On Wishes and Invocations

I took the kids to the library this morning, which consists of Quinn playing and looking at Brownie and Pearl books, Kieran rolling around on the floor, and me picking out books to bring home. As we’re walking out the door after having checked our books out, Quinny spotted a Scooby Doo book and so we went through the check out line again. Right next to Scooby Doo was a beautiful book caught my eye, so I tacked that one on as well. I’m sharing it because it was so beautiful. It reads like a poem. The illustrations are wonderful, though, so I encourage you to get your eyes on it. In fact, there are a few pages which consist only of illustrations. It’s about a snowfall in the night.

Before Morning by Joyce Sidman

“In the deep woolen dark,
As we slumber unknowing,
Let the sky fill with flurry and flight.
Let the air turn to feathers,
The Earth turn to sugar,
And all that is heavy turn light.
Let quick things be swaddled,
Let urgent plans flounder,
Let pathways be hidden from sight.
Please- just this once-
Change the world before morning:
Make it slow,
And delightful...
And white.”

“On Wishes and Invocations
How powerful are words? Can they make things happen? Stop them from happening? Can they protect us? Comfort us? Enchant us? This book is written in the form of an invocation- a poem that invites something to happen, often asking for help or support. Humans have been using invocations for thousands of years, to soothe the body and strengthen the soul. Do they work? Maybe. Maybe speaking something out loud is the first step in making it happen.

What is it you wish for? Find the best words for that wish and speak them aloud. Maybe in the deep woolen dark, snowflakes will begin to fall...”

melaNOma

I’m watching La-La Land right now and it’s the part when John Legend comes on screen and runs into Ryan Gosling at the jazz bar. I’m reminded of several hours ago when I was getting “numbed up” and waiting for the doctor to come in and perform a skin excision on the back of my leg. The doctor’s assistant decided the music in the office sucked, brought her iPhone into the room and put on the John Legend Pandora station. She was the second best part of my experience in that office. The first best part? Getting rid of those bad cells in my skin. The third best part might have been the John Legend Pandora station.  

A couple of months ago, we were in the middle of packing up our house to move. My in-laws were over helping out with the kids so Ian and I could get stuff done, as packing up a house in two weeks with two kids is pretty impossible. We were all taking a break, hanging out on the back deck. I had my left leg propped up behind me on something when my father-in-law said to me, “Have you ever had that looked at?” He pointed to a mole right below my calf. I told him it was looked at two years ago and the dermatologist wasn’t worried. Hmmm…but had it changed in that time? I got thinking. 

It started feeling itchy and looking blue to me, which was probably in my head since I was paying such close attention to it. Regardless, I had to have it looked at. It had been two years since I’d had a total body skin check and skin cancer runs in my family. Time to take care of myself. Time to pay attention. 

I had the mole looked at three days later and left the office convinced it was no good. The doctor said it was concerning and needed to come off immediately. Then he asked me how I was feeling and if I had been losing weight unintentionally! That was alarming. 

Results came back in less than two weeks (the window of time they give you for getting a pathology report, which feels like forevvvvverrrr). It was not cancer, but the cells were moderately atypical. They also didn’t get clear margins and wanted to take more out. Atypia can be mild, moderate, or severe. Sometimes atypical cells turn into cancer, sometimes they don’t. I didn’t want to risk it, so agreed that more should be taken out. Another thing I learned was that the most important thing you should be looking at in a mole is “evolution.” Not asymmetry, borders, color, diameter. Watch to see if and how they change over time. 

So, today I had the excision (15 sutures…doc doesn’t mess around!) and since my mole was initially biopsied, Ian and Quinn have also had full body checks. My doctor told me that he was happily surprised that my results were only “moderate atypia.” He honestly thought we were dealing with melanoma, which is the deadliest form of skin cancer. It can spread to lymph nodes and major organs so quickly. 

I hope this story serves as a kick in the ass for some people like my father-in-law’s comment was for me. We need these out of the blue reminders that come from strange places sometimes. Don’t question the who/what/where/when/why of these reminders. Be thankful for them. Act on them. 

Just Another Birth Story

I am sitting on my couch watching a live camera feed of my premature newborn in the neonatal intensive care unit at South Shore Hospital. His eyes are covered up with a mask (getting some light therapy), he’s got a feeding tube sticking out of his nose, and there are a bunch of sticky monitor things all over him in the shape of hearts. The IV is gone and he’s off the CPAP machine as well as oxygen. He is crying and wriggling around. He’s hungry, I can tell through the computer. A pair of hands enters my screen. The nurse has beautiful nails, I must say! His pacifier is popped into his mouth, which he accepts temporarily. “But, he’s hungry,” I think to myself… 

Kieran was born on Thursday night, the fourth of May 2017, in dramatic fashion. It was an uneventful and easy Thursday, much like the entire pregnancy was with him. We had gone to the doctor that morning and brought my daughter Quinn so she could meet the doctor and hear her brother’s heartbeat. It was fun! Everything checked out great. Onwards and upwards. Later in the afternoon, Quinn and I met up with a friend of mine for ice cream. We were chatting and hanging out on the picnic blanket when I felt a gush. My water broke! That didn’t happened to me with Quinn—she was eleven days late after an induction that went nowhere and a resulting c-section. I kept thinking that this second pregnancy would sort of go the same way. Not so much…

Another gush…”I really think my water just broke,” I tell my friend, who offers to drive me to my doctor or hospital or wherever I need to go. I was pretty surprised at what happened, but didn’t feel the need to get anywhere quickly. No contractions, just fluid. We could take our time. Another gush. This time, I touched the back of my pants to check it out. Bright red, fresh blood coated my hand. No pain. No discomfort. Just blood…a lot of it. I called 9-1-1 as my friend popped Quinn in the car and got in touch with my husband. Dawn, I’m grateful for you and your quick thinking and caring for Q. More gushes, every 15-20 seconds. I stayed on the phone with the dispatcher and was whisked away immediately after the ambulance got there. Yes, I did get to finish my ice cream! My nurses asked me that all weekend.

We zipped up route eighteen and were only ten minutes from the hospital, which thankfully was where I was scheduled to deliver. The guys in the ambulance were such loves. They assured me they had delivered babies before and they were the best company ever on the way to the hospital. I can’t remember their names, but they were first responders from Whitman. They gave me a phone so I could call my husband, Ian, who was already on his way, but imagining the worst in his mind—that I was bleeding out or something. I had those thoughts, too. What if I don’t make it? I never even said goodbye to Quinn before leaving in the ambulance. 

At the hospital, I was in triage for a bit. They checked me out and monitored the baby, who was fine somehow, even though my bed looked like a scene from a horror movie. A bunch of needles went in and out of me, they checked me down under, and the doctor explained that I needed an emergency c-section. They diagnosed me as having had a placental abruption, which is when the placenta peels away from the uterine wall. The placenta is the lifeline from mom to baby, delivering all nutrients and oxygen to the little one. Mine was disconnecting from me, like a life raft with someone on it cutting loose from a rescue boat. Abruptions are rare and could be life threatening to mom and baby. I had never even heard of it and I didn’t really have time to think about what it was in the moment. 

Kieran was born within 2 hours of that ice cream cone. The placenta had detached a third of itself from me and it happened in minutes right before I started bleeding, the doctors think. “You saved his life by calling 9-1-1,” they said.    

So, now I’m home and he’s crying on the web cam and there is nothing I can do about it. For a few minutes, I thought about all of the articles on attachment, all the information on skin to skin contact and early bonding, everything about breastfeeding etc. I can count the number of times I’ve held my son on two hands and he’s been at the breast only once in four days. 

Stop. Just stop. You “saved his life.”

He’s here, even if not yet in your arms. He’s going to be fine. He simply needs time to coordinate breathing and eating, like a lot of preemies do. He is getting the best possible care he can get right now. So, stop. Let it happen. Save up the kisses and hugs and snuggles. You saved his life. 

Child Porn, Facebook Groups, and Personal Responsibility on Social Media

A few months before Quinn was born, I joined a Facebook group called “July 2014 Babies.” It’s a group of parents from all around the world who have children born in July 2014. It’s been one of my favorite things about Facebook. It’s a wonderful resource. You can get a lot of different perspectives from different cultures, which is awesome when you get caught up in your own culture’s prescriptions for parenting. This has been refreshing to me as I go through developmental stages for the first time with Q. You’d think there to be a lot of clashing in the discourse, but I’m always amazed at how respectful and nonjudgmental everyone is. An added bonus? If you have a question or need support in the middle of the night, there’s usually someone in a completely opposite time zone ready for you on the other end.

A few weeks ago, there was an incident in the group. A member posted about the FBI coming to her house in the middle of the night and taking her husband away for activities related to child pornography. It was serious. Her husband’s activity was unbeknownst to her and for all she knew when she went to bed that night, everything in her life and marriage was going just fine until the FBI came. She was devastated and looking for support. There were lots of responses to her post ranging from anger to fear to support/empathy to a mixed bag of these feelings. A handful of members were worried about their own children’s safety (if the husband had access to her FB account, and thus, pics of group member’s kids). Long story short, this member was kicked out of the group initially. This created backlash because a bunch of people felt that the girl really needed support from the group during this time. Ultimately, the admins for the group had a vote and she was let back in. 

I read a bunch of comments and back and forth arguing before I voted on this issue. If you’re curious, I voted to keep her in the group and that if people were worried, they could block her. Though all member’s feelings were valid, everyone was so focused on getting more info (what age kids was he looking at?!), how she should handle her situation (get a divorce!), and how the group admins should handle this with members. There was something completely missing from the conversation. Personal responsibility for online behavior. 

A situation like this should prompt us all to think about how we use social media outlets like Facebook. We are all responsible for what we post of and about ourselves and our families on social media. We have the freedom to post whatever we want, but we have to assume that anything we post, or link to, “check in” to, or comment on, can be seen by anyone anywhere. Anyone. Anywhere. Kim Kardashian is convinced that her Instagram posts led robbers to her Paris hotel that night. She’s probably right. 

Facebook itself is using our data, photos, posts in ways we can’t imagine. Even posts we eventually delete from our walls or ones we start typing, delete, and never post! It is not secure and never will be, despite your “privacy settings.” A bunch of people know this and don’t really care. I sort of fall into this camp. I try not to be inflammatory other than a political debate here or there (how can you not these days?). I am aware that Facebook is selling my info to other companies and the government. I am aware that someone might see one of my pictures and do something weird with it. So, I’m selective about what I say, post, “like,” comment on, etc. 

There are lots of great aspects of social media. You can keep in touch with others, from near and far and from all corners of your life. It’s a platform for making your voice heard. It’s a place to get support and information. I’ve seen it as a powerful way to grieve and to keep a person who has passed away alive and connected to us. It can be a place where a person with special needs feels “normal.” But for everything positive about it, there’s something negative. It can create competition. It can be a place to bully or be bullied. It can lead to depression and anxiety. Your information is easily seen and “hackable.” What you post can be seen by anyone from anywhere. Once you post something, it’s permanent. Know yourself, get informed, and make healthy social media choices. 

Less Is More

The other weekend I was in a mood. An irritated state. I chalked it up to pregnancy hormones, because I couldn’t figure out why I was feeling so prickly. It was a Sunday afternoon and Quinn was napping and Ian had holed up in his office after I snapped at him about balling up the dish towel and leaving it on the counter (it NEVER dries like that…you really have to go the extra step and hang it back on the oven handle!). Not knowing what else to do with myself, I decided to pick up toys and clean some of the house—get my blood flowing, do something productive. Ya know? 

Well, cleaning up was THE ANSWER. I felt so much better after. It was so simple. Sometimes you just have to take charge and pick shit up and get things out of your way (literally and figuratively). I had let the toys pile up for a little too long. I used to clean them up every night. I couldn’t sit on the couch watching Shameless surrounded by Disney On Ice princesses, fake iPhones, and doll house patio furniture. I cut back to every few nights once I hit the halfway mark in my pregnancy because you know, bending over. Well, didn’t that catch up to me. 

It might sound ridiculous, but your living space and your stuff can affect your mood in a major way. Clutter, or too much stuff even, can contribute to anxiety and depression. There is research to support this. Mess causes stress! To all the toddler parents out there, you’re even more susceptible to the stress of a mess, as you have minimal control over the creation of the mess, less time to clean up the mess, and only seconds to minutes from one mess to the next. 

So, weed stuff out. Donate. Sell. Rotate toys in and out or swap with friends for a few months (shoutout to my friend Sarah, who came up with the term “active storage” for doing this with toys…love that). Simplify. With the internet, there are endless ways to off-load stuff or trade stuff if you’ve got the guts for it. There is something so appealing about traveling through life lightly. Most material possessions (including apps on your phone) don’t make you happier, they weigh you down. The question to ask yourself is, “Does this thing add value to my life?” No? Haven’t used it or worn it in months? Pass it on! Less is more. Paring down your things is a form of meditation, or living in the now. We live in a world of excess; we try to hold on to the past by holding on to things, and we try to plan for the future by consuming things that are advertised to us constantly. Don’t get caught up in it. The less material possessions you have, the more space you have for other aspects of life—relationships, experiences, creativity, the need to explore community, etc. 

All of this = HEALTH. 

HELPFUL TOOLS:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/high-octane-women/201203/why-mess-causes-stress-8-reasons-8-remedies

www.theminimalists.com

The Minimalists PodCast

Documentary on Netflix called “Minimalism,” which will make you feel better just watching it! 

The Best Predictor of How Your Children Will Turn Out

Dan Siegel is a psychiatrist and psychotherapist whom I follow and admire greatly. He has written a bunch of books in which he articulates how the brain, relationships, and society work in a lovely blend of science and spirituality. He links interpersonal behaviors to what actually happens in the brain (electrically, biochemically, etc.).  

One of Dan’s major areas of research has involved trying to figure out why we parent the way we do and what determines our child’s attachment to us as his/her parent. A child’s attachment to parents (or primary adult caregivers) is crucial for healthy development and serves as a template for other future relationships in the child’s life. Attachment is huge.

Dan and his researchers hypothesized that a parent’s early life experiences would be the best predictor of how they behave with their own children. It makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? What happened to you becomes a part of you and thus influences your future life experiences and relationships. 

It turns out that this is not quite true. The best predictor of a child’s security of attachment is NOT what happened to the parent during his/her childhood, but how the parent has made sense of what it is that happened—“how their minds have shaped their memories of the past to explain who they are in the present” (Dan Siegel). 

This is good stuff to know, especially when thinking about people who have endured early trauma. You are not defined by and your future is not determined by what happened to you or what someone did to you or what you were subjected to. You are not doomed as a parent because you suffered as a child. Though attachment patterns tend to get passed down through generations, they don’t have to. 

We have the power to shape how our children relate and attach to us if we work on ourselves, giving our past much less influence over our future. With awareness and understanding, we can create what Dan Siegel calls a “coherent life story”—an open and honest narrative of how your life experiences have affected you and continue to affect you both negatively and positively. Making sense of your own past could be the best investment in your child’s future. 

****For a quick read, check out: 

http://www.psychalive.org/the-importance-of-making-sense-of-our-pasts-by-daniel-siegel-m-d/

“Yes, It’s Your Parents’ Fault” https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/01/07/opinion/sunday/yes-its-your-parents-fault.html?_r=0&referer=https://news.ycombinator.com/

**For more on attachment, check out Mary Ainsworth’s and John Bowlby’s work (keywords: Attachment Styles, the Strange Situation)

**For more on Dan’s research and how to make sense of your life experiences, check out his book called Mindsight 

Other great books by Dan: 

The Whole Brain Child 

The Mindful Brain

The Mindful Therapist

Parenting From The Inside Out 

Healing Trauma 

The Awesome Jar

The Awesome Jar

Four years ago, I found the best idea ever on Pinterest—“the awesome jar.” Here’s how it goes…Beginning on January 1st and ending on December 31st, you write down awesome things that happen throughout the year, fold them up, and put them in a jar. You can write anything down, from new jobs to babies being born to your favorite song coming on the radio to something funny someone said. The only requirement for what you put in the awesome jar is that it’s something awesome and positive. On New Years Day of the following year, you read through the folded up papers. This is such a treat that I look forward to at the end of every year! Ian and I just read through our fourth awesome jar. It was awesome as ever. Lots of hysterical quotes from our two year old that we totally would have forgotten had it not been for this exercise. We archive the awesome jar entries after we read through them. I find it impossible to throw them out and it’s refreshing to pull one out from a previous year if I need a pick-me-up at some point.

It’s amazing how many good things happen to you that you forget. Our brains are wired to remember scary, bad, threatening, negative things and our media is doing nothing to help steer us in a positive, calm, trauma-sensitive direction. The awesome jar is a great way to remind yourself of how much good is in your life and in the world; even if there’s a bunch of bad in there, too. It’s free. It’s something the whole family can contribute to in some way. It guarantees smiles to start the new year. It creates good energy and is healthy for the soul. I encourage you to do this. If you fall off and go for quite some time without putting an entry in, just pick it back up! 

Some personal tips:

1. Date your entries. It seems like you wouldn’t care to know the date or you may think you’ll remember when it happened. You won’t. Date them! 

2. It’s the little things in life! You have a good chance of remembering big life events, but maybe not the details of these events. I’ll never forget my daughter’s birthday, but I might forget how awesome it was when the doctor held her up after delivery and said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUINN!” Put little things in the jar, too. For example, a great meal you made, a nice comment from a teacher on a paper, finding ten bucks in the pocket of your winter jacket.

3. Keep the awesome jar in a centrally located spot in your house with a pen and papers next to it. It should be visible and ready for entries at all times. It’s fun when people see it and ask you about it, too. 

Find, focus on, and remember the good. Happy New Year.