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Kissed by a Sunflower I am GOING to be a Ballerina Disneyland Surprises When our daughters were 2 ½ and 6 ½, my husband and I , along with my parents and sisters, went to Disneyland to celebrate my mom's birthday. Some people decide to wait to the day of the trip to surprise their kids and some people tell them a few days before - we went the opposite and told them six months early. We liked the idea of a monthly countdown. We involved the oldest girl in some packing and shopping, and of planning the party we were going to have for their ‘Amma’ (Gramma). All our friends and relatives contributed to their excitement with little gifts and some spending money. The big day finally arrived!! We were all very excited. I think looking back I was probably the most excited!! I was also the most nervous as I am not a very good flier. It was easy to disguise my fears as excitement in front of the girls. They each had a carry-on suitcase. One was Winnie the Pooh and the other was Monsters Inc. They looked so cute and proud wandering around the airport! When my sisters and I were little we went on many trips and my parents always made it fun for us. We always had little surprises at various "milestones" on our trips. It was very easy for me to continue that tradition with my girls. My husband and I bought them their own disposable cameras. That was their first surprise in the airport. Next was a surprise from Amma and Poppa as we were about to board the plane. It was a travel coloring book and some crayons! We had surprises for them during a lay-over right up to an autograph book at the entrance to Disneyland. Their suitcases had all the things they would need: toys, water bottles, snacks, wallets and sunglasses just to name a few things. Going through customs was a breeze. My best friend Lisa said it was because they looked so adorable rolling their own suitcases through the line! She was speaking from experience as her two boys looked just as cute two years before, wandering the airport with their own suitcases. Our travels went very smoothly - the kids were not bored therefore they were not restless and agitated. We are all looking forward to our next trip and its surprises.
A Birth Story I loved being pregnant. It was the first time that I felt comfortable in my Rubanesque curves during a time when the ideal woman’s body was thin and sinewy with pumped up muscles. I have to admit to feeling incredibly sexy because I knew that I emanated “woman”: ripe, curvy, and voluptuous. I had two favourite outfits when I was pregnant; a long, close-fitting black dress and a close-fitting black shirt with my crushed velvet black palazzo pants. I wore both of these outfits with a very bright fuscia “hunting” vest. When I wore this, I felt sexier than Cindy Crawford in the Swimsuit Issue. I liked to wear that vest open so the world could see my pregnant belly. I could also indulge myself in watching my belly move as my baby inside danced in the comfortable and safe, pink tinted amniotic world of my womb. I read everything I could about pregnancy and birth, as most mothers-to-be do. I found that our friends and families were as fascinated by this pregnancy as we were and I loved the positive attention. Our friend Carolyn used to come over and oogle me in my pregnant state. She would ask me millions of questions and I loved to answer. Once I took her to Wednesday birthing classes with me and the baby started to dance wildly, I let Carolyn touch my belly and she got tears in her eyes. I loved being pregnant. I was advised to avoid pregnancy because I was considered high risk because of a medical history that included pulmonary embolism and deep vein thrombosis. When I found out that I was indeed pregnant, my doctor offered me an abortion. How dare she! I couldn’t believe that someone would try to take away my lifelong dream of pregnancy and birth! In order for me to safely maintain my pregnant state, I had to inject Heparin into my swollen belly two times a day as a precautionary measure. I hated this ritual because as my belly swelled, the needles left ugly purple and green bruises and it became difficult to pinch and pierce the tender flesh. On the outside, my belly was a discoloured mess, but inside was my wondrous little baby. I was not going to be able to carry the baby to term because of the high risk consideration. They wanted to induce labour before the weight of the baby created any problems with my circulation. I was disappointed, because I really wanted to go full term and watch my belly grow to titanic proportions. As my due date came closer, that baby became a pressure and weight that felt like a bowling ball descending between my legs. I also had the sensation that my cervix was softening and stretching. My time was coming. I entered the hospital on the designated day, bright, early and eager for a great adventure. My doctor applied a progesterone gel to my cervix with the hopes that this would induce labour. All day I walked the halls and waited; my husband was with me to keep me company and rub my back. We walked and waited for hours and … nothing. My doctor left and another obstetrician came in right after supper (which I wasn’t allowed to eat - how can a woman labour on an empty stomach?) and she suggested breaking my waters. I lay on the bed and she inserted something like a crochet needle into my vagina and broke the amniotic sack. The warm amniotic fluid gushed out all over my thighs. Contrary to how this may sound, it was not painful, or humiliating. I had read about the process and spoke with my doctor about it and I was comfortable with it. A person only fears the unknown, right? Besides, I was bored with the endless pacing and it was time for some action. I was dying to meet my baby. Initially, the labouring wasn’t so bad. I was still pacing the hallway with my husband and a stupid IV pole. My baby had the hiccups all night long inside my womb. It was such an unusual sensation because the hiccups were powerful enough to jiggle my belly up and down for hours. But now, as I sat in the rocker labouring, I longed for sleep. The contractions were not unbearable. They were definitely painful, but they didn’t make me sweat. The doctors could see how tired I was and they offered me Demerol. I really didn’t want to take it because I don’t like the “out of control” feeling that drugs induce. I also didn’t want to hurt my baby. Only seconds later, I gladly succumbed to the pure bliss offered to me by the dope. By now, the searing contractions were more powerful and frequent. I was now begging for more magic potion. I was totally hooked. Once you start, it’s so hard to stop. This time, they wanted to add a syntocynin drip to make this labour more productive. I argued weakly. I had read about how the syntocinin can create contractions that jackhammer the baby out before the rest of the birth canal is ready. A woman can end up eviscerated from contractions like these. I DID NOT want that to happen to me. But lovely, beautiful Demoral weakens the resolve and I reluctantly agreed to the syntocynin drip. A nurse with curly brown hair came and put a mask on my face and then I remembered where I was. She gently told me that “it was time” and they helped me to assume the birthing position. The head of the bed was raised to a semi-sitting position and I was told to hold my legs up, and I tried desperately, but I could barely hold my arms up, because I was too stoned. I hated it now. And where were my glasses? I couldn’t see anything and I felt disoriented. The doctor tried to command the action, and let me emphasize “tried”. A birth is not something that you can control, no matter how many letters you have behind your name. He yelled “Push!” and was visibly annoyed when I wasn’t responding with a mighty push with the force of a rocket launcher. It wasn’t my rebellious streak and nor was I rendered incapable by my last fix. My uterus was the one not complying. A uterus is not something you can control. It is magnificently efficient when required in action, she is a powerful machine capable of inflicting incredible pleasure and pain. When the contraction did come a minute later, my whole body was violently pulled into this unearthly grunting force capable of emitting human life. I remember feeling the weight of the baby leave my body as she entered the world; there was an uncomfortable burning and tight sensation as her head finally pushed through the last stretch of the birth canal. During the next contraction, her shoulders and the rest of her body came out. I had an incredible feeling of relief and fatigue. My baby girl was finally born. They held her up to me so I could see her. She was so wrinkly and tiny and red, with big greyish eyes that she used to look directly at me. I couldn’t even speak; I just looked at her and cried because I was in complete awe. I had actually never felt so happy. I am glad I couldn’t speak because that was a very special moment for just Isabella and I. I think that if I did speak, I would have broken our secret moment where we said more to each other with our eyes we ever could have said to one another with words. I was so happy and I was so in love. I’m still in love. And sometimes when I look at her I can’t speak because the love I have for her brings a lump to my throat that even words of adoration can’t break. But she knows as soon as she looks at my eyes.
An Expectant Mother’s Pregnancy Loss Expectant mothers know the feeling that they get when their tummy begins to grow and rumble, when they rejoice in the future plans and dreams of a coming child, when they hear the first heartbeat come from within. When I was pregnant with my second child I eagerly awaited that first sound... my baby’s first noise... our proof of life - the fetal heartbeat on the doppler. The knowing for sure feeling that there really is something, someone, some sweet, precious little baby in my womb, slowly growing in and swelling up my belly. Most newly pregnant parents are warned of the threat of a miscarriage which is greater in the first 20 weeks of pregnancy. With our first child, my husband Andrew and I were relieved when we got past the first three months without any complications and we went on to have a healthy pregnancy and delivery. So naturally, we expected a smooth and easy ride as we made our second attempt at parenthood. On my first visit to see the midwife at 12 weeks I knew I was pregnant, but I hadn’t felt it as strongly as I had in past weeks. I just thought that my attempts at controlling the morning sickness with gingerale was actually working. Other normal symptoms of pregnancy were not as noticeable either. When I mentioned this to Terri Murray, our midwife, she suggested a doppler reading. Instant surprise and hopefulness lifted my spirits. Would I really be able to hear my baby’s heartbeat? I didn’t think that was until the next appointment. We talked about the possibilities of a miscarriage. Terri said it could sometimes take up to two or three weeks for a miscarriage to begin after the fetus has died. We agreed that we would meet back in two weeks to try the doppler test again. As the days grew closer my senses were so very keen - in connection with my body perfectly - as I yearned for the feeling, and hoped that my baby was alive and well. As the time passed I counted each day in my head, only a couple more days now until I can see Terri and we can try again. My hopes began to fade on a late April evening. I felt a jolt and a cramp that didn’t feel right and when I went into the washroom I realized exactly what was happening. I was having a miscarriage. As with my first labour it came fast and furious and I even felt the sensation of breaking waters. It was all over in three hours and the unfortunate end result was that my baby, my 14-week-old fetus had come into our world too soon. While our fetus had passed, the miscarriage was not complete. There was further bleeding to be expected. In the following days I felt physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. I knew what had happened but probably was still in a lot of disbelief. My husband and I didn’t know if it was our Richard or our Melissa that we had lost, but either way, son or daughter, a welcome life in our home and hearts that we missed and grieved for. I was booked for an ultrasound and then a counselling appointment with midwife Maggie Ramsey, to discuss the ultrasound results and any other emotional or physical questions or comments that either my husband or I had. I didn’t think I would have anything to say, but I did... feelings and emotions poured out as Maggie listened intently and offered valuable suggestions, comforting words and smart advice. Andrew also was comforted by her words of wisdom and caring demeanor. We experienced the natural feelings of loneliness and loss, even with the kind and loving words of our friends and family. We also had the precious task to try to explain to our toddler that the baby in mommy’s tummy was no longer there anymore. Maggie reminded us to use age appropriate language and to try to end the discussion on a positive and happy note. In my efforts to maintain a positive, healthy attitude, I search for the silver lining in all situations and in this one I have found more than one for which I am grateful: Children are the greatest gifts we can receive and we should remember this, by showing our love for our kids each and every day, in every way. This experience has certainly taught me to take a lot less things in life for granted and to rejoice in the every day trials, tribulations and joys of child rearing. We are very grateful in knowing that counselling services and valuable resources are available to help us deal with the unknown fears and confusing thoughts we may be experiencing during this difficult time. My husband and I both hope that those who may be going through a miscarriage will find the help and resources available to make a sad and unfortunate situation a lot easier to bear. We’d like to thank our family and friends for their support and the registered midwives Terri Murray and Maggie Ramsey and staff, at the SSI midwifery clinic for all their wonderful care, support and compassion. We hope we will be in their care again one day soon. They can be reached at 537-2243 or by email at: midwiferycare@ssisland.com.
Raising Kids on Saltspring After a recent trip to the “Big City” of Vancouver, I was once again feeling a wave of thankfulness for our Island home. The bright lights and action that I thrived on as a youth have now metamorphasised into traffic and stressful, threatening crowds and line-ups. You see, I am now a mother of three young children. The cool sports car has been traded in for the minivan. Endless summers in Tofino were traded in for endless and sleepless nights. My formerly great paying job is now barely adequate and sometimes I wonder if I will ever make it to work at all, juggling children’s busy schedules and childcare. If this sounds familiar then you must know the feeling that you wouldn’t trade back for anything in the whole world. These little children become the center of your universe and you just want to keep them happy and safe. My trip to the city reinforced to me my belief that we chose the right place to raise our children. We know our neighbors and our children know our neighbors. They also know the post office lady, the firemen, the man who runs the corner store and countless other people who honour the privilege and responsibility as a society for these children and so many other Island and small town kids. I trust my village to help raise my children into responsible citizens of the world. We on Saltspring are blessed by a community of unique, active, creative, political people who don’t feel limited by their geography but rise above the limits and find creative solutions to ensure great opportunities for our children. Our geographical challenges bring us closer as a community and promote a self sufficient interdependency. We all help each other to achieve what we need. Our family started in the west coast town of Tofino on a 50 foot sailboat. I found the weather and remoteness of that area isolating, yet intoxicatingly beautiful. A six-month stay in Victoria living aboard the sailboat was a nice way to get to know a small city. On a camping trip to Saltspring Island, this author was hired on at a local Inn. The owner said, “...try it out, Saltspring’s not for everyone.” He was right. The locals who call this place home are a resourceful bunch ready to pull together for the common good. People who dare to try and who support each other in these efforts. People who feel safe to live in the lifestyle they choose for themselves. Things here are not handed out to you. Some people carve what they need out of the land. The land here is generous if you are willing to work hard. Some people run the many businesses serving the public and filling the many important roles in the community. The community is generous if you work hard. Some people work the oceans (these people still work hard even though the ocean isn’t so generous anymore). The major industry has perhaps shifted from logging to lattes in the last one hundred years but the folks who run our hospitality industry on Saltspring work hard at showing visitors our best parts, from local products to our neighborly nature. The common denominator is that most people here have to work pretty hard to meet their needs on an Island with limited resources. This is a value that I am committed to instilling in my children. All these hard working folks who are also raising families, set a fine example that I would be proud for my children to follow. They find time to organize sports leagues, country fairs, weekend festivals, musical, artistic and cultural events. It is reality here that if people want something to happen, they can make it happen ~ if they work hard. This is the dream I want my children to know. In some sense there is an innocence and a unconditional caring about each other because we depend on one another so immensely on this semi remote Island.
Double Trouble ~ 2 for the Price of 1 ~ Double The Fun As a mother of twins, I’ve heard it all and I still get a kick out of it, as each slogan has its own truth (yes, even the “Double Trouble” some days!). I think one of the greatest gifts of my life is the chance to enjoy the uniqueness of having twins. My twins are three-year old monozygotic ( AKA “Identical”) boys. Energetic, chaotic, joyful, loving little boys that have successfully helped me to erase most of my memory from June 2003 until June 2004. It was all a blur. Feeding every three hours, then changing diapers, then pumping to prepare for the next feeding, then a little rocking back to sleep, then another change - probably clothes and diapers again, then it seemed the three hours were up and we were back to step one. Repeat, and before we knew it, they were one! Thank heaven for my superhero husband; he seemed to be the one who kept it together for us. He not only got up every night with me to prepare and feed, he took three months parental leave to help me get through. One of the first lessons I learned in parenting twins was to take the help that is offered. I always found it hard to accept help, I had the ‘I can do it alone’ attitude. Now I know better and if someone offers to help, even if it is to change a diaper or get me a cold drink while I am nursing, I take it! As a mother of twins, you quickly come to realize that you have to do what you can to make life run smooth. I find that things still can quickly get off course if I am not super organized. Parenting young children can be difficult with any number of kids but two the exact same age makes it double the challenge. They tend to have the same needs, same attitude, same level of patience and comprehension - or (sometimes) lack thereof - all needing to be addressed at the same time. It really is different from raising a “singleton”, I know from my experience with my singleton daughters Johana 5 and Abby-Lynn 4 months. I cannot pinpoint what makes it so different other that the fact that there are two and the workload seems to be more than double. A few hints to make the first year manageable. Situate baby changing stations throughout the house, complete with changing pads, diapers and all the other odds and sods required. This will dramatically cut down on the hassle of moving, monitoring and keeping them in one room simultaneously. Invest in a double-stroller., however we are now on our fifth one - don’t even get me started. One main point to consider is, will it fit in your vehicle? You would be surprised at how many don’t. The best piece of advice I could give to a new mother of twins ( or more!) is to just take all the unsolicited advice with a grain of salt. It is all well meant but at the end of the day, all our children are individuals, even siblings whose age gap is mere minutes apart. Sometimes it works, sometimes it just doesn’t. All in all, the payoff for all this hard work is enormous. As a family with twins, you are part of a special group of people. There are still many days that my husband and I wonder at the blessing of having these boys. It really isn’t as hard as one might think. Your heart just expands that much more, your abilities to multi-task take over and you “adapt and overcome.” Of all those slogans, the best of all truly is “Doubly Blessed”, that is what I am and more. I thank the heavens for that everyday. Gifts From the Heart
A few years ago, I was sitting at the side of our community hall, waiting to take my Grade One students on stage. I was hoping to see the father of a little boy in my class - he had cancer, but very much wanted to attend. As I looked out at the audience, I spotted an attractive young mother sitting in the front row. She was absolutely radiant and had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. I asked the teacher sitting next to me who she was and learned that she was new to our school and had been fighting cancer. As I watched her gaze up at her five-year-old son while his kindergarten class stole the show, I realized why tonight was so special. After months of chemo and radiation and surgery, she was so very glad to be here. I looked around at all the parents and grandparents in the gym, and wondered how many people were facing the possibility of not being there to watch next year’s performance? I knew that I needed to do something to help more families spend the holidays with the family and friends they love most. That very evening, I decided to write a book to raise funds for cancer research. And because the whole project was inspired by our concert, I decided to make Christmas the focus of my book. I’d seen cookbooks that raised funds for charities. What about a book that was a “recipe” for a more meaningful holiday? Over the next few months, I read hundreds of Christmas books. My research convinced me there was a need for a book that encourages readers to connect with family and friends. One that helps families develop simple traditions and special memories to warm their hearts in the years ahead. As an adult whose own heart has been informed by loss, I knew that the holidays can be an extraordinarily lonely time for many people. Some are coping with sickness. Others are trying to hold it together after a divorce. Rather than spending so much time in the malls hunting for the “perfect gift,” couldn’t we embrace Christmas as an opportunity to help others? As a teacher who believes that educating children’s hearts is as important as educating their minds, I wanted to include simple ways to encourage children to develop their natural empathy and generosity. For many people, Christmas has become an obligation rather than a celebration. Because we lead such busy lives and never seem to have enough time, it is important for us to use the time we do have well. I’m glad to have written a book filled with simple suggestions that help us create a better holiday - a book filled with simple traditions, service projects, crafts and recipes, and most of all, love. To date, sales of Gifts from the Heart have raised $98,500 for the Canadian Cancer Society for research and another $138,000 for the groups who have used it as a fundraiser. Adventures of the Heart
That was the first thing I remember saying as I looked down at my newly born son - holding him close in my arms. I was exhausted. I was 43 years old. This was the first baby I had carried to term. I had waited for this moment for over 20 years. It had to be perfect. “Yes, they do.” came the whispered response. I found a glimmer of momentary comfort in the lie. Too quickly, a nurse lifted my tiny son from my arms and laid him on a table on the far side of the room. I was aware of the muffled, precise sounds of the doctor’s examination. Then he left. I could not reach my baby. An unknown reality was filling up the space between us and he felt so very far away. I wanted desperately to hold him...to stop time…to stop truth. The doctor returned. The words “Down Syndrome” were barely able to find me. Denial offered no comfort and I could not protect myself from the fear I felt. The doctor placed my son back in my arms and moved away. I ached to feel joy…celebration…love. But I was too numb and too overwhelmed by the power that my feelings held. It was then - in what seemed like an eternity but perhaps only moments later - that I felt my son utter to me as plain as plain...“trust me”. His voice reached me through my fatigue, confusion and tears and I found the courage to really look at him for the first time. I was not prepared. He took my breath away. He looked like a tiny Tibetan monk, deep in meditation and the depth of his quiet was medicine for my reeling mind. Bewilderment and wonder reached out with my hand to stroke his face. I took a very deep breath. This would be no ordinary life. It would be an unbidden adventure, and Taiga, my beloved son, would be my guide. Needless-to-say, that first year was a time of intense education, soul searching and adjustment. There were heart problems to rule out...the hearing loss reality…ear surgeries…meetings with developmental specialists…concerns about autism. Meanwhile, Taiga was thriving - and I was learning to live with the strange paradox of apparently opposite emotions existing simultaneously within me. My heart could break and be elevated in the same moment. And as afraid as I sometimes could be, I experienced a rarified contentment in the presence of my son. My greatest source of anxiety and challenge was becoming my greatest source of strength…and joy. That was nine years ago. An adventure it continues to be. I came to realize early on in Tai’s life that there is something beautifully liberating about letting go of expectations. Everything he does, every personal accomplishment, no matter how commonplace by more regular standards, is cause for celebration. Unbelievably simple moments become miracles. And there have been many. For me, Taiga challenges the very notion of “disability”. While at nine he does not speak, feed or dress himself or use a toilet and is considered autistic and extremely developmentally delayed, he possesses qualities and characteristics that humble and inspire me. I aspire to Taiga’s level of contentment, gentleness, simplicity and what I witness as immense empathy and compassion. His connection to the moment and his capacity for unabashed joy break through my disillusionment time after time. He invites everyone who encounters him into the adventure of exploring outside the boundries and mental boxes of what they think they know to be true. Life with Taiga, especially as a single mum, is an adventure to be sure – full of challenge, and poignancy. It is also filled with a powerful love, unfathomable grace and is extraordinary beyond measure. Regrets? Absolutely! I wish I had been braver, and given Taiga the welcome he so richly deserved on the night he was born. |
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