Ruminations

In a heroic act of normalcy, my husband and I dashed to the Farmer's Market Saturday morning before heading to the hospital and my seriously ill son.
This may sound like a heartless and unfeeling act by a dispassionate woman. My God, how could you go fruit shopping with your son in the hospital?
But to me, making sure I had enough raspberries and blueberries to feed my family for the week, and enough to make jam and start the winter storage hoarding, was an act of anxiety reduction.
I know. It made sense at the time.
You see, I've been worried about that raspberry situation for several weeks now, and I haven't gotten much jam made yet this summer, what with Sarah's headaches, multiple trips to the doctor, and that dog of mine... so I a little fruit therapy seemed warranted.
Of course, Zachary had a bad day on Saturday, adjusting to different pain meds and fighting nausea. I wasn't prepared for a step backward, so I was thrown for a loop and my anxiety ratcheted up several notches beyond it's already sky-high rating.
Zach is doing better again today, thank goodness, but it's going to be a long road back to health.
I've spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts these past few days (and believe me, if you could hear my thoughts, that's a bad place to be). Zachary has mostly slept and I've sat somewhat paralyzed in his darkened room. It's been too dark to read, though I can't concentrate enough to handle anything more than a short magazine article anyway, and until Stephen lent me his laptop, the days have been long, dark, and full of rumination.
Turns out the effects of fruit therapy wear off fast, as I've been thinking about all those berries sitting at home waiting for attention, along with the dogs and, of course, the girls, who have spent way too much time home alone this past week. Thank goodness for good friends who had them over for two whole afternoons. (The girls, not the dogs)
At the market, while still buoyed by my fruit purchases and not yet in the thralls of buyer's remorse, we passed a couple we used to know. Well, I guess we still "know" them, though now they'd be in the category of "former" friends.
Let's just say, when I needed her most, this friend, with whom I had shared so much laughter, so many feelings, dropped me like a lead balloon.
She was depressed, but hadn't told me; I had just lost my father and wasn't coping well. She complained, I defended, and asked what was wrong, had I done something to offend?
Denials, back and forth, and she checked out of the friendship.
I don't know that I've ever been more wounded. The loss of this friendship reverberated throughout my life, affecting other friendships of mine, and causing to me withdraw from almost everyone, save my kids and husband.
I thought I was over it, but I guess all losses stay with you, in some form, forever.
So I saw them as we passed at the market, said "hi, how are you?" as we both kept walking.
The sting of that loss has come back to haunt me a little these past couple of days.
I'll never understand the "why" or even the "how" of something like that, and certainly regret other friendships lost as a result of my emotional cocooning all those years ago.
Today, I treasure my friendships more than ever.
My friends sustain me, care for me, laugh with me and at me.
They mean the world to me.
I think sometimes in life we have to experience certain losses to appreciate what we have.
And believe me, I do.

Worry

Right now I'm sitting in my son's hospital room, watching him sleep.
Zachary, 19, has been in the hospital since Tuesday night's trip to the emergency room.
What we thought was simply a nasty stomach virus, turned out to be much, much more.
It started with him feeling nauseous Sunday afternoon, and several episodes of vomiting throughout Sunday night. By Monday afternoon, the vomiting had stopped, only to be followed by diarrhea. The diarrhea continued, with the addition of gut-wrenching cramps over night. By Tuesday morning, his stools were mostly blood, the cramps continued, and he couldn't keep anything down. A trip to the doctor's office, and we left with a stool sample kit in case the bloody diarrhea continued into the afternoon, and advice to sip Gatorade. He couldn't keep any of it down and had been dashing to the bathroom every 12 minutes for nearly 3 hours.
A late afternoon call to the doctor ended with the advice to take him to the ER, as he likely was dehyrdrated.
We left for the ER around 7, and the triage nurse told us it would be a 3-hour wait. We stationed ourselves next to the bathroom, but he could hardly stand the pain; after 3 trips to the bathroom in 15 minutes, I went back to the nurse, told her what was going on, and that I didn't think he could wait. One look at him and she exclaimed, "You look white as a ghost!" She called her supervisor, and he was taken right into the ER, where we had more hurry up and wait.
More tests were ordered, history taken, IVs, pain meds.
He was moved to a surgical floor, taken to X-ray, pain meds adjusted.
He had severe colitis, but the cause was still unknown. They started him on vancomycin, as blood work indicated infection. The pain, the blood, the cramping all continued.
Finally on Thursday we had a definitive diagnosis: toxic E. coli and an infection called c. diff., both extremely dangerous infections. We couldn't trace his exposure to these bacteria to any foods, as the whole family had eaten together the past week. More antibiotics, more waiting.
It's unusual to have two of these infections at the same time, let alone in an otherwise healthy 19-year-old. So far, he seems to have escaped deadly side effects from either of the infections, though we aren't completely out of the woods yet.
Yesterday he felt quite a bit better and was put on a clear liquid diet and did some walking. Today is a bad day.
They had to stop his pain pump, as these pain meds (morphine, delaudid) slow the working of the intestines and he needed to get his GI system up and working again. He suffered from quite lot of pain again all day today as well as nausea and couldn't drink much more than sips of water, nor could he do much walking.
Needless to say, this has been an incredibly stressful time.
I wasn't prepared for him to feel worse today, and so can only hope tomorrow is better again.
These two bacteria are frighteningly powerful. The illness is horrifically painful.
We don't know yet when he'll be coming home, though it could still be 3 or 4 days at least.
I'm sitting here in the hospital watching him sleep, thinking about all he's been through, and hoping for a fast recovery.
It likely won't be fast, but I'll be so thankful when I can take him home again.

One Local Summer - Week 6

Finally, my garden is starting to produce in earnest, with many of this week's veggies coming from just a few feet outside my back door.

I use my Italian vegetarian cookbook all the time, with this week's marinated cauliflower salad a new find. The lighter cauliflower is from my garden, that glorious purple cauliflower is direct from the farmer. I've never seen cauliflower in such a gorgeous hue! I lightly steamed the cauliflower, made a quick vinagrette-type dressing, and tossed in a handful of calamata olives for extra flavor. After a quick one-hour marinade at room temperature, it offered a crunchy, tangy, counterpoint to the rest of the meal.

This is the first year I've successfully grown eggplant! My kids made fun of my little happy dance on the porch when I spied the first fruits, and a friend offered only cheerful disdain regarding my joy over "tasteless purple vegetables," yet I remain undaunted.

I love eggplant!

I sliced the eggplant and some garden-fresh green peppers, brushed them with olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and pepper before broiling them until browned and tender.

These luscious slices were then layered between homemade bread, with just a tablespoon of olivada (homemade, but imported olives) spread on the bread.

It was heavenly!

I've been dying to make my favorite stuffed tomatoes and finally had enough locally-grown (from about 100-ish miles away in Missouri) and tasty tomatoes to make it worthwhile. The tomatoes are hollowed out and filled with a mixture of homemade breadcrumbs, fresh parsley and basil, salt, pepper, olive oil, and garlic. Baked at 375 degrees for 20 minutes they are incredibly flavorful and melt-in-your-mouth terrific.

I can't wait to see what my garden - and my farmer's market! - produces this week!

This little piggy

Yesterday one of our chickens mistook Sarah's toes for "fat little grubs."

I think that was how I put it, anyway.

She was somewhat unappreciative of the remark, but her "little piggies" put me in mind of the nursery rhyme and how, as a child, I always thought the piggy who "went to market" was going shopping.

Whether for good or ill, today's children, in our society, at least, are so far removed from many of life's nasty truths. And when they aren't, there's often no one there to help them through it.

Life certainly didn't used to offer children much protection. Just look at nursery rhyme content and you'll see that children were not only exposed to much of the worst life had to offer, but lived and breathed it as well.

I know I heard all the nursery rhymes when I was little, but don't remember my mom reading them to me. Now I see the same with my youngest child; without a younger sibling, she didn't continue to hear the rhymes, the baby book stories, or a myriad of other toddler-type offerings past their age-appropriateness. Whereas my other three retain so many more memories of these books and rhymes, songs and fairy tales, simply because they heard them so many more times than she did.

Have you ever read any of the non-sugar-coated versions of The Brothers Grimm? Oh my, I sure did. (I vaguely remember some poor soul being rolled downhill in a barrel hammered full of nails!) Zachary loved those stories, in which tortures are described, everything doesn't always end happily, and even when good triumphs over evil it's done with a good measure of vengence.

But my Zachary loved these stories, I think, in part because I was there to help interpret, when necessary; to explain, if he wanted; and to continue reading them, even if they were disturbing; he was able to digest them, embrace them, and fall head-over-heels in love with the fantasy of them, without upset, confusion, or being scared.

Because I was there, however, I also knew that Sarah definitely preferred the Disney versions, Stephen always wanted non-fiction, and Melissa loved some of each.

This is what I have loved about choosing to be a full-time mother for the last 21-plus years. I have always been here when my children needed me and when they merely wanted me. I have been able to guide them in good behavior, model appropriate manners, laugh with them, cry with them, show them what I know about the world and help them make their own discoveries. We've had that most precious of commodities: time.

There are some pretty awful things in nursery rhymes, but if I hadn't been here with my children, they might not know that "Ring around the rosies" is about the Black Death, that the little piggy, unfortunately, wasn't going to WalMart, and "Mary, Mary quite contrary," wasn't really just out weeding her garden.

Of course, I didn't share this enlightenment with them when they were 2 or 3!

But by having time with them, we didn't have to hurry through each and every day. They could think, plan, day dream, and follow their passions, unlike many children today who don't have the luxury of time.

Or a mom or dad at home with them to share it.

I've had my share of problems in this life, who hasn't?

But I wouldn't change a thing.

Though really, I never cared for "Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater."

But hey, it was opportunity to explain sexism.

Though I left out the part about the chastity belt.

Day lilies and Remembrance

Posthumous portrait of Carl Totemeier by artist James Yale.

I've been thinking about my dad a lot this past week.

The day lilies outside my window conjure up many memories of my dad and his plants. A horticulturist, we were always surrounded by plants and flowers. After retiring, my dad went into the farmer's market business, gradually shifting from fruits (apples, berries, peaches) to perennials, especially day lilies and hostas. He was well-known and much beloved by all who knew him. Known as a raconteur, he could regale us with story after story of his youth on an Iowa farm, his college years, and so on.

We've moved a lot in our nealry 24 years of marriage, from Missouri to Delaware to Ohio to Iowa, and to 4 different locations in the Des Moines area. At each and every house, my dad would come visit with loads of plants and help us landscape. Our house previous to this one was landscaped solely by us, using the plants my father left when he died.

This is the only house I've ever lived in that doesn't have plants grown by my dad.

I tend to think of these gardens at my former homes as memorials to my dad. Sometimes I drive by and am instantly flooded with memories of him.

But of all the lessons I learned in the 41 years I had with my father, there is one that is, perhaps, the most important, and certainly the most poignant.

You see, my father taught me how not to die.

July 3 was the fifth anniversary of my father's death. It was a horrible death, precipitated by a sudden and devastating illness. In January, he's seemed hale and healthy, by March he was ill, by May, diagnosed with myelodysplasia; and gone by July 3.

There would have been no mitigating the severity of our loss, no other medical decisions could have been made to extend his life.

No, the lesson I learned is never, ever leave anything unsaid.

My father grew up during the Great Depression, a time when men were discouraged from sharing their feelings. Though my dad's every action in life showed that he loved me, I have no memory of his every telling me so.

We just didn't do that in my family.

As his health declined, I made sure my children, who saw him for the last time two weeks before his death, told him how much he meant to them and how much they loved him. I was shocked when he told each one of them that the loved them, too.

At least I did that much right.

But my dad didn't have a "final" converstation with any of us; my three sisters, myself, not even my mom. We didn't talk about what ifs, or what we meant to each other. We didn't even talk about his impending death.

My dad wasn't fully himself those last few days in the hospital, and though his doctor asked him in a veiled sort of way if he wanted to go on and told him "things didn't look good," we never directly talked to him about the decision to end the treatment that was prolonging his suffering but would never heal him.

He never took the opportunity, even before those last two weeks in the hospital, to tell us whether he was ready to die, that he loved us, what he wanted for our futures.

And though I told him in those last few hours that I loved him, it may have been too late for him to hear.

I have a hole in my heart that can never be filled. An emptiness and longing to hear the words I know I will never hear.

I've always been outspoken about my love for my children and my husband, telling them each how much they mean to me, expressing my love for them. If I have time to prepare for my own death, hopefully far in the future, I will make sure none of us leaves anything unsaid. It will be okay to talk about my death, for me to help them cope with my death before I'm gone. To share our memories, our love, our fears and our hopes. And I will tell each and every one of my loved ones what they have meant to me, how proud I am of them, and how special they each are.

I will leave nothing unsaid.

So I look out my window at the day lilies and remember my dad.

I know he loved me.

But I will live the rest of my life never having heard the words.

The beauty of the day lilies, their grace, their toughness and their delicate resiliency will always remind me of my daddy.

And how much I loved him.

One Local Summer - Week 5

Cauliflower-cheese pie.

This is one of my absolute favorite meals, and is quite well-suited to local dining.

The crust is made from grated potatoes, lightly salted and pre-baked.

The filling is cauliflower sauteed with onions and thyme and the custard is made with a couple of eggs, salt and pepper, and a dash of cream.

I've never been a big fan of cooked cauliflower, but this pie is delectable.

We had a wilted lettuce salad, using lettuce and onions from our garden. The lettuce is quickly tossed in hot bacon grease (just a dab!) and a dressing of vinegar, salt and pepper. A few pieces of bacon are crumbled over the top. I keep thinking my lettuce is done for the season. I cut it way back, then the weather cools again and I get another growth. Not that I'm complaining!

The coup de grace was mulberry sorbet. The mulberries were picked from at a friend's farm, juiced, then put in the freezer with a little sugar added. Mulberries are quite sweet, so I added the juice of 1 lemon. All it takes is a quick stir every half hour or so, and in about 3 hours you have sorbet! I didn't leave mine in the freezer quite long enough, so it was extra juicy, but the taste was great. I'll definitely be trying this again with different fruit juices.

This may be the "most" local meal I've made so far this summer

Stress

This has been one of those weeks.
I don't handle stress well, and my stress load went stratospheric this week.
Zachary has been dealing with GERD for a couple of years now, and has undergone numerous tests this summer trying to pinpoint the cause. His gastroenterologist believes it likely that he suffers from a slow digestive tract (gastroparesis), but he doesn't fit the typical profile (i.e. he's not overweight, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink alcohol, isn't diabetic, is only 19). This makes diagnosis and treatment more difficult.
We're not talking about the occasional heartburn here, either. He suffers from reflux throughout the day, every day. He's made modifications to his diet, tries to eat multiple smaller meals, raised the head of his bed, and takes Prilosec, which, by the way, has made no difference to his symptoms.
He decided, and we agreed, that a course of Reglan (recommended by the doctor), might only provide temporary relief and is not worth the high risk of nasty side-effects. So his local doctor is arranging a battery of tests at the Iowa City medical center. Apparently, a top specialist in digestive disorders is there. We're trying to find a cause that hopefully can be "fixed," though that may not happen. It might take 3 to 6 months before he can get in for the day-long testing - "nose to bottom," as the doctor described it.
The succession of tests he's undergone, his continuing discomfort, the worry over drugs and side-effects, have all taken their toll on me, I'm afraid.
Stressor number 2?
For the last 6 weeks or so Sarah has been suffering from almost constant, nearly debilitating headaches and insomnia. I took her to the doctor last week, after trying everything we could think of here at home, including over-the-counter meds, relaxation, drinking more water, adjusting the dosage of her SSRI, all to no avail.
She starts out the day ranking her pain at a 3, and by the evening she's nearly non-functional with a pain rating nearing 8 or 9. She had blood work done this week, along with an MRI. We don't have the results of the blood work yet, but her MRI was fine, thank goodness.
But that means there's no hope of getting her an earlier appointment with the neurologist - we're looking at about 6 weeks from now. Her symptoms don't fit the typical migraine pattern, so the doctors are reluctant to prescribe migraine medications, which I completely understand and agree with.
She's now taking a course of Prednisone, to be followed next week by a two-week course of Augmentin, in case there is a deep sinus infection. She's taking 600 mg. of Ibuprofen several 'times a day, per the doctor's orders, but still hasn't felt any relief.
I can't stand seeing her in such pain and it's such a helpless feeling for a mom not to be able to make it better. I'm trying to keep her as active as possible, but it's difficult to force her into activity when she feels so awful. As a veteran of some pretty horrible headaches myself, I can only imagine how worn down she is from this whole experience.
Meanwhile, I've been managing to keep up with cooking healthy meals and routine dog, cat, and housework, but I've been experiencing significant fatigue.
I know it's not my thyroid, as that's properly regulated.
A hefty helping of it is my poor handling of stress, I'm sure.
I've never received an official diagnosis of fibromyalgia, though about 20 years ago a doctor told me that's what I likely have.
So I'm struggling with sore muscles and a level of fatigue that makes me want to hit the sack about the time I finish my second cup of coffee in the morning.
Not good.
Not good at all.
Thankfully, Michael pitched in - ha, what am I saying? He took over! - and did a bunch of house cleaning. Zachary and Stephen have helped, too, joining in when they aren't at work. Melissa does what she can, as does Sarah, poor thing.
Me?
I'm still making meals, resting when I can, and generally feeling about as useful as a sack of potatoes.
Make than an empty sack.
But it's time to start that "positive self-talk" I've come to know so well.
I am not lazy.
It's okay to rest.
It's alright that the kids and Michael have to do so much.
I am not lazy.

I'll need to keep working on that part...