Things I've Seen

Dispatch from Nicaragua

My friend M has been in the arduous process of adopting (now) 2-year old Gabriella from Nicaragua since the child was an infant. Last week, friends got this email recounting a part of her husband Jon's most recent journey there in attempts to move the process along.  He is traveling with M's brother Danny and Danny's wife Maria, who is a native Nicaraguan. (Names have been changed.)

Everybody slept really well the first night there. It cooled down enough that they were very comfortable, and even needed a sheet -- except Gabriella who refuses to have anything covering her when she sleeps.   :)

Jon and Gabriella slept until 8 a.m. and Danny and Maria slept until 10:00. They had breakfast and hit the road running. Thank goodness that Hema cooked them a nice breakfast, because they hadn't had another meal yet when I talked to Jon at dinner time. They never did get dinner their first night there -- they stopped to see Maria's friend at 8 .p.m. (10:00 our time) and ended up talking so long the restaurants were closed when they left.

They spent the day, for the most part, in doctors offices in Masaya.

Gabriella had a cold, which (her mother's) doctor thought had moved into pneumonia in the last couple of weeks. Maria and Jon took her to see a pediatrician that a friend recommended, and it turns out that she has a bronchial infection. So they got meds for her for that and then were referred to an opthamalogist because the ped had a concern about her eyes.

So then they went to the eye doc, who performed an eye exam and said everything seems ok. She's not cross-eyed -- which is what the ped was concerned about -- but has a bit more skin on one side of her nose than the other. So it creates a bit of an optical illusion that makes one eye look a bit crossed. They said as she grows and her nose gets bigger that should balance out. OMG -- WHO CARES!!!!!!  But I'm happy that they raised a flag when they were concerned about something.

The bigger issue that the pediatrician had is that he thinks that the injury on Gabriella's foot that's causing her to walk funny is the result of abuse. Sigh. She showed us her foot a few weeks ago, and it was supposedly a bug bite, or something. Apparently it's not actually getting better (which is what we were told), but is now causing her sufficient discomfort that she is favoring it and walking funny.

The doc thinks that it might be a burn or a cut. Perhaps a repeating injury. From what Jon told me, the doctor strongly recommended that Gabriella not be returned to (her mother's) care. I'm not thinking about it, because it's just too unfathomable right now. Total denial, I know, but right now I'm ok with denial.

Gabriella a bit taller, but is not gaining weight. She's 23 pounds, and the doc thinks she may be undernourished.

Their appointment at the Ministry of Families for (the mother)  to sign the paperwork IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!! It was scheduled for 9:30 this morning (11:30 our time).

Jon's doing ok. Gabriella seems happy, and is thrilled to see Danny.

More tomorrow!

What it isn't

You can see the yellowing bruise caused by the biopsy needle - just edging into the shadow.

Almost two years ago Kellie, my physician's assistant at the OBGYN, felt something on my thyroid. She told me to have my primary care doc check it out, which he did. But he said he felt nothing. Last year Kellie felt something again and ordered blood work. Nothing. This year, the "nodule" had become noticeably bigger. "Yep," she said. "We need to check that out. I don't usually overstep the bounds of the primary care doctor, but in this case I'm going to."

She set me up for blood work and referred me to an endocrinologist. When the blood work came back normal again, she called and said she wanted to do an ultrasound. But by that time the endocrinologist's office had called and I had an appointment in a few days (Kellie said it could take months to get in.) My appointment was last Monday.

Dr. K, the endocrinologist didn't feel a nodule at first, but did feel quite an enlargement on my thyroid. When I laid back and extended my neck, however, he did feel it - about 2 cm by 2 cm according to his measurements.  "I want to do a biopsy on this now," he said, and explained to me what that would involve.

Biopsy. Isn't that  more of a surgical procedure? Iwondered. Don't they have to put you under for that? Slice into you?  At the very least I'd have to be lying on a gurney in one of those backless gowns, freezing cold, waiting for ... something. Right?

"Is that to check for malignancy?" is what I actually said.  Dr. K explained that the procedure was simple. (The needle is smaller than the kind used in a blood draw, he reassured.) And that it was done to find out just exactly what is going on with the nodule. Most nodules are nothing to worry about, he assured me. Fewer than 10 percent are malignant.

So OK, but still - right here, in the examination room - wearing my jacket and blouse and pants - even my shoes?

It really was nothing much - four long pokes of a single thin needle. Lots of noisy scraping on what must have been 25 glass slides. An assistant standing by dabbing at whatever blood flowed at the needle's piercing. One of those little round adhesive bandages covering  all four needle entries. Fifteen minutes lying quietly afterward - to ward off any residual wooziness.

Then I went back to work.

Over these five days, I've turned the idea over and over in my mind in every way. I could have cancer.  What if this is cancer? How would I weather treatment for cancer? How long would I be off work if I had cancer? How might my relationships change with those around me - if I had cancer? What would change in my life - and theirs - if it turned out that I had ... cancer?

Honestly, even though the thoughts and questions ran through my head all week, I don't think I ever really, seriously entertained the idea and all the accompanying what-ifs. I mean to say that I wasn't really, truly fearful of a cancer diagnosis. Maybe I was naive. Or hopeful. Or taking at face value what the doc had told me and the little bit of reading I'd done on WebMD. Thyroid cancer is pretty rare. And when it is diagnosed, survival rate is high.

Today I got the call. "Your biopsy results are normal," the nurse, Liz, told me. "Oh, thank you," I said, relieved,  grateful. "Just keep your appointment in six months," she said. "So we can keep an eye on things."

"I don't have cancer," I IM'd a friend of mine after I got off the phone. "Yay," came the answer. Neither of us ever really thought I did.   But it did give pause these past few days.

Movin' out, movin' in

Suze, friend Peri and I moved Meg into East Hall on Davenport University's main campus last Wednesday. So much going on lately, I just don't have time or inclination to wax all wistful about yet another of our birds leaving the nest. She's only a half-hour away anyhow. I think we'll see plenty of her!

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

A tale of two cars

Part one: No more Neon

A week ago Thursday I got a call at work  just before 5. It was Clay.

"I'm on my way to Marne," he said.

"For?" I asked, puzzled, of course. It's not a place we go to, but we do drive through fairly often.

I can't quote exactly what he said. But the essence was this: Meagan was driving on I-96  toward Grand Haven, to the beach with three friends, and she'd rolled the car.

Rolled the car? That tinny little Neon? What happened?

As far as he knew, all the kids were OK. The police were there, and a tow truck. That was all he knew at the moment.

It was all he could tell me, so I hung up and let him continue driving.

I didn't know what else to do, so I packed up my stuff and left work. Meagan called as I was climbing into the truck. She told me the same story. They were all OK; paramedics had been there and checked them out. Police were there. Tow truck. She was waiting for Dad, who apparently was stuck in rush hour traffic.

I asked her what happened, and apparently, she was driving in the left lane and she reached for a chapstick being handed to her by one of her friends. She took her eyes off the road for a second, and the car veered a little. She over corrected, went off the shoulder and rolled into the median. The car landed on its roof. All four kids climbed out over the windshield. They had scratches on their hands and knees, but none was cut seriously. She was clearly upset, but not hysterical. She was mostly mad and embarrassed that she'd wrecked her car.

Not too long after I arrived home, Clay and Meagan returned. She was dirty, scratched and fighting tears. She took a shower and just "wanted to be alone for awhile."

Good lord. Susan had just had a close encounter not six weeks ago with their Subaru, which, incidently, we'd only recently had some auto salvager tow away from the front yard. The Neon had only been theirs since July 4. And now Meagan had a could-have-been-much-worse accident. There's been a run this summer of teens being killed in car crashes. We're so thankful our daughters have escaped theirs without injury.

But two totalled cars in one summer? Four people working five jobs -- one that's out of town -- demands that we have at least three cars at our disposal (as suburbians we have never been users of public transportation, for better or worse, and anyway, the bus doesn't come this far north anymore). Replacing the Subaru with the Neon was a bit of a strain (even with Grandpa's help).  And I should also remind that the other two cars -- a minivan and small truck -- are none too reliable either, being vehicles of vintages '96 and '98 respectively. Now what?

Part two: Great balls of fi -re

So the next morning, Meagan had to take me to work, as Susan did after she wrecked a car, so that the girls would have transportation to and from their jobs. (They have to work out the details for themselves, since they work such odd and different hours.) The van had earlier had a gas leak somewhere (which Clay had had fixed) but recently I started to smell gas inside the car again. This morning the gasoline smell in the passenger compartment was strong during the entire drive downtown, and I'll be the first to admit we  probably should not have driven the car. But there you go. We did.

I pulled into the parking lot, stopped alongside the building, and climbed out so Meg could take over the driver's seat. I went into the building and up the stairs to our offices. I had just got to my desk, and while co-workers were asking all about my daughter's accident from the night before, my cell phone rang. It was Meg.

"Mom, I'm not going anywhere," she said.

"Why not?"

"When I went to leave, there was a loud pop and smoke started coming out from under the hood," she said.

I remember my coworkers still chattering at me as I said something about, "... and now my car is on fire downstairs outside this building ..." And I rushed out.

Black smoke was indeed curling out from under the hood. Meg was standing far away from the car. I approached it, opened the door and popped the hood, but someone walking across the parking lot who could see beneath the car said, "You might not know it, but there are sparks and some flames under there ..."  I decided I'd better get away from the car, too.

I went back into the building and by that time our PR director, whom I work with, was downstairs at the reception desk. While I was foggily wondering whether this was bad enough to call the fire department, she told the girl behind the desk to call 911.  And University security, plus the reception desks at nearby buildings. And to warn those in this building that they might want to move their cars.

Now the smell of burning rubber was strong and the black smoke was starting to billow out of the engine compartment, along with some flames. People with fire extinguishers were trying to help, but there wasn't much they could do. A fire truck arrived and real fire extinguishing began. Those guys must have sprayed that van down five times before they were satisfied the danger was over.

It's hard to remember all what happened during the confusion: who did what, was where, said what. In the end, the van sat, smoking and dripping, the engine compartment a melted, stinking black mass that only said to me, "Another close call. Another totalled car..."

I do, however, remember one of the firefighters turning to me as he watched one of his comrades spraying water on the engine for the nth time and saying, "That your car?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I don't think the heater is going to work anymore," he said.

Huh. It took me a second ... then I laughed.

What else you gonna do?

She wrecked the car

A little over two weeks ago, Suze called me and said, "Mom? I had an accident."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this ... again. My mind rushed back to the hysterical call we'd had from her in January of the previous year when she'd been in a real accident (she wasn't driving) and was hurt and we had to rush to the hospital where we were met (eventually) by paramedics wheeling our daughter into the emergency room stapped to a backboard, head restrained and crying that she couldn't move and everything hurt. She was pretty banged up and needed a few weeks to recover from bruises and stiffness (the facial abrasions took a little longer), but in all she turned out to be OK. So for this recent phone call, her lack of panic led me to think this was maybe a parking lot fender bender at most. Still, I knew, she wouldn't be calling me for something so minor - at the very least, the car must not be operational, or she'd have kept on her way.

Well. Not operational. I guess not. It seems she was driving out to Cascade via Grand River Road, that lovely, winding country-road route to the south end of town that beats driving the expressway or the East Beltline anytime. It was early evening, after the dinner hours but well before dusk, and she was on her way to Barnes & Noble to use a gift card she'd received for graduation. She also had an assignment from Meg to pick up a father's day card. Probably driving a little faster than she should have been, because she does that, she heard - or felt - something on the right side of the car pop, or bump, and she found herself careening off the shoulder and mowing down someone's mail box before the car returned to the road, crossed the opposite lane and plunged into a wooded area on the other side. The airbags had deployed and she could no longer see where she was going, as if that would have helped, since she'd lost control of the car anyhow. She says she let go of the steering wheel and thought she was done for as the car kept slamming through the woods. It came to rest, I'm told, between two large trees, just short of ramming another.

Neighbors on both sides of the road were out in their yards and they rushed to help. Someone called the sherriff, and she borrowed a cell phone to call us (hers had no service). She wasn't hurt, she assured us - she was uncharacteristically calm - but the car would need to be towed. Clay drove out to the scene, arranged for the tow truck and brought her home. I stayed back, obviously not realizing the seriousness of the what-could-have-been details of the incident. When they finally returned and I heard the whole story - complete with a description from Clay about the condition of the car and how far into the woods it had barreled and how close she'd come to colliding with large trees - I was shaken and amazed. Since she's had her license, Suze has had "incidents" with every one of our three cars, some because of carelessness, but most not. How many "lucky scrapes" does she get? I keep wondering and it's not a comforting thing to ponder.

I did not see the car until yesterday, when a tow truck from the repair shop we frequent (and I do mean frequent) backed into our driveway and eased it off the truck bed to a spot behind the evergreen in the front yard. (At least it's somewhat hidden from the road.) We'd used up their storage hospitality (Clay was embarrassed about leaving it there as long as we did.), although they didn't charge us their usual storage fee - we've been good customers and they're decent people. Looking at the car I feel like a gawker at an accident, both amazed and repelled. A reminder of what could have been and what is, narrowly and but for the grace of god, I don't think we'd want it even if it was worth repairing. Suze is fine. She wrecked the car, is all. We can deal with that.

Grads: then and now

The "triplet" cousins in 1992. Left to right: Meagan, Susan, Evan

Cousin Evan was born June 1, 1989. Meg and Suze were born the next day. Though they've sometimes been referred to as the "triplets," they've grown into vastly different, fine young adults. Now they're all graduates of the class of 2007 -- Meagan, Northview; Susan, Forest Hills Eastern; Evan, Mattawan.

Meagan, Evan, Susan at the girls' open house last week.

18

Suze & Meg turn 18. June 2, 2007

Do they look any different?

Same girls (same positions), same car, same occasion, two years ago

All done

Meagan Kathleen, Northview Class of 2007

Now, a week later, and daughter #1 has joined  her sister as a class of 2007 graduate.

It's been a good year, a full year, but in some ways a disappointing year. And you, too, have been anxious to have it all be over. As in your sister's case, your dad and I take little credit; you also did what you needed to do and got on with things; got it all done. Yearbook staff, choir (oh, your solos and small group performances! Especially when you sang "America the Beautiful" you made us all cry!), senior trip, all-night party -- you've got good, fun memories that will last a long, long time.

And now as you head into your summer and off to college in the fall, you're ending, this, but you're just at the beginning of everything else. To our sweetheart Meagan Kathleen, our light, our songbird, our most-patient, beautiful child: Godspeed.

One delivered, one to go

Susan Michelle, Forest Hills Eastern Class of 2007

And so our last born was the first of our twins to be delivered (almost) fully adult into the real world.

It's not like we, her parents, had a whole lot to do with this final step. By the time she was a senior, she knew she was behind,  knew what she had to do to catch up, and made sure she did it. I take little to no credit. And she is just happy and relieved to be done with it all. Bonne chance, my beautiful Susan Michelle, our spitfire, our charmer, our shining star.

Why Twitter is about more than telling you what I had for lunch

Cross posted from Coit Avenue

Stowe Boyd points to this article from USA Today’s Andrew Kantor on the subject of Twitter. I’m struck by Kantor’s willful ignorance of what’s at the core of this social presence app:

Twitter is a bad, bad thing — not just because of what it does, but because of what it says about all of us and our need to be connected. Twitter's whole existence is based on the premise that we aren't yet in touch with one another quite enough.

According to Twitter, you see, we should be in touch every second — every moment. This is madness … 

What is madness, I think, is Kantor's oversight of the fact that we already are all connected. It is the nature our world in which everything by design is connected to everything else. It is something our ancient ancestors instinctively knew – and instinctively acted upon, in order to live and continue the species. And, as we’ve gained in knowledge of the world that surrounds us, something we’ve sought after always to understand and express.

We’ve always looked for connection

Speech, songs, stories. Written language that begat books, letters. Printing that sparked the spread of ideas via books and newspapers. And with them the migration of people, both outward across the globe and inward to enclaves of villages, towns, cities. Widespread travel, telegraph, telephone, radio, television – a succession of means for making sense of our center, our connectedness. And then the internet, cellular phones, wireless communication – technology-enabled means for understanding the connections that are.

  Don’t you see it? We don't impact the flow that is the universe. These all are just our own small means for tapping it, trying to understand it, living in what already is and always has been. 

I’ve been watching a lot of old movies lately – those made in the 30s, 40s and 50s where making a long-distance call was worth a raised eyebrow, a second thought, even among those with means. Even I remember when long distance was reserved for Grandma, and only on a Sunday, when the rates were cheaper, and you hadn’t just seen her the weekend before.

  But what is long distance today? A rarer and rarer consideration as I call my friend who is 600 miles away at any time of the day or night. And I fully expect that soon it won’t matter if I’m using “anytime minutes” or not. It certainly shouldn’t. It’s a primitive, holdover construct from what’s fast becoming history. 

These are the people we live with

  Critics of connection enablers like Twitter seem short-sighted to me. Twitter is just one in a succession of acknowledgements of the connectedness of the universe and everything in it. Of the flow that creates and sustains us all. A claiming of our own existence within that flow.    

Overblown? Maybe, with regard to Twitter per se. But just ask yourself: What can you learn and know of the world and your fellow humans from even a short time spent with Twittervision (see how it’s evolving already)? That someone has too many choices for lunch (which is some kind of learning in itself)? Sure.  But you can also see there’s an ice storm raging in Northern  Europe. That it’s tomorrow in Australia. That someone in Italy, right now, is listening to an American rock song. That many many people speak in languages you don’t understand. That there is life beyond your street that you’ve otherwise had little glimpse of before now, that it’s always been there and it continues, whether you’re asleep, awake, indifferent.    

These are the people we live with on this earth, and what they do and think and feel has effects beyond you, and vice versa. Yes, these are early adopters, yes they’re technology-enabled themselves, while most of the world isn’t yet. But the implications are further reaching than we can probably imagine right now. And it’s only the smallest beginning.