What are We Doing to Our Kids?

A second, let me repeat, SECOND ninth grader at my son's future high school committed suicide. The first, through the parent rumor mill (not a completely unreliably source, but yet still taken with much salt), did so due to sheer exhaustion. The second, well, as yet I know no details, but I would suspect that the same contributed.

We live in a frazzled world and the pressures on our kids are beyond belief. My son is clipping away towards the end of his sixth grade year just barely keeping his head above water. Twelve hour days would be easy at this point. Yesterday, it was a 15 hour day and that's just school and homework. We vetoed a golf lesson, which would have been a nice break, but there just wasn't enough time. Math homework. Social studies project. Instrument practice. Book reports. Reading. At one point I caught him sound asleep on top of his homework.

What ever happened to watching the clouds roll by? Whatever happened to play? Isn't it truly a sign of the times that organizations are now offering classes about how to play with your kids or how important it is to get your kids outside? This was unheard of not too long ago.

There's something that's happened to parenting that is breaking my heart. I call it Competitive Parenting and there are no winners, just kids that lose out on childhood. "Well, we're so busy," the conversation usually begins. And then it's flop back and forth trying to one up one another. "High performance math? My son bypassed that and is now at MIT finishing his doctorate." "We have hockey, cheer leading, and a class on identifying trees tonight. Tomorrow is the science fair. Ben made a laser and shot a hole in the moon. Don't worry, we got a permit from NASA."

But, then there are the real conversations with parents focused on the happiness and well being of their kids.

And we're worried.

It's too much on their shoulders. It's. Just. Too. Much.

We've seriously considered chucking it all and heading for the hills, but it's too late for that. Sam loves his friends and a move would destroy him.

Meanwhile, we sit and wait for the next one to fall.

When we carry our babies we hope for health and happiness. Where does this get lost in the shuffle?

The news of this latest suicide lies heavily on me. I feel as if I'm working through a fog today. I'm emotional and scared and ticking off the tasks that Sam has yet to complete just today and none of them are ever going to make a damn bit of difference in his life when it comes right down to it.

In one day this Spring I received nine catalogs touting enrichment courses for kids. Camp this and class that. I tossed them all and I encourage you to do the same. Shred em. Put them in the recycling, go immediately to your calendar and write play on every day. And then do it. All summer.

And when the school year comes around again, ask yourself how you can help your kids learn the real lessons of balance, relaxation, stress relief, happiness, and joy. Remind yourself of those moments not so long ago of their impending arrival into your life when you wished for health and happiness and then make it happen.

Those lessons are just as important as anything else. Nope, scratch that, they're more important. And until we start making sure that they are, our kids are at risk.

Peace to the family. Peace to her friends, teachers, and anyone else torn apart by grief. Peace to all those touched by her life and wounded by her passing. Peace.

A Couple of Cool Sickos--Thanks you guys!

This group does great work for a cause close (too close!) to me. I think the hardest part about having this disease is being misunderstood. Watch it through the end, please.

A Little Update

I haven't been feeling very well for the past couple of weeks. I usually "lose" about half of the month to terrible head pain, dizziness, and visual problems, but this last month has been really rough. I've still worked out every morning and we've been very busy so I've had to just suck it up, all the while feeling like I have an axe stuck in the top of my head. How sad is it that after 10 years of feeling like this, I still sometimes reach up searching for the offending implement?

I sat in church Wednesday evening, thankful that I didn't have to teach Confirmation during this head explosion, but feeling a little contrite. I looked around at all the people, seemingly pain free, some complaining about the length of the service and the songs that were sung and they just pissed me off. When I feel good, I want to work hard, help people, clean my house, hang with my kid, get out of the house (!!), and just be normal. And when I see someone complain about anything, well, it just makes me mad.

And then, I realized, I don't know what they carry as well. Appearances can be deceiving as I well know. How many people have exclaimed with shock when I finally reveal to them my health challenges? "But, you look so good!"* And, so I blew away the anger and got lost in the beautiful music of the evening. I settled in with my little family, during a time when we're normally not together in such a peaceful way.

My pain didn't go away. After ten years of this disease, I realize it may never go away. My doctor finally said to me last fall, this is probably going to be it for you. I've tried every solution, except for a shunt in my brain, which I don't fit the criteria for receiving. I weighed less than I was diagnosed, so, hearing from my doctor that my pursuit of healthier body is and only should be for my happiness has been kind of a zinger. So many old resources tout weight loss as the ultimate solution, but I have to rely on the expertise of my Mayo doc who informed me that recent studies are showing that it's actually the disease that causes the weight gain. So, maybe I can start feeling less guilty and upset with myself over that and just keep on plugging away. "Or," my fantastic GP said, "maybe you'd weigh like 400 pounds if you weren't doing what you're doing." "Um, thanks." And then I punched him in his stethoscope. I still adore him, mostly because he does say those sorts of things to me.

So, if you haven't heard from me or you're starting to wonder what's going on with my blog or our family one, I'm probably just avoiding the screen. My head can't take the glare. Positive thoughts and prayers are appreciated then! Thank you.







*"But, you look so good!" is a common thing, we sickos hear. Want to learn more about you can help people with Invisible Illnesses? Rest Ministries provides resources for caregiver, concerned friends/family, and support for the chronically ill. Their Invisible Illness Week in September has meant a lot to me. I don't go in for all the blind faith, but I'm not a blind faith kind of girl. But, their articles and devotionals have made me feel understood and comforted when I feel my worst.

14 Phone Calls Later...

I woke up this morning, not feeling quite right. Seems the urinary tract infection that I was in denial about yesterday was raging this morning. My back was killing me. I knew I had to get to the doctor.

• One phone call later, the appointment was made.

Home again, antibiotics in hand, I settled in on the couch to prepare for Confirmation lessons tonight. I'd taken this antibiotic one other time before, so I knew what to expect. I'll feel better as the day goes on. I've had these infections before. They suck, but I caught this one very early.

And then, itchy throat, ears, eyes, skin, difficulty breathing, heavy chest--I was having an allergic reaction.

• One phone call to the doctor.

• One phone call to the hubby.

• One phone call to Young One's friend's mom to let her know their study date was off this afternoon because I wouldn't be able to pick them up.

• One phone call to school to leave a message for Young One that I won't be picking him and his friend up from school.

• One phone call to church to call in the subs.

• Three phone calls to a friend to see if she could sub for Confirmation.

• One phone call from said friend to clarify sub details.

• Two phone calls from the doctor's office.

• One phone call to sit on hold returning the doctor's call.

• One phone call back to church to let them know a sub was arranged.

Benadryl, Aveeno, rest, new antibiotic. Repeat all until well again.

Pig Diaries

Wed: "I have a 101 fever, you have to come get me." I hate the fact that I've gotten to know the school nurse so well this early in the year. Major guilt. He was without fever and fine yesterday and this morning. ARRRRRGH.

Wed night, all night: Cough, cough, hack hack, "Mom, I don't feel good." Tylenol, no sleep, ugh.

Thursday Morning: Water in the basement due to husband malfunction (He was repairing the sump pump and left it off. It's been rainy). I told him that if he intended to go to work, leaving me with a mess that he created and a sick kid, that he should be careful what he eats. He took the day off.

Thursday Afternoon: I don't feel good. I'm not hungry. Fever. Fever. Cough. Cough. Fever. "I'm bored." "Do your homework." "I'm not that bored."

Thursday evening: TV. Iron Chef Garbanzo Bean Challenge. (I kid you not.) "Can I sleep in your room?" Slumber party! Kid on mattress on floor. I think I actually slept. Yes!

Friday Morning: Fever. Fever. Cough. Cough. Cough. Half a pot of coffee.

Thankfully, he's a very healthy kid and so, this is probably his "vaccination" for H1N1. I don't want to play into the media pig panic, but it's scary. The flu kills every year and we need to remember that to put all of this into perspective.

Vaccine is hard to come by here in Minnesota and by the time more is available, we all will have had the flu anyway. It's frustrating because there's so much information out there and so much of it is getting slightly skewed by the media just to get better ratings. Do you vaccinate or not? Should you ask for Thimerosal free vaccine if you do vaccinate? Do you need to vaccinate if you've had the disease? And how do you know if you've had the bug their vaccinating for if the doctor's offices are telling you to stay home if you have the symptoms and that they can't test for it anyway?

Are We Done Yet?

I don't want to write about real life right now. You ever feel like that?

We've had a rough summer. D's health scares. Family drama that I don't dare set into print. A young cousin gone forever. Another very ill family member. The stress of living amongst continued house projects. And all the other various stresses that have rocked us this summer.

It's affected my health and caused a terrible flare up of my disease. I'm on day 15 of continuous, mind-numbing, head exploding, pain, with no relief. I talked to my doctor's nurse yesterday and she said, chill out, girl, you've got to find a way to just chill. Easily said, right?

So, I'm trying. I'm trying very hard to ignore the bathrooms that need cleaning and the laundry that's not doing itself and the to do list that has created it's own zip code. I'm not programmed that way. Type A? Yes. Perfectionist? Yes.

I can't help it and those traits are why I've been successful in many things. God works in mysterious ways, doesn't He? Perhaps he sent this disease to me to knock me off those tracks.

When the pain of my disease really gets to me, I'm not real positive. I get gloomy and think a lot about how I'm letting my kid down because I should be super mom and be taking him to art museums and parent child pottery classes (like those things would fly with him!). I dwell on the fact that we haven't done enough exploring this summer and that we really should call a friend and head to a local lake for fishing or swimming or whatever. That he shouldn't have to worry about having a sick mom and trust me, I've perfected my mom's fine smiling act to the point that I can switch it on the minute he walks into the room, so that he's clueless.

The hardest part about having this disease is that it hasn't killed my will to want to do more, be more, see more. The drive in me to work, play, see, and do has never disappeared. I look at my calendar and realize that I lose almost half of my life to this disease, sometimes more. And it's hard not to dwell on the unfairness of it all.

A little while ago, my doctor had to write a note about how I'm not able to work as a registered nurse because of this illness. Seeing this in black and white was more than jarring. It actually stopped me in my tracks and hit my chest hard and sudden, the realization was so raw and sore. He once said to me, "Be content with making your home a happy place for your family. Be content with less and you will find more." I know. I KNOW! He's so right, but I want to feed the homeless and start a nonprofit and protest the war and work towards universal health care and paint my house and make a quilt and learn to sculpt and volunteer at church and write a book and organize my closet and have a party--all in one day.

Deep breath.

Having an invisible illness is hard. You look fine, but you feel awful and you try to explain it all to fall on deaf ears because you might smile. Because if you smile, you must be fine, right? What they don't realize is how much you had to reach deep down inside yourself to pull from that amazing inner strength you've accumulated, just to get up and dressed and stumbling through the pain to life to get to the point where they see your smile.

This is a jumbled, makes no sense post, I know. I'm frustrated, I'm hurting, and I can see no relief in sight. I'm thinking a lot about life and what I want to do and how I want more than anything to be outside of this pain. Do I dare even post this?

The Internet is a beautiful thing. Through it I have met and shared with people who live as I do, with a debilitating, invisible illness. Every once in a while, I feel almost good enough to not think for a few moments about my health. And when that happens, I think about the days I had before I got sick when I didn't think EVER about my health. I just hummed along in the bliss of feeling fine, taking it for granted. Those were the days. And I didn't even know how good they were.

I promise. Less gloom next time, but until then, say a quick prayer for me to whatever you believe in. I'm finally, after 9 years of this crap realizing that asking for help isn't a bad thing.