We're right in the thick of things now. I'm feeling much better these days, after about a month of reading too much about the novel coronavirus, and worrying about what's to come, I'm finally settled in to this new "normal." Strangely enough, I chose two books earlier in the year that have a plot around or based on a pandemic. The first was a Nora Roberts book called Year One that I bought for $1.99 on Apple Books, and the second was an Audible pick called The Murmur of Bees, by Sofia Sargovia. The first book was entertaining and held my interest, and the second is fabulous, and really quite lovely and lyrical as it follows a Mexican Family through Spanish Flu times. I'm not finished listening to it, because I have been saving it for my 'Rona Walks in the Woods.
The third pandemic book of the year was chosen purposefully for my Book Club, and certainly qualifies as dystopian fiction. The book weaves in and out of time both before and after a world altering pandemic where most of humanity is wiped out by a severely contagious and deadly flu virus. The author shows her creativity by imagining what happens when there are no people to make life function in the way we've become accustomed. While imagining this world, she cleverly brings the lives of her main characters together in a hopeful ending. I'm not sure if now is the best time to read Station Eleven, but I enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless.
Personally, I spent some time grieving all of the lost things due to the pandemic. I would have hoped that surviving tumultuous times would make subsequent trauma easier to deal with, but I don't think that's the case. I don't find the quote, What doesn't kill you makes your stronger, to be accurate at all. In fact, I hate that quote, along with Everything happens for a reason. I call bullshit on both of them.
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Friday, February 10, 2012
JD's Birth Story
As I was preparing for Jonathan's birth in August, I read a ton of birth stories, and thought it would be somewhat healing to write JD's. Eventually, I'll get to Jon's, but in the mean time, here you go:
For me, JD’s birth story begins with his conception. I got the vacation bug in the winter
of 2007, and couldn’t stop thinking about a return to Hawaii. I did my research, booked
us flights and a condo in Maui, and figured that Jeff and I could start trying for our first
baby in paradise. Things went just as I planned, and less than two weeks after returning home, on May 6, 2007, my hunch proved right, and a little stick told me that I was pregnant. Being that we had just decided to start trying for a baby, it took a little time for everything to sink in. Despite that fact, I was happy, and Jeff was content with the news that a baby was on his way.
Fast forward through a happy, contented summer and very early autumn. Jeff discovered that something was not quite right with his body and saw a doctor. Initial diagnosis was probably just one of the symptoms, and his problem partially cleared up after a round of antibiotics. Because things still weren’t quite right, he was put on another round of antibiotics and sent for an ultrasound. The ultrasound showed cancer and was later concluded to be acute myelogenous leukemia (AML). As our world came crashing down around us, I stopped worrying, wondering and celebrating my pregnancy, and started educating myself on AML, its treatments and their success rates. I learned that Jeff had about a 35% chance of making it 5 years.
The third trimester of my pregnancy with JD was spent watching Jeff suffer through
treatments and wondering how on earth I was going to bring a baby into such a stressful situation. I worried about Jeff’s and the baby’s well-being, and whether or not the baby was handling the stress hormones that I was no doubt sending him in abundant doses. Despite those worries, on January 2nd, 2008, my water broke in the middle of the night. Jeff was already in the hospital for Stem Cell Transplant #1, so I called my family and drove myself to the hospital with a towel between my legs. I remember walking on to the maternity ward crying, explaining to a nurse that I was here to have my baby, but that my husband was upstairs on the transplant floor and he was very sick.
I soon settled down and realized that this baby was coming regardless of the facts that his father was sick, we were 200 miles from home and Jeff would need an entourage of supplies and nurses to be able to attend the birth. Labor started slowly and was pretty easy for the first couple of hours. I called Jeff’s room to wake him up and let him know that I had arrived, and that we were having a baby today. He spent a little more time resting and showed up a bit later. Considering what his body had been enduring for the past few weeks, his spirits were high and he was an excellent partner during labor. When he needed to sleep, he was escorted back to his own room as we reassured him that we would call for him when it came time to push.
In the middle of all of the chaos, my Aunt Paula, Cousin Danielle, and my own Dad arrived in Hershey after several hours of treacherous driving through a snowstorm. Paula stayed with me the entire time, Dad spent his time worrying, and Danielle did what any 20-year old would do once she saw what labor was all about – she fled to the waiting room.
Reaching 10 centimeters proved to get substantially more difficult as my cervix continued to open, but I stayed strangely calm. I allowed Jeff, Paula and the L&D nurse, Abby to help me through the contractions and did not feel the need to ask for any medication. At around noon, after 8 or 10 hours of laboring, the doctor told me it was time to push. At that point, I decided I was afraid and I’m not sure why. Maybe the three months of wondering why I was put in the situation of bringing a baby into the world amidst all the pain and suffering of his father had taken its toll or maybe I just didn’t spend enough time thinking about labor and the amazing abilities of a female body.
Whatever the case may have been, I pushed hard for two hours and got nowhere. His head was jammed against my pelvic bones and I wasn’t able to let him through. At this point, I was having a lot of back pain, and when they told me it was likely I was going to require a c-section, I sort of gave up. I took the epidural and relegated myself to the fact that this was just one more thing gone completely wrong.
At about 4 pm, I was rolled into the operating room and JD was surgically removed from my body. Upon the announcement, “It’s a boy,” I was overcome with joy. We got a sneak peak at our little man, Jeff made the announcement to our family, and I was rolled into a recovery room. About an hour later (I’m completely guessing on the timeframe), I was taken to my room and got to nurse JD for the first time. I was completely overcome with love for him, and I spent the next several days in the hospital learning to breastfeedand recovering from surgery. JD and I made frequent trips upstairs to see Jeff, and to make things as easy as possible, I maxed out my stay in the hospital. After being discharged, JD and I continued our stay in Hershey and spent long days in Jeff’s hospital room. Over the course of those few weeks, my love for JD helped me to come to terms with the c-section, and until a few months ago, I didn’t let it bother me.
Between JD’s birth and his second birthday, Jeff went through periods of relative healthfulness and remission, and periods of relapse. In December of 2009, after a long fought battle, Jeff died from complications of his second full Stem Cell Transplant. I was ready for our suffering to be over, and JD was too little to know what really happened. My little boy and I leaned on our family for support and began a healing process that continues on to this day. I began dating again to help me feel like a normal person, and 15 months after Jeff’s death, I re-married a man who has become my best friend, and JD’s Daddy.
After researching more about natural childbirth and obstetrical practices in the United
States, I have since realized that my cesarean may have been unnecessary. For the entire labor, I was confined to a bed, and the pushing stage was endured entirely on my back. I had no idea that I might have been better off squatting or in some other position that would have allowed my pelvis to open up and to have some assistance from gravity. I’ve also learned quite a bit about the emotional mind-body connection that is so important in birthing a baby, and I very recently had the thought that maybe I really wasn’t ready for JD to be borne into such a mess, and my “inability” to push him out was really my mind taking over my body.
In any case, I am really okay with the fact that JD arrived via c-section, because in the end, I am healthy and my little boy has done nothing but thrive since Day One. However, I plan to deliver Baby #2 drug-free, with as little intervention as possible. Baby #2 is coming into this world at a very happy time, and to parents and a big brother that can’t wait for his arrival. This time, I am heading into labor with the knowledge that my body is capable of pushing out a baby, and I am freshly prepared with a new found confidence, a supportive, healthy husband, and a doula.
For me, JD’s birth story begins with his conception. I got the vacation bug in the winter
of 2007, and couldn’t stop thinking about a return to Hawaii. I did my research, booked
us flights and a condo in Maui, and figured that Jeff and I could start trying for our first
baby in paradise. Things went just as I planned, and less than two weeks after returning home, on May 6, 2007, my hunch proved right, and a little stick told me that I was pregnant. Being that we had just decided to start trying for a baby, it took a little time for everything to sink in. Despite that fact, I was happy, and Jeff was content with the news that a baby was on his way.
Fast forward through a happy, contented summer and very early autumn. Jeff discovered that something was not quite right with his body and saw a doctor. Initial diagnosis was probably just one of the symptoms, and his problem partially cleared up after a round of antibiotics. Because things still weren’t quite right, he was put on another round of antibiotics and sent for an ultrasound. The ultrasound showed cancer and was later concluded to be acute myelogenous leukemia (AML). As our world came crashing down around us, I stopped worrying, wondering and celebrating my pregnancy, and started educating myself on AML, its treatments and their success rates. I learned that Jeff had about a 35% chance of making it 5 years.
The third trimester of my pregnancy with JD was spent watching Jeff suffer through
treatments and wondering how on earth I was going to bring a baby into such a stressful situation. I worried about Jeff’s and the baby’s well-being, and whether or not the baby was handling the stress hormones that I was no doubt sending him in abundant doses. Despite those worries, on January 2nd, 2008, my water broke in the middle of the night. Jeff was already in the hospital for Stem Cell Transplant #1, so I called my family and drove myself to the hospital with a towel between my legs. I remember walking on to the maternity ward crying, explaining to a nurse that I was here to have my baby, but that my husband was upstairs on the transplant floor and he was very sick.
I soon settled down and realized that this baby was coming regardless of the facts that his father was sick, we were 200 miles from home and Jeff would need an entourage of supplies and nurses to be able to attend the birth. Labor started slowly and was pretty easy for the first couple of hours. I called Jeff’s room to wake him up and let him know that I had arrived, and that we were having a baby today. He spent a little more time resting and showed up a bit later. Considering what his body had been enduring for the past few weeks, his spirits were high and he was an excellent partner during labor. When he needed to sleep, he was escorted back to his own room as we reassured him that we would call for him when it came time to push.
In the middle of all of the chaos, my Aunt Paula, Cousin Danielle, and my own Dad arrived in Hershey after several hours of treacherous driving through a snowstorm. Paula stayed with me the entire time, Dad spent his time worrying, and Danielle did what any 20-year old would do once she saw what labor was all about – she fled to the waiting room.
Reaching 10 centimeters proved to get substantially more difficult as my cervix continued to open, but I stayed strangely calm. I allowed Jeff, Paula and the L&D nurse, Abby to help me through the contractions and did not feel the need to ask for any medication. At around noon, after 8 or 10 hours of laboring, the doctor told me it was time to push. At that point, I decided I was afraid and I’m not sure why. Maybe the three months of wondering why I was put in the situation of bringing a baby into the world amidst all the pain and suffering of his father had taken its toll or maybe I just didn’t spend enough time thinking about labor and the amazing abilities of a female body.
Whatever the case may have been, I pushed hard for two hours and got nowhere. His head was jammed against my pelvic bones and I wasn’t able to let him through. At this point, I was having a lot of back pain, and when they told me it was likely I was going to require a c-section, I sort of gave up. I took the epidural and relegated myself to the fact that this was just one more thing gone completely wrong.
At about 4 pm, I was rolled into the operating room and JD was surgically removed from my body. Upon the announcement, “It’s a boy,” I was overcome with joy. We got a sneak peak at our little man, Jeff made the announcement to our family, and I was rolled into a recovery room. About an hour later (I’m completely guessing on the timeframe), I was taken to my room and got to nurse JD for the first time. I was completely overcome with love for him, and I spent the next several days in the hospital learning to breastfeedand recovering from surgery. JD and I made frequent trips upstairs to see Jeff, and to make things as easy as possible, I maxed out my stay in the hospital. After being discharged, JD and I continued our stay in Hershey and spent long days in Jeff’s hospital room. Over the course of those few weeks, my love for JD helped me to come to terms with the c-section, and until a few months ago, I didn’t let it bother me.
Between JD’s birth and his second birthday, Jeff went through periods of relative healthfulness and remission, and periods of relapse. In December of 2009, after a long fought battle, Jeff died from complications of his second full Stem Cell Transplant. I was ready for our suffering to be over, and JD was too little to know what really happened. My little boy and I leaned on our family for support and began a healing process that continues on to this day. I began dating again to help me feel like a normal person, and 15 months after Jeff’s death, I re-married a man who has become my best friend, and JD’s Daddy.
After researching more about natural childbirth and obstetrical practices in the United
States, I have since realized that my cesarean may have been unnecessary. For the entire labor, I was confined to a bed, and the pushing stage was endured entirely on my back. I had no idea that I might have been better off squatting or in some other position that would have allowed my pelvis to open up and to have some assistance from gravity. I’ve also learned quite a bit about the emotional mind-body connection that is so important in birthing a baby, and I very recently had the thought that maybe I really wasn’t ready for JD to be borne into such a mess, and my “inability” to push him out was really my mind taking over my body.
In any case, I am really okay with the fact that JD arrived via c-section, because in the end, I am healthy and my little boy has done nothing but thrive since Day One. However, I plan to deliver Baby #2 drug-free, with as little intervention as possible. Baby #2 is coming into this world at a very happy time, and to parents and a big brother that can’t wait for his arrival. This time, I am heading into labor with the knowledge that my body is capable of pushing out a baby, and I am freshly prepared with a new found confidence, a supportive, healthy husband, and a doula.
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Year Later
I'm feeling it necessary to write something here today, but my words seem inadequate, and after writing and deleting, writing and deleting, I'm just going to say this: Jeff is missed everyday by many, many people. The positive effect he had on me and our little boy will be forever felt, and partly because of the strong relationship we shared, I have slowly been able to put my life back together. If you knew Jeff, please take a moment to remember him today.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
JD
I've been neglectful with my camera this summer, but I'm going to buy some new batteries and turn over a new leaf. This first picture is from May, and the second from July.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
On My Mind
Jeff has been on my mind a lot lately, which has caused an especially intense spell of grief. Negativity has been swarming around me like a pack of fruit flies, and I can’t seem to shake it. I just wanted to point out that I’m not always happy or positive or upbeat, and that there are days when I’m furious at the universe for dealing us such a crappy hand. But, as much as I’m stymied by this whole ordeal, I can’t even begin to describe how badly I feel for Jeff and JD.
After Jeff got sick, and he realized that his time here on earth may be short lived, the only thing he worried about was not having the chance to watch JD grow up. I can’t tell you the how painful it was to listen to him try to talk about it. Jeff never got the chance to be the Dad he wanted to be, and now I only get to imagine the joy that I know would be on his face if he had the chance to hear JD say that his “name is Jeff David Eckert.”
Despite the fact that JD has several father-figures in his life, my poor little boy will never know the love that only a father can give his son. What do I do about that? How long will it be before he figures this out? JD already understands about family, and he knows that there should be a Mommy and a Daddy, but I don’t think his 2 year-old brain comprehends what has happened. I’m trying not to give too much significance to Jeff’s absence because I don’t want him to feel more slighted than necessary. If I can concentrate on teaching him to embrace what he has instead of mourning for what he doesn’t have, then maybe, just maybe, I can protect him from some of the pain that comes with losing a father. Of course, for me to teach him that, I have to stop mourning for all that has been lost, which is easier said than done.
I am whining today. I know this, and I guess I need to say that most of the time I’m still okay. I am loving the closeness that I have with JD, and he has many people in his life that love him with a fierceness that is obvious to me when I watch them with him. I know I am very lucky for my family and friends, including some people I’ve met or reconnected with since Jeff’s death. Hopefully, I can continue moving forward, without too many more days of feeling that I’ve come undone.
I’ll have to go back and read some of my blog. Sometimes I think I’m just repeating myself. Oh well, I guess if I need to write things more than once, then that’s what I need to do.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Saturday Morning Musings
I have the urge to write this morning, and it's probably because I just read the introduction to our next book club selection, "October Light," by John Gardner. It's my first book by this author, but the introduction, written by Tom Bissel, has me rather intrigued. BUT, that's not what I'm getting the urge to write about. The book is prefaced by the following passage from a letter, written in 1822 from Thomas Jefferson to John Adams.
Unfortunately, it seems that his Quaker ideology has not caught on quite like he hoped, and that the laws of nature he speaks of, are just that; AND despite humans thinking themselves the superior species on this planet, humankind as a whole is really no different than the rest of the animal kingdom. However, I still love this passage, and I love the hope that emanates from it.
There, now that I got that out, (I hope you're still reading...lol) I can talk a little bit about JD and me. We are having a great summer. The weather has been fantastic and the sun exceptionally healing. I try to talk to JD a little bit everyday, about Daddy, and we continue to kiss his picture and tell him we love him before bedtime. Unfortunately, I know that JD's memories of Jeff are fading fast. I hope that over the course of his childhood he can glean enough information from me and the rest of our family to be able to feel his Dad's essence. I've said before that Jeff made me a better person, and despite his not having anymore personal contact with Jeff, I want JD to benefit from knowing his father through all of us.
To turn to the news of the day, it seems that the cannibals of Europe are going to eat one another again. A war between Russia and Turkey is like the battle of the kite and the snake; whichever destroys the other leaves a destroyer the less for the world. This pugnacious humor of mankind seems to be the law of his nature, one of the obstacles to too great multiplication provided in the mechanism of the Universe. The cocks of the hen yard kill one another; bears, bulls, rams do the same, and when the horse, in his wild state, kills all the young males until he's worn down with age and war, some youth kills him.First, let me say that I am not a history buff, and if Jeff were here, he would be laughing at me, for attempting to write about such a prominent figure from the past. Really, though, all that I want to say is that I've often wondered what makes certain people stand out in historical terms. Is it because they were really great, with progressive ideas that changed the world; or was it because they were in the right place at the right time? Of course, the little history I do remember, reminds me that Thomas Jefferson had all sort of ideas about all sorts of things, but after reading this portion of his letter to John Adams, I just have to say "WOW."
I hope we shall prove how much happier for the man the Quaker policy is, and that the life of the feeder is better than that of the fighter: and it is some consolation that the desolation by these maniacs of one part of the earth is the means of improving it in other parts. Let the latter be our office: and let us milk the cow, while the Russian holds her by the horns, and the Turk by the tail.
Unfortunately, it seems that his Quaker ideology has not caught on quite like he hoped, and that the laws of nature he speaks of, are just that; AND despite humans thinking themselves the superior species on this planet, humankind as a whole is really no different than the rest of the animal kingdom. However, I still love this passage, and I love the hope that emanates from it.
There, now that I got that out, (I hope you're still reading...lol) I can talk a little bit about JD and me. We are having a great summer. The weather has been fantastic and the sun exceptionally healing. I try to talk to JD a little bit everyday, about Daddy, and we continue to kiss his picture and tell him we love him before bedtime. Unfortunately, I know that JD's memories of Jeff are fading fast. I hope that over the course of his childhood he can glean enough information from me and the rest of our family to be able to feel his Dad's essence. I've said before that Jeff made me a better person, and despite his not having anymore personal contact with Jeff, I want JD to benefit from knowing his father through all of us.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Facebook Post and Other Stuff
My friend Amy (from Team Gleason) posted this quote as her Facebook status, and I am stealing it. My facebook friends have already seen it, because I shared her post on my page. I tear up every time I read it. It's just SO true.
I haven't posted here for a while, and it's because I'm finding sharing my grief (and my new life) publicly, to be very difficult. However, I miss writing this blog, and I miss hearing from the readers. So, maybe I'll try to make a return to the blogging world.
Anyway, the other day I had a good, although difficult and sad experience while out shopping. After handing my credit card to the clerk, she took a look at me and said, something like, "Can I ask you something...??? Your husband???" And I just shook my head yes. She proceeded to tell me that her husband passed away this year, from cancer, and that she found my blog while he was sick. She said it helped enormously in that she knew that she and her husband weren't the only ones. The grief and pain of a recent loss was obvious on her face, and I managed not to break down. She gave me a hug, another thank you, and I went on my way. I guess I know that I should continue writing here, because there are other grieving people who might benefit from having their feelings "normalized." I have become friends with a two other women whose stories are eerily similar to my own, and I know for a fact that my actions and emotions are real, raw and completely normal.
I'm going to try to work up the nerve to start writing again, about what I'm going through, about how Jeff is still omnipresent in my everyday life, and about my new "normal." In the mean time, take the quote above to heart, and if you're lucky enough to be somewhere in your life, where most days are normal ones, then please, oh please, rejoice in it.
Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are… Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect Tomorrow. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in my pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return." ... - Mary Jean Iron
I haven't posted here for a while, and it's because I'm finding sharing my grief (and my new life) publicly, to be very difficult. However, I miss writing this blog, and I miss hearing from the readers. So, maybe I'll try to make a return to the blogging world.Anyway, the other day I had a good, although difficult and sad experience while out shopping. After handing my credit card to the clerk, she took a look at me and said, something like, "Can I ask you something...??? Your husband???" And I just shook my head yes. She proceeded to tell me that her husband passed away this year, from cancer, and that she found my blog while he was sick. She said it helped enormously in that she knew that she and her husband weren't the only ones. The grief and pain of a recent loss was obvious on her face, and I managed not to break down. She gave me a hug, another thank you, and I went on my way. I guess I know that I should continue writing here, because there are other grieving people who might benefit from having their feelings "normalized." I have become friends with a two other women whose stories are eerily similar to my own, and I know for a fact that my actions and emotions are real, raw and completely normal.
I'm going to try to work up the nerve to start writing again, about what I'm going through, about how Jeff is still omnipresent in my everyday life, and about my new "normal." In the mean time, take the quote above to heart, and if you're lucky enough to be somewhere in your life, where most days are normal ones, then please, oh please, rejoice in it.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Anybody There?
I know I've been neglecting the blog, but things have been pretty crazy. My house has been sold, and we've moved in next to my Dad. The whole sale, and subsequent move went fast. Really fast. I had a ton of help from my amazing group of family and friends, but moving is still a pain in the rear. I'm pretty much unpacked now, and JD loves having immediate access to Papa, Polly, Danielle, the pond, numerous dogs and several horses, including new a foal, born yesterday morning who has been named Steemer.
I feel like I'm finally home again, and I know that the decision to sell my house was a good one. For the most part, I am happy and content, but I'm sure that you can guess that happiness doesn't mean that the grief is gone. It shows up in predictable moments, but it also hits me completely unexpectedly. My body aches when I think that JD will not know his Daddy personally, and it aches even more when I think about what Jeff is missing. Thirty is just too young to die, but all the wishing, hoping and praying in the world is not going to bring him back.
As I write this, I am really at a loss for words. How can someone be here and well one day, and then sick, very sick for a long time, and then gone? And why can't my subconscious let me dream about him? I've seen glimpses of my mom in dreams over the years, but those dreams are few and far between. I haven't had one about Jeff yet, and I wonder when he'll turn up. Do I need to grieve more or grieve less to see him in a dream? And when I do, will I see healthy Jeff...the Jeff that I miss, or will it be sick Jeff....a Jeff that I loved, but don't miss?
I have a picture on my phone of Jeff's IV pole in the hospital. It's just a pole with a bunch of bags hanging from it, and I took the picture because I couldn't believe how much stuff was being pumped into Jeff's body. I don't know why I don't delete the picture, but when JD and I are looking at the pictures, so he can "see JD," he always points to that picture and says, "Daddy!" It's just a picture of his pole, there is nothing else in the picture. Ugh! How sad is that?
Really, I just needed to get some things out today. I'm okay.
I feel like I'm finally home again, and I know that the decision to sell my house was a good one. For the most part, I am happy and content, but I'm sure that you can guess that happiness doesn't mean that the grief is gone. It shows up in predictable moments, but it also hits me completely unexpectedly. My body aches when I think that JD will not know his Daddy personally, and it aches even more when I think about what Jeff is missing. Thirty is just too young to die, but all the wishing, hoping and praying in the world is not going to bring him back.
As I write this, I am really at a loss for words. How can someone be here and well one day, and then sick, very sick for a long time, and then gone? And why can't my subconscious let me dream about him? I've seen glimpses of my mom in dreams over the years, but those dreams are few and far between. I haven't had one about Jeff yet, and I wonder when he'll turn up. Do I need to grieve more or grieve less to see him in a dream? And when I do, will I see healthy Jeff...the Jeff that I miss, or will it be sick Jeff....a Jeff that I loved, but don't miss?
I have a picture on my phone of Jeff's IV pole in the hospital. It's just a pole with a bunch of bags hanging from it, and I took the picture because I couldn't believe how much stuff was being pumped into Jeff's body. I don't know why I don't delete the picture, but when JD and I are looking at the pictures, so he can "see JD," he always points to that picture and says, "Daddy!" It's just a picture of his pole, there is nothing else in the picture. Ugh! How sad is that?
Really, I just needed to get some things out today. I'm okay.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Heading in the Right Direction
I was going to write about health care reform, but found a blogger that gets paid to do so. This post was written a few days before we knew whether or not the bill would pass. As you probably already know, the bill passed last night, and although it is not perfect, it's a step in the right direction. (Well, it's a step in the right direction if you believe that EVERYONE has a right to affordable health care, the unlucky should not face financial ruin in the case of serious illness, and that medical care should be more effective and less expensive.)
Please read this:
http://www.tnr.com/blog/the-treatment/closing-arguments
Please read this:
http://www.tnr.com/blog/the-treatment/closing-arguments
Monday, March 08, 2010
Struggling with Guilt
I have been writing and re-writing this post for days. I'm struggling with some feelings, and I'm not sure what's appropriate to share, and what isn't. Because I've gotten tons of e-mails from leukemia-people who read this blog, and those people seem to have been helped by things I've said, I'm going to lean towards sharing more, instead of less. Thank you, by the way, leukemia-people, for letting me know when something I've said has touched a nerve.
My problem is this; I am feeling really well. I'm sleeping well, getting back into shape, taking vitamins, eating well and generally, just feeling like my old self. My old self was very happy, and I am happy again.
Everyday, I wake up and I'm thankful that I don't have to spend my day worrying about Jeff. I have life to look forward to, and although I am still practicing living in the moment, I'm now also able to look forward to a promising future that's not riddled with leukemia. I've come to the realization that regular life is pretty easy, if you let it be. Stress only takes over if you allow it to, and worrying about something does not change its outcome. Some things are bound to just happen the way that they happen, and there's nothing we can do about it.
Obviously, my happiness and ease-of-living come with a price, and that price is guilt. I am here to see JD grow up, and to be happy about it, and Jeff is not. Why did Jeff get sick? Why not me? Again, these questions don't have answers and it's pointless to ask them. I can wish all I want that Jeff never got sick, but it changes nothing. He did get sick. He did deteriorate right in front of my eyes. And, despite a will to live that amazed me, when his body had nothing left, he died.
So, do I have any right to be happy right now? I'm not sure I do. But what I do know, is that I have a beautiful little boy that looks just like his Daddy, and that little boy is happy. He's full of life and energy and joy. I have to believe that Jeff would want me to be happy for JD's sake, so I will continue to laugh, play, and love like there is no tomorrow.
My problem is this; I am feeling really well. I'm sleeping well, getting back into shape, taking vitamins, eating well and generally, just feeling like my old self. My old self was very happy, and I am happy again.
Everyday, I wake up and I'm thankful that I don't have to spend my day worrying about Jeff. I have life to look forward to, and although I am still practicing living in the moment, I'm now also able to look forward to a promising future that's not riddled with leukemia. I've come to the realization that regular life is pretty easy, if you let it be. Stress only takes over if you allow it to, and worrying about something does not change its outcome. Some things are bound to just happen the way that they happen, and there's nothing we can do about it.
Obviously, my happiness and ease-of-living come with a price, and that price is guilt. I am here to see JD grow up, and to be happy about it, and Jeff is not. Why did Jeff get sick? Why not me? Again, these questions don't have answers and it's pointless to ask them. I can wish all I want that Jeff never got sick, but it changes nothing. He did get sick. He did deteriorate right in front of my eyes. And, despite a will to live that amazed me, when his body had nothing left, he died.
So, do I have any right to be happy right now? I'm not sure I do. But what I do know, is that I have a beautiful little boy that looks just like his Daddy, and that little boy is happy. He's full of life and energy and joy. I have to believe that Jeff would want me to be happy for JD's sake, so I will continue to laugh, play, and love like there is no tomorrow.
I've Posted This Before, But I Think it's Worth Another Look
Take a chance. Like people first, ask questions later. See if it doesn't open the world to you in a new way. See if the light you shine on others isn't reflected back on you a hundred-fold.
Kent Nerburn from Letters To My Son: A Father's Wisdom on Manhood, Life, and Love
Kent Nerburn from Letters To My Son: A Father's Wisdom on Manhood, Life, and Love
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Love This
I took this video about a month or so before Jeff's first relapse...back in January 2009. He was just starting to feel like himself, and he looked fantastic. As much as it hurts, I love remembering a healthy Jeff.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Bahamas
I'm feeling better, and a 5 day trip to the Bahamas did wonders for us. The sun felt amazing, the water park was the best I've ever been to, and there was lots of birds for JD to chase all over the island. I'll post a few more pictures as soon as get them transferred to the computer.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Speaking of Memories
I just stumbled upon an idea. At some point when things stop being so crazy, I'm going to make a photo book for JD about his Daddy. Because I can design this book online, I'll be able add little blurbs about Jeff. So, if you have a favorite memory or just something you really liked about Jeff, that you would like me to share with JD one day, please post a comment here. If you're shy about posting publicly, you can send an e-mail to jmw280@gmail.com.
Thanks!
Thanks!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Chugging Along
After being really healthy for quite some time, my body sort of crashed on me. I'm two weeks into a head and chest cold, and I am finally starting to feel some relief. I think that the stress of the past two years accumulated into something that was bound to end in a bit of a meltdown. I'm still having some trouble sleeping, but hopefully, things will start to resolve themselves soon. I figure that it's all part of the grieving process, and I have no other choice but to endure it.
I just spent some time looking at pictures of Jeff before he got sick. His smile was SO big. It easily lit up his entire face, including his beautiful blue eyes. When I look at pre-leukemia photos, I can just hear him laughing at SpongeBob or singing "4th of July." It is refreshing and healing to remember Jeff before he got sick.
Now that I can do so without crying, I think I'll let some of our good memories flood my brain.
I just spent some time looking at pictures of Jeff before he got sick. His smile was SO big. It easily lit up his entire face, including his beautiful blue eyes. When I look at pre-leukemia photos, I can just hear him laughing at SpongeBob or singing "4th of July." It is refreshing and healing to remember Jeff before he got sick.
Now that I can do so without crying, I think I'll let some of our good memories flood my brain.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
"Strength"
You may have noticed that a lot of people comment about how "strong" I seem to be. Really, I'm not much different than most people. I'm just playing the cards that I was dealt in the best way that I know how. I cry and I sob and I ask, "why me?," and I really ask, "why Jeff?" But guess what? There are no answers to those questions, and it does me no good to sit and contemplate them.
Back in July after Jeff was released from the hospital after his first round of "Relapse #2 Chemo", I hit a very low point. I felt like I could not move...like I couldn't possibly go on for another day. I didn't know how I would attend one more Day Hospital visit, or watch Jeff get one more biopsy taken from his bone, or his lung, or skin, or his where-ever. I did not want to hear the doctor say that it would be reasonable for Jeff to forgo treatment and go on a vacation in the South Pacific before he gets too ill....before palliative treatments would have to start. (We did hear those exact sentiments from his doctor back in July, after finding out the disease had infiltrated his spinal fluid. Jeff decided that giving up was not an option, regardless of the odds. Despite my mantra that Jeff was a lover, not a fighter, he fought like hell to the bitter end.)
To combat this near depression, I started coming home every week to work and take a break from hospital life. I didn't like leaving Jeff, because I knew that he preferred JD and me to be there, but I wasn't going to do much good anywhere if I didn't take regular breaks. I was, and am, only human. There were times when the stress of it all was eating me alive. Like one of my AML-widow friends (yes, I now have widow friends) says, "it was like living with a gun to your husband's head for two years." The indefinite anxiety-ridden state of not knowing is a very hard place to be.
These trips home saved my sanity. Yes, traveling for 8 hours every week with a toddler was sometimes a challenge, but every trip home helped me to help Jeff.
Back in July after Jeff was released from the hospital after his first round of "Relapse #2 Chemo", I hit a very low point. I felt like I could not move...like I couldn't possibly go on for another day. I didn't know how I would attend one more Day Hospital visit, or watch Jeff get one more biopsy taken from his bone, or his lung, or skin, or his where-ever. I did not want to hear the doctor say that it would be reasonable for Jeff to forgo treatment and go on a vacation in the South Pacific before he gets too ill....before palliative treatments would have to start. (We did hear those exact sentiments from his doctor back in July, after finding out the disease had infiltrated his spinal fluid. Jeff decided that giving up was not an option, regardless of the odds. Despite my mantra that Jeff was a lover, not a fighter, he fought like hell to the bitter end.)
To combat this near depression, I started coming home every week to work and take a break from hospital life. I didn't like leaving Jeff, because I knew that he preferred JD and me to be there, but I wasn't going to do much good anywhere if I didn't take regular breaks. I was, and am, only human. There were times when the stress of it all was eating me alive. Like one of my AML-widow friends (yes, I now have widow friends) says, "it was like living with a gun to your husband's head for two years." The indefinite anxiety-ridden state of not knowing is a very hard place to be.
These trips home saved my sanity. Yes, traveling for 8 hours every week with a toddler was sometimes a challenge, but every trip home helped me to help Jeff.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Grief
In reality, I have been grieving for the loss of our life, for over two years. Jeff and I were VERY happy when he was first diagnosed. We were in love with each other, had jobs we liked, a baby on the way, a house we were busy remodeling, and the list goes on....we were happy and WE KNEW we were happy. We were not two people who were too busy with life to recognize that we had it good.
So, when we found out that Jeff had AML, devastation settled itself upon our (apparently) too nice life. As we navigated through surgeries, chemotherapy and transplant number one, we succumbed to the fact that our life had definitely changed, but held out hope for a better future. For me, most of that hope died out in February after Jeff's first relapse. I am well-versed on AML, its treatments, its causes (or lack thereof), and of course, its sobering statistics. A relapse after a transplant is BAD. There is no other word for it. Very, very few people survive for very long after the relapse. A second relapse, of course, portends an even more bleak future for its victims.
If I look back on things now, I grieved for the loss of our life, as we knew it, after the first transplant, and I began grieving for Jeff back in February after the first relapse. Any hope that I did have was transferred to Jeff in any way I could manage. I didn't outwardly grieve him while he was here, but on the inside, I was preparing myself. I needed to do that so that I could manage the months of treatments and be able to take care of JD. Maybe that sounds confusing, but I'm not somebody who lives with my head buried in the sand - I needed to face what was probably coming.
I've now lost two people who were absolutely shining lights in my life. One of them left me suddenly, and the other over the course of two years. I can't say that one way is better than the other, but I can say that in a lot of ways, a sudden loss is easier. The grief is more intense, but the anxiety leading up to a sudden death is non-existent, and anxiety about death is a cruel, cruel punishment, especially for a 30-year old.
Where am I now? Good question. We're only two weeks out, and I'm okay. Not good yet, and maybe I'm still in a little bit of shock - shock that I'll never hear Jeff's voice again, never hear him strum his guitar, or never see him kiss JD again. BUT, I'm also relieved that leukemia doesn't have to be a regular part of my day, that JD doesn't have to live in Hershey and at home, that Jeff is no longer struggling with his own mortality, and that he is no longer in pain. I've loved Jeff since I was 16 years old, and I AM relieved that I don't have to watch him suffer anymore. Really relieved.
Rest in peace, my beautiful, beautiful man.
So, when we found out that Jeff had AML, devastation settled itself upon our (apparently) too nice life. As we navigated through surgeries, chemotherapy and transplant number one, we succumbed to the fact that our life had definitely changed, but held out hope for a better future. For me, most of that hope died out in February after Jeff's first relapse. I am well-versed on AML, its treatments, its causes (or lack thereof), and of course, its sobering statistics. A relapse after a transplant is BAD. There is no other word for it. Very, very few people survive for very long after the relapse. A second relapse, of course, portends an even more bleak future for its victims.
If I look back on things now, I grieved for the loss of our life, as we knew it, after the first transplant, and I began grieving for Jeff back in February after the first relapse. Any hope that I did have was transferred to Jeff in any way I could manage. I didn't outwardly grieve him while he was here, but on the inside, I was preparing myself. I needed to do that so that I could manage the months of treatments and be able to take care of JD. Maybe that sounds confusing, but I'm not somebody who lives with my head buried in the sand - I needed to face what was probably coming.
I've now lost two people who were absolutely shining lights in my life. One of them left me suddenly, and the other over the course of two years. I can't say that one way is better than the other, but I can say that in a lot of ways, a sudden loss is easier. The grief is more intense, but the anxiety leading up to a sudden death is non-existent, and anxiety about death is a cruel, cruel punishment, especially for a 30-year old.
Where am I now? Good question. We're only two weeks out, and I'm okay. Not good yet, and maybe I'm still in a little bit of shock - shock that I'll never hear Jeff's voice again, never hear him strum his guitar, or never see him kiss JD again. BUT, I'm also relieved that leukemia doesn't have to be a regular part of my day, that JD doesn't have to live in Hershey and at home, that Jeff is no longer struggling with his own mortality, and that he is no longer in pain. I've loved Jeff since I was 16 years old, and I AM relieved that I don't have to watch him suffer anymore. Really relieved.
Rest in peace, my beautiful, beautiful man.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Merry Christmas
JD and I are doing well....as well as we can. Actually, JD is doing beautifully, as he is too young to realize the magnitude of what has happened. He'll continue to be my shining light, and I'll be okay, because he is way better than okay. I suppose eventually I'll want to write about grief, but right now, I'm going to concentrate on enjoying my little man's second Christmas.
Thank you, thank you, thank you a hundred times for the continued support. I will eventually get to the two year's worth of Thank You notes, but it's going to take me a while - I hope nobody takes offense to that. Please just know that I am very appreciative of everything (little or big) that was done to help my family over the course of Jeff's illness.
Please - enjoy the holidays with your family. I know I will.
Thank you, thank you, thank you a hundred times for the continued support. I will eventually get to the two year's worth of Thank You notes, but it's going to take me a while - I hope nobody takes offense to that. Please just know that I am very appreciative of everything (little or big) that was done to help my family over the course of Jeff's illness.
Please - enjoy the holidays with your family. I know I will.
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