One of those moments...

I held a baby's life in my hands today. She had apparently just had a febrile seizure and was not recovering well. Her family were literally prostrate on the ground with fear, screaming - the kind of screaming that could be great joy or sorrow. My kids thought it joy, but I knew that it wasn't, and went to help.

She was limp when I took her from whoever it was that was holding her. I would not allow my child to be taken from me when she was sick, but this family was so distraught, they just handed her over. I did a quick vital check and supported her airway. I tried to console the family, to let them know she was breathing, but they only spoke Tamil, and I needed to concentrate on the baby. At one point she tried to slip away, but I ground her chest with my knuckle. It should have made her scream, but she merely opened her eyes.

The ambulance soon came, and since I had the baby, they had me bring her in. The hysterical mother and aunt came in too, and were promptly sent back out, so that the paramedics could do a vital check without the noise. I told them that she was unresponsive, but breathing and pink when I arrived, which of course elicited the expected "Are you a nurse?". I've lost count how many times I've been asked that question. I offered to get out of their way. They told me to stay, so I did. Oddly, they left the ambulance to get some information from the others there, leaving me alone with the baby. I left just before they turned the lights on and left for the hospital.




I was meant to do these things. Medicine comes to me with ease. I'm calm in times like these and can handle all manner of distress and illness, with all the things that go with it. But it can never be, and it hurts me every time I'm in the presence of those who are in the medical professions. Paramedic, nurse, doctor - I could do any of these intellectually, but physically I cannot. Even climbing into the ambulance hurt.

So many people do the work they do because they need to. Some lucky ones know what they are meant to do and enjoy their work. I know what I am meant to do, but can never do. It's no wonder I can't decide what work to do, when I know I will never be a medical professional. It hurts me. It inhibits me.

Funny!

My father-in-law, Charlie, has his laundry basket behind his bedroom door, and I always forget to check if his laundry needs to be washed, so he needs to remind me to do it. This morning when I woke up, there was a note on our dry-erase board from Charlie. It read:

HEAP BIG PILE LAUNDRY IN MY TEE-PEE. CHIEF WA-HOO.

Ducks

I was having a bath this evening, and as usual, my son came in to check out my breasts. He's never really forgiven me for weaning him just before his second birthday, and likes to check in on them frequently. He has a ritual of naming all the parts of the breast and their function - nipple, areola, milk ducts, etc.

My daughter, who is 7, was also in the bathroom this time. She also knows the names and functions of the parts of the breast, but decided to play it up. She told a story about how there are actually ducks, not ducts, in a breast. They start out as eggs in a girls breasts, and when she becomes a woman, they hatch. When a woman becomes pregnant, the ducks grow big, and when the baby is born, the ducks spit out milk through the breast to the nipple.

I think maybe she's been into my drugs.

Mama Bear

Last September our family got a membership to the local YMCA. We go there often for swimming, but they also have family gym time with a giant bouncer and whatever sports the kids want to do. After years of going to the community centres, it's a wonderful change to be at the Y. Rather than rigidly enforcing every rule, and constantly instituting new ones, the Y allows children and their families to take risks in a safe and supportive environment. The staff not only play with the kids, but do the sports themselves which allows the children to see what they can do if they try and practice.

Because of my reduced abilities I need to depend on the staff more than other parents to ensure my kids have equal access to all activities. I can't pull them around the gym on the scooter boards, or play soccer with them, or even swim with them, but the staff have been wonderful at stepping in or letting me watch my kids swim from the deck. I am grateful for their efforts.

Today I took my neice and nephew (okay, technically their my godchildren, not blood relatives, but they are FAMILY) to the Y. They've never been before so there were lots of questions about how it compared to the community centres that they were familiar with. Both kids love to swim but haven't taken lessons, so I reassured them that there were lifeguards and that the pools were never crowded. I told them there was one regular pool and one smaller, warm pool for small or less experienced swimmers. My husband went off to work out ( he doesn't swim) while I took the four kids swimming.

Of course, for the first time since we've been going to the Y, the little pool was crowded with a group of about 20 boys. Very rowdy, loud, unsupervised boys. They completely dominated the pool, but thankfully my kids were adept at avoiding them. After watching them for a while to make sure they didn't drown my kids, I wondered if maybe they were from a group home or program for problem kids, based on their rather aggressive behaviour, though I thought it was odd that they were all white. I couldn't believe that whoever was supervising them thought it was okay to leave them all in the pool, since technically I should be in the water with my kids, and certainly wouldn't be allowed to leave the deck. Then, finally, an adult came in and yelled that the hockey team needed to leave the pool. The whole group of rowdy boys left. A hockey team. Shoulda guessed.

While all this was going on, my nephew had been swimming in the big pool. He's a mature almost 13 year old and capable enough to swim in the deep end alone. Once the hockey kids left, my daughter decided to go in the big pool as well. While only 7, she is a confident, accomplished swimmer, and thankfully the guards have no problem with her going in the big pool without me, though she once scared the crap out of a guard by looking like she was drowning when she was just playing in the deep end. I stayed at the little pool with my son and niece, while my daughter and nephew went to the deep end of the big pool. There is glass between the two pools so I can watch both pools at once, and having been a lifeguard myself I watch them carefully for signs of trouble, knowing that I have the skills to deal with problems should they arise. I would hurt like hell afterwards, but I wouldn't hesitate to jump in after them if I had to. I even wear my swimsuit just in case I have to go in. Unfortuately my vigilance on deck makes me appear to others that I'm a guard, and I'm addressed as such quite often.

I watched the kids as they swam. My son has become incredibly good at swimming this year. At the age of 5, he is now able to swim in deep water and jump from the diving blocks into the deep end by himselft, though he is scared to do so. He certainly has no problem in the little pool where the water isn't over this head. My 8 year old neice hasn't been swimming at all since last summer, yet she, too, has really developed her skills in swimming. It's so great to watch as they grow and develop abilities they didn't have before. Last summer, my niece had to use a lifejacket in shallow water and my son would barely put his face in the water. Today they were both swimming underwater, diving for things, and even doing some rudimentary front crawl. Amazing. Later on all four kids were jumping off the diving blocks into the deep end of the big pool.

After a while I noticed that a large man was hanging out near my daughter and nephew in the big pool. I had noticed him earlier because he seemed mildly developmentally delayed, and after having worked in developmental services for twenty years you kinda develop a radar for these things. I watched for a bit, while the alarm bells started ringing in my head. The man was watching my daughter very intently, and every time she went under water, he would watch her with his goggles under water. Having provided intervention care for a pedophile for five years, I am well trained in the signs of interest and the patterns that lead to an assault. I do not worry much about my children being victimized, but instead focus my energies on teaching them to protect themselves. I knew that my child was NOT in danger in this situation, but that this man was, through watching her, developing a fantasy that could lead to him hurting another child. The signs are very clear. I did what I would have done professionally - I walked up to him and said sternly "That is my daughter. You should not be staring at her or be near her." He immediately knew what I meant, and told me there would be no problem. He backed right off, and though he continued to watch her from afar, he watched me as well, and I was unabashedly keeping a close eye on him. By confronting him, I present a danger and interrupt the fantasy. My point had been made.

However, I did let the lifeguards know what had happened and that this man is showing dangerous behaviour. They acknowledged me, and said to let them know if anything happened, but you can just imagine how it sounds to them. "That man over there is targeting my daughter inappropriately. Having worked with pedophiles, I know what to look for, and you need to watch this guy." Yeah, right. Paranoid mother.

I talked to my daughter and nephew about it. My nephew was really creeped out by the guy, but my daughter was oblivious to the weirdness of it all. I'll have to work on that. We talked about how men shouldn't be watching her like that, or trying to swim with kids they don't know, and that she should tell me if something like that ever happens again. She seemed a bit perplexed as to why it was a problem, and while she knows there are bad people, I'm not about to get into the details of the bad things they do. Not yet. We'll talk about this again, though.

I feel good about the way I handled it. It helps tremendously that I've done it in my work many, many times. At no point did I feel fear. His transparency, and the resultant confrontation, obviously scared him. He will not remember Quinn with pleasure.

Down

Out of all the things that go wrong with my body, the thing I'm least likely to talk about is my depression. It's always been there, usually kept in check with anti-depressants, most likely unsuspected by most. But every now and then it drags me down and beats me.

I crashed on Saturday, but I didn't realise it until today. Depression is weird like that. If I were watching it happen to someone else I would recognise the signs right away, but it always takes me a while to see it in myself. I get so angry, and I don't like to think of myself as an angry person. My kids are a target for this unjustified anger, and that makes me even more upset. So are other drivers on the road, but since they never hear my insults I don't worry at all about that.

I can't sleep when I'm like this - when I need it the most. The pain gets worse, or at least my tolerance is reduced, and the pain meds interfere with my ability to sleep so my sleep gets worse. Spiral down.

I never feel truly hopeless or suicidal. Just horribly angry and sad. And tired, so tired. I can't focus.

It'll be okay in a few days. The meds eventually pull me out again. I'll try to sleep tonight.

Perspective

I was talking to my son's best friend's mother today. We were talking about our kids and I made a comment about her daughter being so tall and womanly. She then told me that the girl is actually her niece whom she has raised since the girl's father murdered her mother and another man. The girl witnessed the second murder. The dad is still in jail and demanding access to his daughter. The girl is now 13 and rebellious and, surprise! fucked up. Because the dad was aquitted of the charge of murdering their mother, the girl and her adult brother refuse to believe that he did. The brother has said that had his father been convicted of murdering his mother he would have killed himself.

This woman goes to court not only for access issues, but the case for the murder of her sister is being re-tried. The mother-killer wants his daughter to come stay with him in jail for a week because they have that sort of thing in his jail. His 13 year old, very developed, emotionally screwed daughter. In jail.

People sometimes say that my life is hard. It's painful and annoying. It's not hard.

Help and Hope

When we moved into my father-in-law's house, it was inevitable that I would have to paint. I dreaded having to do it, but since we were having renovations done that had to be paid for I couldn't justify paying someone to paint just because I didn't wanna do it. I discovered, however, that I really enjoy painting. Who knew that you could achieve zen in a brushstroke? I love the detail, the beauty of applying the colour, the feeling of completion when it's done. I feel physically able.

As opposed to most people who paint, I only do the trim and detail work. I can't roll the paint because it puts too much stress on my shoulders, arms and feet. Painting trim usually requires me to be on my hands and knees with only the weight of my brush in my hand. I have to constantly change my position to apply the paint evenly, which lessons the stress on my joints.

My sister-in-law asked me to help her paint, since the trim hadn't yet been painted in her two year old house. I planned a three day weekend to get as much of the main floor done as possible since she lives over two hours away. It was also a chance to spend time with my brother and SIL since we only see each other when it's a family gathering. I was so looking forward to our painting weekend.

My body completely failed. It got to the point that I could barely stand and lifting the brush was torture. I kept going because I did not want to fail but every movement hurt. I dislocated my shoulder and both hips, my foot was hurting, my hands and fingers were sore, but most of all I was embarrassed. Of all weekends, why now? I even kept thinking "this isn't fair" which is completely irrational and whiny by my standards. I let my brother and SIL down. I let myself down. My body let me down.

I got in the car to drive home. In the car I am free. I am agile, flexible, fast, mobile. I am skilled and I can excel. I am powerful through my car. I turn up the music and just go. I remember when I was a competitive gymnast doing a particularly difficult move that brought on that rush of power over my body. That's how I feel when I drive. After half an hour on my drive, the pain rushed in. After an hour I had to stop driving. Even this thing, this last thing, is compromised by my pain.

I went to bed in pain last night. I slept 9 hours and woke up tired and in pain. There are few moments in the day when I don't have pain. I am so very tired. I'm only 35.

So, today I'm trying AGAIN to get help from a pain clinic. I've been turned down already because I don't fit their patient model. If I were addicted to the narcotics I take every day there are many services I could access. But I'm just in pain. There are so many days that I just want to take whatever will stop the hurt regardless of the risk of addiction, just so that I can go for a walk. I never do, but if I did I would get help. I want to be weak sometimes. I want to walk without pain. I want people to be able to ask me for help and not worry that it's causing me pain. I worry that people will stop asking. I worry that if they do ask I might get hurt.

I don't know how to end this post. I don't know how to resolve this. Somedays it's just background noise, but on days like today it consumes me. So I will end it with hope that someday it will be resolved, and that someday I will freely walk again.