Hope

  

  The other day our 14 year old daughter and I went to see her paediatric neurologist to discuss the results of her MRI. Her doctor is a spunky lady with a beautiful Irish accent, a good sense of humour and a no-nonsense approach. I like her. Anyway, she took our daughter in first so that they could talk together "sans Mama" and then my daughter came and got me. On the way down the hallway my daughter told me that she had seen her brain on the MRI---"her beautiful, wonderful brain". The good news waiting for us on the other side of the door was that her MRI showed that her brain had no scars, no lesions, no tumours. It was absolutely normal! In the doctor's opinion it also meant that there was a chance that our daughter could grow out of her seizures. For the first time in many years, I felt more than hopeful about my daughter's life with seizures. She will always be "differently-abled" or learning disabled, if you prefer that term. But the fact that there is a chance, even a tiny shred of a possibility that this might not be a lifetime diagnosis feels remarkable to me.
    We don't know what came first, the epilepsy or the learning disorder but either way, all our daughter has ever wanted is to be like other kids; to babysit and learn to drive, to stay home and look after herself sometimes, to graduate from high school and eventually have a boyfriend. Many of those things seemed impossible with epilepsy in her life. Maybe, just maybe, there will be a life for her, without seizures and whether it is because they are being managed with medication or she outgrows them completely, only time will tell. Right now we are 5 weeks seizure free and anything seems possible.

Enough

   

      I am not sure where I saw this but I like it: "Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. It will be enough." Arthur Ashe  It's simplicity is riveting and at the same time deceptive. How often do we give ourselves permission to do the first three and then decide to be okay with the last one? How often do we say "can't, shouldn't, isn't"? I know I do. More times than not I claim it's me being practical, realistic or just myself---a-glass-half-empty kind of person.

      But I am inspired by people like the woman who runs Project Aftershock, a thrift store whose whole reason for being is to raise money and awareness for the people of Haiti, many of whom are still dealing with the after-effects of a horrendous earthquake. This earthquake happened in 2010 and affected the lives of over three million people! But this is the whole point for our friend. She carefully and cheerfully collects money, medicine, and clothing so that she herself can travel to Haiti and as a nurse, distribute what she can. She is amazing! Her faith in God is strong and I think that helps her. Truly she is an angel who can't help but care for others and who is not overwhelmed by the mountain of need that exists in a place like Haiti. To me she is the epitome of the above quote which apparently is credited to American activist and tennis player Arthur Ashe who died in 1993.  He also apparently wrote: " From what we get, we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life." He's right and she knows it.

Run

     I had the privilege of participating in the CIBC Run for the Cure while I was in Calgary recently with my mother. This is an annual run/walk to raise funds and awareness for breast cancer research. There were so many people there: loud ones, proud ones, big, small, short and tall, great-grandmothers and babies, men and women, boys and girls.  My brand new great-niece was there and she was only three weeks old at the time!  Eight thousand folks were present apparently and my sister-in-law and I were two of them.
     I was so impressed with the age range, number and variety of participants but there was one family that stood out for me. It was a family of three: father, son and daughter in a carrier on the dad's back. They had no pink clothes, no face paint or breast hats, just the simple hand written message, pinned to the child carrier and to the boy's chest: "We're running for Deborah".  I have no idea if she was the mother or wife, an aunt, friend or grandmother but it made me think about why I was there. Primarily I was there for my mother who had breast cancer 15 years ago. When I thought about it though, I realized that I was there for all the mothers, daughters, aunts and sisters, grandmothers, friends and neighbours. There is strength in numbers and it is in looking around outside of our small circle and seeing what others have been through that we recognize how precious life is and how fleeting it can be. So in a way I was there for Deborah too; we were all there for Deborah, wherever she may be.

Living

    

     There is a symposium about living with epilepsy which I will be attending this month called Living Well With Epilepsy. It is being presented by the Center for Epilepsy, a epilepsy advocacy, support and education society which is doing marvellous work, right near us in Abbotsford. I am looking forward to the conference for a few reasons: the guest speaker is our daughter's paediatric neurologist, we are still dealing with seizures after an almost 3 month hiatus and a year on anti-epileptic medication and it is always therapeutic to get in amongst other families with epilepsy and feel like part of something bigger. "A problem shared is a problem halved" as they say...
     For us living with seizures means a lot of stress, uncertainty, worry and fear. Epilepsy lives in the back of our minds like a dark unwelcome guest who descends upon us from time to time without a thought for whatever else is going on in our lives. Tonight though, while walking around B.C. Children's Hospital on our way to our daughter's MRI appointment, I am reminded of how small our problems truly are, how blessed we are, how lucky. Yes, we live with seizures and the terrifying scenarios that they can present but the rest of the time we are healthy, she is healthy, life is good. Life is great. And living well is knowing that, everyday.

Eden

     Thank you God for this most amazing day....for the birth of a new baby and for everything in our world that is good and pure and new. We thank you for tiny fingernails and small cries and for the love which truly does surpass all of our understanding. We thank you for our children with whom we share our lives and for all children that they may grow daily in health, wisdom and compassion. Forgive us please for the mistakes we make and help us to earnestly learn from them so that every day we may start anew. Help us please to provide all this new little one needs especially granting us a world of peace and hope, a community where all things are possible, a place of safety, a home where love truly does conquer all.

Beauty

   

 As we have watched our feral hen Beauty, hatch out seven chicks in early August and battle hawks, possums and other assorted enemies, we are now left with five nearly grown chickens and a new appreciation for chicken motherhood. She came to us from a shrubbery in White Rock. Her human friends there noticed a raccoon in the neighbourhood and transferred her here for safety. She never did get the hang of staying in the coop and consequently I have only ever had one egg from her. I know that because her eggs are white (she has gray ear lobes) whereas the rest of my girls lay brown eggs (they have red ear lobes---- strange, but true.) That was three years ago.
     She sat on about nine eggs for much of July without me even knowing that she was there amongst the hollyhocks and peonies. Once the little balls of fluff were hatched, three black and four gray, she taught them everything a yard bird must know: dogs are okay, cats, not so much. The soil and grass must be scratched and scratched hard to reveal black beetles, worms and other delicacies. Store bought chicken crumble is not to be depended upon but hen scratch must not be ignored because of the yummy corn it contains. Other hens are to be avoided as well as motor vehicles of all kinds: cars, trucks, lawn mowers, you name it. You must always keep moving and make noise the whole time so that Mama knows you are there. Never mind that big noisy guy in the yard, that's just your father. Roosting is a useful skill and chest butting can be fun. Stay together, keep eating, no wandering please. Keep your beak clean, your feathers fluffed and when in doubt, run like the chickens.
     Beauty, like Lulu before her, is the epitome of grace under pressure, all the while making motherhood look easy. It isn't! But then you knew that....

Sleeping

     When you are not sleeping the world seems like a crueler place. Snoring partners, tick-tocking clocks and enthusiastic roosters all seem to take on a dastardly edge. Even my digital radio alarm clock, my friend in all things organized, now seems like his own evil twin; he positively gloats as the minutes trot by and I watch, pillow and insomnia in tow.
     I have always needed to read before bed, always looked forward to it and the escape it brought, not to mention the screen-clearing it afforded before sleep could be had. Now I am reading at both ends of my night, and it is not pleasurable, only a means to an end. I have not watched television in bed for years (we are certified Netflix fans) and I realize now why I stopped. Those commercials, repetitive, insipid, ridiculous, did I mention, repetitive, will drive me insane. ( And believe me, these days I don't have far to go!) A certain cat food commercial with the catchy jingle, "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow....." seen 3 times in 15 minutes remains my personal un-favourite. (Strangely enough, they were still using that, back when I did watch TV. Not funny then, still not funny now, really!)
     I suppose that as a 50 something woman, graying and now groggy with fatigue, I should not be surprised. Insomnia is apparently a woman's lot at this time of life. However it is a relatively new experience for me, especially on this scale and so I am flummoxed. What to do? Warm milk, alcohol, pills of all kinds are sometimes suggested. My problem is exhaustion brings nausea but I am too tired to care; I just feel awful! I am not looking for sympathy, just the understanding from others that I am functioning at way below my usual game. With less than half the sleep I used to get, I am lucky if I even know what game we're playing, much less the score. When a dear friend called me the other day and woke me from a snooze in the middle of the afternoon, I knew I had reached a new low. I now know that I am tired and old and now napping.... The end can't be far off! At least I'll get some sleep?