You know, I had every intention of posting as soon as we got back from the harp conference in New Orleans. In the van on the way home, I began to put ideas and phrases together, excited to share with all of you my adventure. Then we got home...
Life is so amazing. For me, it's a constant whirlwind of what I need to do now and what's coming up. I am one of those hyper-aware planning types- it all gets thought through and I fully intend that everything is going to work out the way I am expecting it to! Unfortunately, not everyone else I deal with is on the same page as I am, so I often get derailed or detoured, and it is a struggle sometimes to feel like I'm back on track and headed in the "right" direction.
We got home late on a Friday night- well, it was really Saturday morning already- and the van had to be returned later that day after we got all of our personal things out, and then delivered some of the harps to Salt Lake. After a few hours' sleep, we got all that taken care of, basically extending our trip that extra day. I was brain dead on Sunday, but hadn't crashed yet. On top of that, John was off to a wedding in Oregon in three days, and while I was looking forward to some quiet time to recoup, that isn't exactly what happened.
So many things to deal with! Garden, animals, family, church, things that had to be planned or arranged, catching up with all I'd missed...it was crazy. While we were gone, the Czar, our Doberman Pinscher, had eaten something and stopped himself up again. Family at home were in a panic, and we thought he would have to be put down, because he had just had surgery the month before when he swallowed a t shirt, and not only could we not afford another surgery, he hadn't even fully healed yet! Every day of our trip was stress over Czar, getting reports, sending him to a Vet who gave him some medicine we hoped would disintegrate whatever he'd swallowed, praying and hoping that he would at least hang on until we could get back home. Well, he did; a few days before we got back, he'd started drinking again. I suggested some raw eggs, and he loved those. We came home to an emaciated but playful dog, and we've nursed him back to health and his normal into-everything-ness.
I also came home to see that my black cocker spaniel, Princess, had deteriorated. I'd known for awhile that she had cancer, and her body had never been normal, but it was clear to me that she was slowing down. Last week she reached the end of her life, very calmly and I think comfortably until the last moments when she had a seizure and died in my arms. I am so grateful for the quiet comfort of her presence and her love.
This post is supposed to be about the trip to New Orleans, so here we go! We had a heavily loaded cargo van to take from here to pick up more harps in Texas, then on into my adventure of places I'd never been before into New Orleans. After Texas, we stayed in Shreveport LA, where I saw the mighty Mississip for the first time. I was absolutely amazed at how green everything was. And it seemed like all the trees except the pines were flowering! I later found out that the crape myrtle is profusely planted, and they are really beautfiul trees in several colors. The highway was lined with pines and flowering trees, and it was very wet. I was amazed at how little farming was being done in the big stretches behind the trees, and then I found out that most of the land was swampy and too wet for planting. We did pass through large areas of swamp with water under the elevated roadways. I took a lot of pictures and "checked in" on Facebook in all the interesting places we stopped. Got to eat at a Waffle House on the way home; all my southern cousins talk about it, and now I have been to one!
We got to New Orleans the night before the conference, then unloaded the van right on Canal Street the next morning at 6 am. The foot and street traffic was incredible. For the loading after, I discovered that there WAS an area for trucks behind the hotel, and we used that instead. We were in the historic Crowne Plaza Hotel, on Canal and Bourbon streets. It is not a single structure, but rather several old buildings fused to make 14 floors of rooms, with a pool on the top. Our room, fortunately, was in a newer part of the building, very comfortable, although we did not spend much time there! The hotel ballrooms were the location for the conference and exhibits; we had a great time renewing old acquaintances, meeting new people, making contacts and sales. We were treated by the Harp Society to a couple of buffets; the last was a local food spread, and we really enjoyed the Jambalya and other seafood treats! The Conference went through Friday, but the exhibits were only Sunday to Tuesday midnight; we packed up Wednesday morning and headed back out the way we came.
Our harp distributor, who was footing the bill for everything, took us out to eat at a famous Bourbon street restaurant named Galatoines. Jackets were required for gentlemen, and they had a ready selection available for the unprepared. I took photos of the food, of us, the building....an absolute tourist in a genteel setting! It was obvious that the place had regulars, who chatted and visited with the staff, and there was a very intimate feel to the service and ambiance. I had a wonderful time! John and I took a couple of hours on Tuesday afternoon to walk down to the river and into the French Market district, where I got to sit in and eat at Cafe' du Monde- one of my big wishes for when I was there! It was great, even in the rain! BTW, it really does rain every day in N.O.; at least when we were there! Did the same thing four years ago in Tacoma WA for the conference we worked, as well!
Every day was full and hectic. I met harp legends, and heard wonderful stories of the legends my late father in law and my mother in law are. Even our "rivals" across the way were gracious and complimentary. I even sold a harp or two! Realized that if I'm going to be effective in the harp world, I really need to be able to tune a harp, and play a little. So I have new goals for when my shoulder heals and "hopefully" my life settles down enough to devote some time and energy to that.
The driving itself was uneventful; just long hauls of 8 to 12 hours every day to get to the next hotel we were booked into, and up again early to go again. We did stop in Albuquerque New Mexico on the way home to meet my FB friend Billy, who is a photographer and owns a studio downtown. We also visited with one of John's old friends from Air Force days and picked up his daughter's harp to bring home for repairs. Later that day, we got to see my son Tim, who lives in Farmington. Then we drove until we reached home.
It really was a great trip, and I so enjoyed going places and seeing new things! New Orleans had been a wish for me for years, so when I was asked to go I jumped at the chance. It was an exhausting 10 days, but worth it- even with the worry at home and how tired I was. John and I really enjoyed our time together in the van; talking and comparing notes and renewing our bond together. It was not a "vacation", but it was really nice to have the time and experiences to share. I am grateful that we were home before that awful shooting on the street just down from where we had stayed in New Orleans, and that everyone and everything here was in relatively good shape when we got back. My next "big adventure" is going to be doTERRA Convention in Salt Lake City this September; have my ticket, and my room booked, and really looking forward to my annual romp with my oily friends!
Friday, July 18, 2014
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Premature and Totally Unprepared
To be fair, I suppose no one can be "prepared" for a premature baby. In my case, it was 1981; on my birthday, in fact, when I started to have contractions. My General Practice Doctor turned me over to a specialist, who put me on some medication and sent me home to rest. Unfortunately, I did not tolerate it well, becoming nauseous and headachy. After about a week of ups and downs trying to stay home on the drug, I was admitted to the local hospital; the same place I had borne my oldest son 19 months before.
A relatively small hospital, I was on the same floor with women's surgery and maternity. I was placed in a corner room; surgery patients to my left, and the labor rooms to my right. Day and night, I listened to women coming and going-some with great noise- on the labor side. As for me, I was hooked up to an IV, not allowed out of bed for any reason, where I played rollercoaster- they'd turn up the IV, the contractions would stop, I'd get sick, they'd turn it down, I would feel better, and the contractions would start again. My husband and parents would bring my son to see me every few days, and the TV had four channels, so I did not get much in the way of entertainment. No other visitors were allowed. I read books and magazines whenever I felt well enough. Tests showed that my son was doing well, but the big question was whether his lungs were mature enough for life outside the womb. With the first amniocentisis, they were not. Two weeks later, the results were "barely". I held out a few more days, had a serious talk with my Dr, and asked them to pull the IV and see what would happen.
Three hours later, I was in labor again. Personally, I wasn't ever not in labor; they just managed to hold delivery in abeyance for a month! Over the course of the afternoon and evening, I had sporatic contractions- I am pretty sure my poor body was seriously confused at this point. Sometime after midnight they got stronger, and we decided I was really going to have him this time. We let our family know, and in the early morning of February 28, my son entered the world. He shot out so quickly that I watched the Dr. fumble and almost drop him, but he looked healthy and strong, and didn't have any trouble breathing. Six weeks early he was, small- 4 lbs 11 oz- but I was thrilled to have made it and hold a healthy child.
He had to be kept warm. The second day after delivery, the nurses explained that they had to keep him under lights and in an incubator for warmth and jaundice. He had lost precious ounces of weight, so they began to gavage feed him instead of letting me nurse. I was totally unprepared to be sent home the next day without my child; my husband literally dragged me, weeping, out of the hospital. I could not fathom leaving him there. My plan was to return three times a day to pump breast milk so he could be fed. I did, but I was not allowed to nurse him or hold him for very long. I felt like I was abandoning my child, and no one really explained anything to me, or what I might expect. Information came in the moment; as in, "here, you have to go home now", and as I stood outside the nursery I watched them apply the eye pads and put him under the bilirubin lights.
As I have reflected over my experience with the hospital these past 33 years, I have come to realize that the nurses were just doing their job. There weren't any support staff to explain to a young mother what was or could happen, how to prepare, or how to deal with my sense of isolation and fear. Every day when I came to the hospital I had no idea what to expect. I rarely saw the Pediatrician there. We did not have meetings or progress reports, no one but my husband or I was allowed to see or hold our child. Parents and friends didn't even see him until he came home at 2 weeks old. In the grand scheme of things, that's not so long- only half the time I had spent trying to forestall his arrival- but for me, every day was excruciating. Every question I was asked I had to answer, "I don't know", because I didn't, and as far as I knew, no one else did, either.
Today when preemies are born it seems a whole army goes to work. Other mothers I have known with premature infants have had a lot more support, information and inclusion into the treatment and care of their children. There are groups, and home visits, follow up and mostly, information, that simply wasn't available or given to me when my son was born. The day he reached 5 lbs we brought him home. He saw the Pediatrician like any other child. His growth was relatively normal and he had no defects or significant delays; a little smaller and a little slower to develop than other babies his age, but he caught up to all that within the first two years. It's just that I had no idea what to expect; and I did spend time worrying over silly little things like when he walked and talked, and how much he was eating.
Parenthood is such an intense experience. As a mother, I was faced with emotions that I never knew were within me. There were unexpected and unintended consequences to so many things! Little things, big things, some days my world was just a spinning carousel of trying to figure out which way to turn and what I needed to do for myself and my children. Nine months after Alma's birth, we took custody of two half sisters from my husband's first marriage; his daughter and her younger sister. About the same time, I discovered I was pregnant again. That pregnancy involved moves, surgeries for my son, dealing with an integrating family, doubling the children in my home overnight, loss and mourning for the girls and for my boys who had to move away from their maternal grandparents, several job changes, and ultimately, a daughter who we thought was being born two weeks overdue, but who I came to understand was really two weeks early. Not a preemie in the strict sense, but over time it became apparent that she was not fully ready to be born, and she paid the price for an "overdue induction".
I am not bitter about my experiences. It was a different time technologically, and people's expectations and understanding of the world were different. I have had to learn how to ask questions, how to assert myself as the mother of an ill child, what to do when something unexpected happens, and how to listen to and follow my gut. It's all a process. I am grateful that mothers today are afforded the help of so many people, that they don't have to wander alone in fear and trepidation along the path of motherhood. Doctors are, by and large, much more aware of the need for parents to be informed and have a say. Hospitals are set up to include the family and make the scary days less scary. Preemie is not the terrifying word it used to be; still not comfortable, expected or desirable, but much more manageable and the outcomes are better. All in all, that's a good thing.
A relatively small hospital, I was on the same floor with women's surgery and maternity. I was placed in a corner room; surgery patients to my left, and the labor rooms to my right. Day and night, I listened to women coming and going-some with great noise- on the labor side. As for me, I was hooked up to an IV, not allowed out of bed for any reason, where I played rollercoaster- they'd turn up the IV, the contractions would stop, I'd get sick, they'd turn it down, I would feel better, and the contractions would start again. My husband and parents would bring my son to see me every few days, and the TV had four channels, so I did not get much in the way of entertainment. No other visitors were allowed. I read books and magazines whenever I felt well enough. Tests showed that my son was doing well, but the big question was whether his lungs were mature enough for life outside the womb. With the first amniocentisis, they were not. Two weeks later, the results were "barely". I held out a few more days, had a serious talk with my Dr, and asked them to pull the IV and see what would happen.
Three hours later, I was in labor again. Personally, I wasn't ever not in labor; they just managed to hold delivery in abeyance for a month! Over the course of the afternoon and evening, I had sporatic contractions- I am pretty sure my poor body was seriously confused at this point. Sometime after midnight they got stronger, and we decided I was really going to have him this time. We let our family know, and in the early morning of February 28, my son entered the world. He shot out so quickly that I watched the Dr. fumble and almost drop him, but he looked healthy and strong, and didn't have any trouble breathing. Six weeks early he was, small- 4 lbs 11 oz- but I was thrilled to have made it and hold a healthy child.
He had to be kept warm. The second day after delivery, the nurses explained that they had to keep him under lights and in an incubator for warmth and jaundice. He had lost precious ounces of weight, so they began to gavage feed him instead of letting me nurse. I was totally unprepared to be sent home the next day without my child; my husband literally dragged me, weeping, out of the hospital. I could not fathom leaving him there. My plan was to return three times a day to pump breast milk so he could be fed. I did, but I was not allowed to nurse him or hold him for very long. I felt like I was abandoning my child, and no one really explained anything to me, or what I might expect. Information came in the moment; as in, "here, you have to go home now", and as I stood outside the nursery I watched them apply the eye pads and put him under the bilirubin lights.
As I have reflected over my experience with the hospital these past 33 years, I have come to realize that the nurses were just doing their job. There weren't any support staff to explain to a young mother what was or could happen, how to prepare, or how to deal with my sense of isolation and fear. Every day when I came to the hospital I had no idea what to expect. I rarely saw the Pediatrician there. We did not have meetings or progress reports, no one but my husband or I was allowed to see or hold our child. Parents and friends didn't even see him until he came home at 2 weeks old. In the grand scheme of things, that's not so long- only half the time I had spent trying to forestall his arrival- but for me, every day was excruciating. Every question I was asked I had to answer, "I don't know", because I didn't, and as far as I knew, no one else did, either.
Today when preemies are born it seems a whole army goes to work. Other mothers I have known with premature infants have had a lot more support, information and inclusion into the treatment and care of their children. There are groups, and home visits, follow up and mostly, information, that simply wasn't available or given to me when my son was born. The day he reached 5 lbs we brought him home. He saw the Pediatrician like any other child. His growth was relatively normal and he had no defects or significant delays; a little smaller and a little slower to develop than other babies his age, but he caught up to all that within the first two years. It's just that I had no idea what to expect; and I did spend time worrying over silly little things like when he walked and talked, and how much he was eating.
Parenthood is such an intense experience. As a mother, I was faced with emotions that I never knew were within me. There were unexpected and unintended consequences to so many things! Little things, big things, some days my world was just a spinning carousel of trying to figure out which way to turn and what I needed to do for myself and my children. Nine months after Alma's birth, we took custody of two half sisters from my husband's first marriage; his daughter and her younger sister. About the same time, I discovered I was pregnant again. That pregnancy involved moves, surgeries for my son, dealing with an integrating family, doubling the children in my home overnight, loss and mourning for the girls and for my boys who had to move away from their maternal grandparents, several job changes, and ultimately, a daughter who we thought was being born two weeks overdue, but who I came to understand was really two weeks early. Not a preemie in the strict sense, but over time it became apparent that she was not fully ready to be born, and she paid the price for an "overdue induction".
I am not bitter about my experiences. It was a different time technologically, and people's expectations and understanding of the world were different. I have had to learn how to ask questions, how to assert myself as the mother of an ill child, what to do when something unexpected happens, and how to listen to and follow my gut. It's all a process. I am grateful that mothers today are afforded the help of so many people, that they don't have to wander alone in fear and trepidation along the path of motherhood. Doctors are, by and large, much more aware of the need for parents to be informed and have a say. Hospitals are set up to include the family and make the scary days less scary. Preemie is not the terrifying word it used to be; still not comfortable, expected or desirable, but much more manageable and the outcomes are better. All in all, that's a good thing.
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