child could die.  Her brother and sister understand that to the best of their ability.  What I wouldn’t give for that to never have touched their lives.  My husband and I have held each other, crying from the depths of our souls, more nights than I can count. I don’t think a day will ever pass me by where I don’t wonder if the cancer is going to come back.

She finishes up her chemotherapy treatments in October. We’ll be leaving behind its schedule of spinal taps, bone marrow aspirations, needles in her chest, back, fingers, and legs….the blood transfusions, the syringes of medicine, the pills.

We hope.  We pray.   

I know this seems long already, but Shannon wanted me to talk to you about what I wish you knew about being the mother of a child with cancer.  These are the things that I wish someone had told me going into this life, so that I could have told my friends and family. Honestly, I think it would apply to any situation that involves a life-changing diagnosis.

• Don’t feel guilty because it’s not you; don’t think that we would ever want you to be in our shoes.
• We may be sad and under a heavy burden of fear and anxiety, but we also need to laugh and be silly. It’s OK to make jokes and share the same friendship we always have.
• We still want to hear about your life.  Don’t feel like you have to compare whatever problems you have on a scale with what we’re going through.  We GET that we have it bad.  We don’t need to hear words like “but it’s nothing like what you’re dealing with”.   It’s not fun to be the crap-meter by which everyone else measures the misery in their lives.
• It’s OK to not know what to say.  There are times that we don’t want to hear platitudes or quaint phrases.  Feel free to hug, offer your prayers, and just be there.
• Ask your questions.  If you understand what’s going on, you are going to be able to grasp what’s going on in our lives more fully and you’ll be a better friend for it.
• If we have other kids, take the time to ask how they are doing as well.  If they are present, remember to talk to them too. They are so often going to be shuffled to the background; their needs are going to go unmet. Gifts or cards or simple attention are going to be treasured reminders that they are loved as well.
• If you want to do something to help, just DO IT. Asking what you can do to help, reminding us to ask for help is useless.  We can’t think that far ahead.  We don’t plan. We can’t remember what we ate for lunch, let alone think about what we’re going to make for dinner.  Asking for help is humbling and very hard.

Here’s a list of things people did for us while we were still reeling:

• Scheduled for us to have meals
• Mowed our lawn
• Took our laundry home to wash it and deliver it back clean
• Came over and fed our dog and let her out
• Set up a schedule to pick up our other kids
• Took our other kids out for dinners and fun events to help them cope with the sudden upheaval
• Provided gift cards for gas, groceries, meals at the hospital
• Came to visit, especially when we felt like the world was avoiding us

The number one thing I would want you to know about me is that throughout these past 26 months, the one thing that has been my rock and strength has been my faith.  There are blessings and joys to be found in every trial that God lets you experience.  I would encourage you to indulge in your tears and ranting. I sure did.  But then it’s time to get up and find the purpose in what you’ve been given to do.

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To read more of Anissa's posts, you can visit her blog here.

*IMPORTANT* September is Childhood Cancer Awareness month, and September 13 marks our first time having a nationally recognized day to honor the many kids battling cancer. Childhood cancer is the number one cause of death of children under 20 years of age, more than asthma, diabetes, cystic fibrosis and AIDS combined, yet it gets the least amount of government cancer funding.  This is our month to raise our kids up high, honor them for their bravery and courage and to remember the many children lost to cancer every day.

If anyone would be interested in sponsoring the Mayhew family in the Cure Kids Cancer Challenge, they can do so here. All funds raised will go to the Pediatric Cancer Foundation and will be used solely to further research for cures.