How to Cure a Cold in Three Easy Steps

Here is my cure for the common cold:  

Step One:  

Wait until you are about three weeks into a hacking, phlemy Exorcist-sounding cough; then loudly (the better for the germ gods to hear you) announce "I should really call the doctor about this cough!"

Then, do nothing for three weeks.  Nothing includes:  Everything you normally do, at a slower pace, while whining, moaning and, occasionally, hacking up a small piece of lung.  It also includes annoying your partner to the point that he actually considers sleeping in the living room with the cats...the nine cats.

Step Two:

Take a look at yourself in the mirror and realize that you have never seen that shade of greenish/purple under your eyes, before.  Hack for approximately 37 minutes at 2 a.m.  Loudly announce to the germ gods, your entire family and the awake-and-ready-to-play cats that you SERIOUSLY need to call the doctor about this cough.  I am so serious right now.

Do nothing for another three weeks.  Nothing includes everything you normally do, at a slower pace, but with a grudging acceptance that this is your life, now.  You really don't remember life before this cough.

Step Three:

Your cough has subsided to a small, annoying tickle that only presents itself anytime you are horizontal for more than 1.5 seconds.  No problem.  You've totally got this under control; but maybe, you should call the doctor because you are pretty sure nope, definitely sure, that you are getting an ear infection.

Wait for the infection to excruciatingly work it's way out of your right ear a mere 48 hours before you go to see the most epic concert of your life THIS! RIGHT! HERE! OMGOMGOMG, and you have seen epic concerts.  At least the speakers will probably blow out your eardrum.  Problem solved.

Voila!  

It's just like calling Beetlejuice, only slower, less exciting and much more painful.

The Spiral

I would like to share a whiny Facebook status with you...my status, before you ask...

"I seriously feel like everyone else's kids fit in fine in public school ( I know this is not true, but having kids that don't feels very lonely at times ) and I wonder what the heck am I doing wrong? Why do I fight against a system that clearly doesn't get them and that only wants to make them conform? It is a day-to-day struggle and I don't have any answers except to keep moving forward."

Venting has it's place and Facebook seems to be it.

I got what I was looking for from this status; many sweet comments, lots of commiserating, a couple of words of wisdom.  

If I have learned anything in my forty-four years, it is that usually, when I feel the worst about things, I am about to turn a corner.  Not always, but most of the time.  

We have turned a corner, at least, I think we have.

I am a proponent of inclusion; that is, by my own definition, full participation in life for all people.  

When I am talking about school, especially for my middle son, Charles, who has Down syndrome, inclusion means being at his home school, not the school five miles away that has the "services" he needs.  No, thanks.  My kid does not need "servicing", he needs educating alongside his peers.

I was reading some terse responses that I had received from emails to Charles' teachers, while trying to figure out how things were going.  Terse doesn't work well in an email, especially when you have a super-sensitive mom on the other end reading it in annoyed teacher-voice.  Words like "needs prompting" feel like tiny little paper cuts on your eyeballs.  Everything said and mostly, left unsaid, makes me question my purpose.  Every.  Freaking.  Time.

So, the howling self-doubt cyclone grabs me out of my seat and spins me towards the ceiling and sucks me into the self-pity vortex.  After hyperventilating myself into a mini coma and falling asleep on the couch, I arrived at the next morning's meeting looking every bit the insane, inclusion terrorist that my kid's teachers think I am.  My husband and I await the pronouncement...

And they say something good.

They say something nice.

They are starting to get why I do what I do.

They see MY KID and not the problems my kid imposes on them.

They are smiling.

For real.

They are talking about next year and what they are putting into place.

(on their own!!!)

They tell me (without telling me) that I was right.

That inclusive math class is working.

He is making friends in that gym class.

The students are embracing him, as I knew they would.

It's not all roses and fairy dust.  As I signed in, I saw my boy down the hall.  As he turned the corner, the girls standing there smirked and giggled, looking at his retreating back.  He is the smallest kid in the hall.  Maybe they are giggling at his cuteness?  Maybe they are noticing his cool cap?  It's doubtful.  He doesn't see them and I am grateful.

I have heard the argument that inclusion does not work for everyone.  I say they are wrong; but hear me out.

There are trade-offs.  My kid is probably not learning as much about his subjects as he could in a smaller classroom.  He is not getting as much educational support as he probably needs.  He is mostly isolated, not physically, but socially from most everyone else.  It is NOT perfect.

My husband and I have chosen VISIBILITY over academics for our middle son.  We have decided that it is more important for him to be seen by his peers than to get A's and B's.  We see it as a literal life and death struggle for Charles.  What will his life be after school if the kid's in his home school have never experienced a person with Down syndrome?  How will they treat him?  Will they want to work side by side with him?  Hire him?  Or, will he always be "that guy with Down syndrome?" or worse, "that retard"?

I grew up in the 70's and 80's.  The encounters I had with people who looked or talked or acted "different" were few and far between and NONE of them left me feeling compassionate.  My reactions were usually fright and disgust.  I am ashamed to say this, now.  I feared these people because they were not my peers.  They were "others" and "freaks".  They did not belong in my every day life because they were not IN my every day life.  I can't help but think that if I had had more exposure to the world of difference that my life could have been shaped in a more positive way earlier on; but that is not how it happened.  It happened because 16 years ago I found out that my second child would be born with Down syndrome and a major heart defect.  The news broke me apart at first, but quickly, I learned that it had broken me open.  This was MY child.  Nothing was going to change that.  I want the best for him, the same as I want the best for my other two boys.

So, we fight for him to be a full participant in his own life.  We fight to keep him at his home school with his brothers and where his neighbors can see him as just another kid.   I don't think this is a pie in the sky fantasy.  I have already seen changes in these short, sixteen years.  My kid was the first kid with Down syndrome to be fully included at our home school for kindergarten.  He is the first to be included at his high school.  We pushed a little, got a little lucky, and maybe, just maybe, the timing was right.  

Inclusion IS for everyone.  We have learned that separate but equal is anything but.  That doesn't mean it works in every case; not yet.  There are far, far too many school districts that are stuck in the 70's.  I have many, fierce mama bear friends who have decided that the struggle for inclusion for their kid was causing more harm than good.  The timing is not right for them and they are doing their best with what they have.  You do what you've got to do.  In conversation with these mom's, they kind of wait for me to be judgmental of their decision to NOT pursue inclusion and that makes me feel awful; because God knows that they have been judged and judged and judged again.

I don't think I am anything special and I tell them that.  I tell them about luck and timing and willingness.  Our schools were willing (with some prodding) to include my son.  If I thought for a second that the struggle was causing him undue stress, or harm, I would pull him out.  I like to say that "I would never martyr my kid on the altar of inclusion".  I'm not sure if I made that one up, or read it somewhere, but I have been saying it for awhile and it perfectly sums up my feelings.  Unlike Rosa Parks, my kid is not choosing to take a stand; I am choosing for him.  I have to be careful to weigh his feelings and his best interests and include him in the process along the way.  As he has gotten older, he is more involved and anytime I ask him about which school he feels more comfortable in, his home school wins every time.

Things are not perfect.   That's life.  We often take two steps back for every one forward; but we are learning and growing and helping to pave the way for all the children that come after mine to have an easier journey.

I look forward to a future in which everyone knows and has grown up with individuals like my Charles and it is no big deal because of that.  It's not about not seeing difference, it's about seeing it and embracing it, because it is a part of life.

Happy New Year...What The What?

There are two stories making the rounds this New Year's Eve that have me shaking my head.  One is tragic and the other is just...silly.

The first one is the story of a two year old that shot and killed his mother in a Utah Walmart.  Horrifying.  So many lives ruined in a second.  It raises so many questions:  Why was the gun in her purse?  Why was the kid left alone with the gun and purse?  How did his two year old fingers manage to pull the trigger?  What was she so afraid of in that little podunk town that she felt she needed to be armed to go to Walmart?  Did she get the gun for Christmas?

See the story here.

I don't want to get into a gun debate.  I really don't.  My husband is a former Marine.  He has massive respect for what guns and more importantly, bullets, can do.  We don't have a gun in the house, but if and when we move to the country (which we are thinking about in the future), my husband has already said that he would want a rifle; nothing crazy, just something for protection in a remote area where the police response time is decidedly slower than it is in the suburbs.  I know that he will be responsible with it.  He is that kind of guy.  I am no fan of guns myself, but I have no problem with responsible gun owners.  Where "responsible" becomes "irresponsible" becomes a bit more blurry for me, but that is a discussion for another day.  

I have been reading the debates about this incident.  The most ridiculous arguments are being made by some who are bragging about how savvy their own two year old's are with guns.  They are saying things like "They know not to touch a gun, ever".  I even saw a guy compare his having guns and teaching his toddlers about them to electrical outlets.  "We teach them not to touch those!  This is the same thing!".  Really?

Not the same, not at all.  Yes, we teach our kids to stay away from hot pots and electrical outlets...and guns, and accidents still happen.  As much as we parents are on top of our little ones, we still need to use the bathroom from time to time, or answer the door, or check on another child, or make dinner, or, or...so many "ors" in life.  Two year old's (and five year old's and ten year old's and teenagers and young adults...) don't make the best decisions.  Sure, they may have been told a thousand times that running into the street after a ball is a no-no, but how many do it anyway?  The answer is:  ALL OF THEM.  At one time or another, every kid puts themselves in some kind of dangerous situation.  Hopefully, usually, there is an adult nearby to save them from themselves.

While I certainly hope that these parents of gun-savvy two year old's are correct; which I highly, highly doubt, (sorry, THEY ARE TWO!) what I hope more is that they never learn whether they were wrong.  I hope they never have to second guess their actions because of a tragedy.  I also fervently hope that they are more responsible than that mom in the Walmart.  However you feel about guns, I am fairly certain that we can agree that a loose, loaded handgun in a purse within reach of everyone around you, not just your kids, is a bad idea; really, horribly, sometimes tragically bad.

I am thinking about this family today and hoping that they can find some peace in the coming year.

The other story making the rounds is about...drumroll, please...Playdoh.  It seems that in an attempt to design a kid friendly, fake cake making set, the manufacturers made one part look like this 
---------------------------------------->

I mean, okay.  I see it.  The person that designed it is either totally incompetent or a total, toy making genius.  After all, it is getting attention.

What I don't get is how this ruined anyone's Christmas.  People are actually saying that.  "It ruined Christmas when our daughter opened this present!", they are saying, hands held to throats in horror.

Seriously?  In what world does this ruin anything?  Sure, it looks like a tiny penis.  My question is:  Who cares?  It's not a tiny penis.  It's a tiny, Playdoh part that happens to look a bit like a tiny penis.  

Penises do not ruin Christmas.  They just don't.  Parents who make a big deal over nothing, do.

Why these two stories together, you ask?  What does one have to do with the other?  The way I see it, with all the horrors in the world, including a two year old shooting and killing his mom, tiny plastic phalluses are the least of our worries; or at least, they should be.

Are we really that far gone as a society that we are so desensitized to violence that we shrug it off, but anything that even resembles a penis has to be blurred out for our viewing (like they did here)?  What does that say about us?  Penises, real, fake, purposeful or not, are not the problem.  Our twisted view of what is bad or wrong, is.

This is Nothing Important

My dear husband and I were talking about dream "visits" the other day.  If you have had them, you know the kind I mean.  If not, they are the kind of dreams that feel as if you have spent time with someone that you love that has passed on.  I feel lucky that I have them, even though they usually always make me cry upon waking.

Occasionally, I have "place visits" in my dreams and these make me cry, too; mostly because I am usually dreaming of some wonderful destination that I am longing to be in; Paris, the pyramids in Mexico, or my grandparents' old house that has long since been demolished and turned into two family homes.  If I could time travel, I would go back to the brick front steps of that house or to huge swing in the backyard just to have another conversation with them.  God, I miss them every day.

This morning, I had a visit of another sort.  I woke up suddenly to the sound of crashing from the living room.  Since I have cats and am used to being awoken thus, I just figured I would survey the damage when I was good and ready (it was not the Christmas tree as I had feared, only some heavy cookbooks).  I managed to fall back to sleep almost instantly and immediately fell into a luscious visit with a 6'4 WWE wrestler.  It was the kind of dream that made me feel like I needed a mental shower upon waking; or a long soak in a hot bath for real.  It was a very nice dream.  It was so nice, in fact, that it made me feel guilty enough that I needed to write up this post; as a kind of confession.

I know I can't control my subconscious.  My rich fantasy life is as deeply embedded in my DNA as graying, mousy brown hair, blue eyes and irrational guilt.  They are all parts of me that I am learning to embrace.

Whatever it means and however it makes me feel, it was nice to wake up with a smile on my face, for once, on an otherwise dreary Monday.  Now, if you don't mind, I am going back to bed.

Processing...

When most people see the word processing, they most likely think of what a computer does.  It transforms information into readable text, pictures, kitty cat memes, etc.  It processes computer jibberish into a medium that our brain recognizes, quickly.

What I want to talk about is the way people interpret information.  Specifically, how me and my youngest son see and hear things.

When I was a child, before I began school, I was a genius.  I read whole books way before I entered Kindergarten.  I had a grasp of the English language that probably rivaled that of an average ten or twelve year old when I was five and my use of sarcasm and humor made adults weep with glee.

It was universally accepted (okay, my mom WAS my universe when I was five) that I would get straight A's all through my school years, that I would graduate from Princeton and become a successful brain surgeon/astrophysicist, or at the very least, a writer that used correct grammar.

It didn't turn out that way; far from it, in fact.

By the time I hit second grade, I was already "not working up to my potential".  I fidgeted.  I lost my homework.  I didn't DO my homework.  My desk and bookbag were overflowing with crap and my mother and my teacher were both shaking their heads (at best) and screaming (at worst) at me over my laziness.

"If you would only APPLY yourself!"

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that throughout my school years, I'd at least have a couple, two, t'ree bucks.

I carried on believing that I had just been a lazy student until I had my own children and I started seeing my struggles in theirs; especially, in my youngest son's.

Like me, he talked and read very early.  My mom often recounts a story of E, sitting on her lap, at about eighteen months old, reading her Scrabble letters out loud while we played.  He was and is a very bright boy.

Within the first few months of Kindergarten, we realized that he was having trouble, though.  It turns out, this trouble had a name:  Processing Disorder.

There are three basic types of processing disorders:  Auditory, Visual and Sensory.  Sound, Sight and Touch/Feel or Tactile.

E and I both have trouble with the way we interpret what we read.  Often, our brains are on the next paragraph, while our eyes are still on the one before.  It leads to confusion.

We are also not very good at following spoken directions, which is part of the reason for my doing so poorly in school, when nearly every class relied on lots of talking by the teacher and lots of note taking by the students.  I would invariably get lost at some point, quit trying to figure out what I was supposed to be writing and would start daydreaming and doodling.

When the time came to turn in the homework that was assigned during the drone, I would usually have missed it, taking the parking break off the steamroller at the top of the hill of crap that was my missed assignments.

In classes that I had a good grasp of:  History or English, I could usually make it up and get by; but math, especially Algebra, was another story.  If I missed one thing, I was lost for days and weeks, often never to get back on top of things.  It didn't help that my Algebra teacher was the same one for three years in a row and that she was a psychotic, polyester pantsuit wearing, drunk.  I was afraid to approach her for help and when I did, she repeated the tired old line about being lazy and not applying myself, instead of understanding that I was having trouble.  Needless to say, I didn't ask for her help very often, except under threat of bodily harm or house arrest carried out by my mother.

I was grounded for approximately 742 days of my high school career.

So, when I got an email from my youngest's teacher about some writing assignments he had missed, I responded quickly that I would talk to him about it and we would get things straightened out as soon as possible.  Only, I read it wrong...

And mixed up the assignments she was talking about...

And confused the whole situation further...

And had to ask her for more time, because I had made things worse...

And it hit me that as much as I have learned to compensate for my struggles with processing, it is a lifelong challenge.

I have to remind myself to slow down, to re-read, to clarify things that I am not quite sure about.

And sometimes, I forget.

And I think of all the times that I have felt totally lost, when it seemed everyone around me knew what they were doing, even now, still, today.

When everyone else brings the paperwork to the meeting and is on time; I wonder why it is so hard for me.  Why am I such a scatterbrain?

And I look at my kid's desk and backpack and have a flashback of my own.

And I feel for my kid.

And I am thankful that I "get" it.  

And I hope I can help him.

And I think that he will probably always struggle, as I have.  

And then, the ray of light:  I have a life.  I have held on to jobs.  I have made something of myself, though it is miles short of the goals I have set.  I have SURVIVED.

He will, too.

Who Needs Rules?

My son, Charles has no use for arbitrary rules.  Real rules, like safety-type rules, he is mostly down with.  At least, the ones he agrees with.  The fact that he cannot drive a car because he:  

a)  is too young to get a license
b)  is unable to pass the written test
and 
c)  has 20/375 vision

does not sit well with him.  If there is a way to get a license, then, by god, he will get one with his will.

Thankfully, I have another year or so to cross that bridge (and maybe move to Wyoming, where his driving probably won't kill anyone).

Anyway, back to Mom's Arbitrary Rules and the reason for this post. We have the same fight, every day over what shelf the acne treatment pads should go on.

I know.  It sounds silly even as I type it.

Here's the thing, though.  IT DRIVES ME CRAZY!  I have them put away, neatly, on the lower shelf behind the cabinet door.  Invariably, the next time I go into the bathroom, they are on the top of the cabinet.  Every time.

My house is not haunted.

I don't have little demons moving things around, trying to freak me out.  Even if I did, I would hope they would do something a bit more interesting than move Charles' acne medicine.

No, this is Charles telling me exactly what he thinks of my stupid rules.  Because, really?  Is anyone going to die if the stupid acne pads are on top of the cabinet?  No.  Mom is just going to go a little bit crazier.  And isn't that the end game?  Making mom crazier?  Because crazy mom is HILARIOUS!

I used to think so, but now I am not so sure.

I think after awhile, after so many years of people telling you that your shoes go on the other feet, that the dirty plates go on the right side of the sink AFTER THEY ARE RINSED, that you CANNOT DRIVE MOM'S CAR, you kind of need to rebel a little.

I want my kid to buck the system.  True, that he is bucking MY system kind of makes me nuts, but do I really want a kid that is going to just follow along with any old thing any random person "in authority" says?  

No.

I want my kid to push back against those who will tell him what he can and cannot do without giving him the why.  Because some of those whys are arbitrary.  

"It's the way things are done"  is arbitrary.  It's also a cop out.

So, buck that system, my Charles.  I'll be right behind you, with bail money if need be.

Sentimental Me

Maybe it's foolish.  I've been called worse things.  

It's easy to become sentimental as you get older, but I was born that way.  From as far back as I can remember, I saved little things.  I had a terrible time parting with anything someone I loved gave me, whether it was a plastic ring from a gumball machine or a stuffed animal or a birthday card.  

When my Mom, or grandma, or grandpa would kiss my cheek, I would be careful not to rub it and could feel it, lingering there, for a long time afterwards.  

The one and only year I went to camp, the girls in my cabin were mean and clique-y.  Though I felt a bit lonely, the fact that they weren't nice to me didn't bother me as much as the fact that they wrecked the bed that my mom so nicely made for me before she left.  All those thoughtful, tight tucks, undone in a fit of eleven year old menace.  

If you look in my purse, I know you will find at least one old shopping list written by my Mom and a note about my worn out tires from my Dad.  In the kitchen drawer, notes from my Dear Husband about slippery roads, hot coffee and cats.  On the top shelf of the closet, nearly every drawing, project and card ever made by my children and birthday cards from relatives dating back to the 70's.

My father's mother passed away last April, but her voice is still on my answering machine.  I'd still have my other grandmother's voice as well, but her last message to me got erased.  Believe me when I say it really bothers me that it's gone.  I also had my youngest son's voice on there, from the day he first rode his bike (alone!) to a friend's house.  He called as soon as he got there.  "Hi Mom.  Well, I just wanted to call and say that I made it and I'm fine.  Well, see you later.".  You see, I have it memorized, even though it too got erased when we had to get a new phone.  

Books and clothes and televisions and cars and other things, I have no problem giving away.  I don't get attached to big things; not really.  I'd rather someone else have them, if they can be useful to them.  Over the years, I've managed to pare down the sky high pile of letters and cards to a more manageable amount, as well.  Now, instead of every birthday card my great grandmother ever sent me, I only have one; but I won't part with it.  

I still have my favorite childhood stuffed animals and every silly letter my husband wrote to me when we were apart for four months the year we got engaged.

I worry that I haven't taken enough pictures, spent enough time, taught my children all the things they need to know from their mom.  I worry that they'll grow up and leave and I worry that they won't.

I want to take all these things; the papers, the pictures, the voices and the worries and lock them away in a time capsule.  I want to cement them into the cornerstone of my life; knowing that these things are only a small representation of what really matters.

Here and now, what I have shared, what I remember, who I have loved, who knows that I love them; those are the real things worth keeping.

Hard to Find the Words

You can probably tell by the fly by the seat of my brain writing style that I usually just plow right ahead with whatever I am thinking about.  Today, I am having trouble.

I came upon a website in a roundabout way yesterday that left me with so many sick and angry feelings, that I had a very hard time digesting what I was reading; in fact, I still haven't quite reconciled all the feelings I had.  I might never get to that point.  I am not going to post any links to it, here, but a tiny bit of searching will lead to what I am about to reference.

Someone had posted a question in one of the groups I am involved in asking what kind of support we had when we found out that our children would be born with Down syndrome.  I read through the answers, seeing much of my own experience, until I came to one that said something about being referred to a support group for women who ended their pregnancies.  

I was a little bit taken aback by the assumption of this doctor, referring a woman with a still living, moving fetus in her womb to a support group like this, but quickly recovered.  The doctor might have been jumping the gun, but women can and do end their pregnancies for all kinds of reasons.  I can understand needing a place to work through their feelings.

I am not saying that it makes me happy that a woman would feel the need to end her pregnancy based on a T-21 (Down syndrome) diagnosis.  I'm just acknowledging that it happens.  I don't wish to drag these women through the mud.  There are so many complex issues to the dilemma that factor in:  Lack of updated information, fear, outside pressure, stigma, serious heart conditions, just not feeling "strong" enough... I get it.  I really do.

That a woman might make this decision at all is not what bothered me.  At least, that's only a small part of it.  It does bother me because I take it as a reflection of how people feel about my living, breathing kid.  I take it as a slap in the face; but I know that it truthfully has nothing to do with me and my kid and everything to do with what that woman feels to be true for her.  It isn't about me and I don't wish to make it about me.  It's just hard to separate, sometimes.  Her body, her decision.  I understand and agree that this is the way it should and must be.

What really bothered me was reading how some of these "procedures" take place.  I read accounts of women who got a T-21 diagnosis at 20, 24, 26 weeks, who decided to end their wanted (until this point) pregnancies.  Many of the stories recount tiny babies born alive (after induction) only to die in their parents arms.  Babies taking a few breaths, just to die, as their parents whispered to them that it was for the best.

It was for the best, they told themselves and their babies and they took inkings of their footprints and pictures of their dead children and had them cremated and put in tiny little urns as if they just happened to die and they, as parents, had nothing to do with that process.  They talked about being sad over their "lost" babies.

This was where I began to lose it.


I began to think of all the premature babies I have known and the lengths that their parents and doctors had gone to to keep them alive.  Why does one baby born accidentally at 20+ weeks get all the medical intervention we can throw at them and another get to gasp and die?  

I thought of friends who had had miscarriage after miscarriage; who truly LOST their children.

I began to think of the friends I have whose children are battling cancer and kids who have died from childhood cancer and the Grand Canyon scale difference between these children's parents and those that I was reading about.  

I read one account where the parents justified it saying that if their child had been in an accident and was on life support, they would have had to make the same type of decision.  I completely understand this logic if a fetus' condition is incompatible with life.  There are plenty of complications that fall into this category, but Down syndrome is not one of them.  Yes, babies with Down syndrome can have major heart conditions, kidney issues, feeding issues...the list is long.  But most of these issues are correctable.  With intervention, the vast majority of babies born with T-21 will not just live, but thrive.

There is also plenty of debate about how much intervention is too much and I completely understand it.  I've often thought about babies I saw when my son was in the hospital that had never in their short lives left the ICU or been off a ventilator.  Some were three and four months old.  It is worth noting that none of them had Down syndrome.  One baby in particular caught my attention as he was learning to smile around the vent tube that had been down his throat since he was born.  It was truly the saddest baby smile I have ever witnessed.  I want to cry thinking about it now, even fourteen years later.  I pondered over his suffering, for I have no doubt that he was suffering, despite his early, baby smiles.  Entering the world too early, with unripened lungs, into bright lights and needle pokes and tubes shoved down your throat is really no great way to come into the world.

I often wonder what happened to him.  

All this begs the question:  At what point does it become worth the fight?  Understandably, it is different for everyone.  I think about Christopher Reeve and his fight after he became paralyzed and dependent on a ventilator and a wheelchair.  I think about the people I know who are dependent on various interventions to live.  I wonder at what point they would feel like their lives were not worth living.  Mostly, I see people who are at peace with their circumstances.  Whether you want these circumstances for yourself or your child is mostly irrelevant.  Most of us will never know what it feels like to be in those shoes.

So, what of these parents who decide to let their children go?  At first, I read these late term abortion (induction and delivery) accounts with disbelief, then, white hot hatred.  How DARE they write about how sad they were!!!  THEY CHOSE TO DELIVER THESE BABIES TO THEIR DEATHS AND HELD THEM WHILE THEY DIED!!!  FUCK THEIR SADNESS!!!  

Then, I calmed down and started wondering where the line between abortion and straight up killing, was, because this didn't feel like abortion to me.  It felt like killing.  I began questioning my own pro-choice views.  I came to the conclusion that I am still pro-choice, but that the area of gray had narrowed, somewhat.  I have always found late term abortions troubling, but conceded that they needed to be legal.  I don't want women to be incubators for children they don't want and adoption is not the easy alternative that some would want you to believe.  Yes, it's an option, but not one that I would want forced on anyone.  There are plenty of kids languishing in the system, already.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I had an abortion myself, in my early twenties.  I don't regret it and I don't feel guilty about it.  The way I think about it, I might not have the kids I do now if I had carried on with that pregnancy.  I might have married that other guy.  In my view, I saved the beautiful family I have now by sacrificing those cells years ago.  Maybe you will call me a hypocrite.  Who am I to judge anyone?  I also have the benefit of hindsight working for me.  Women who chose to end their late term pregnancies because of Down syndrome don't have this luxury.  All they can see is NOW and the future is a scary unknown.  I'm sure that plenty of these women will hold up their "rainbow babies" (a term used for a baby born after a miscarriage, but apparently, also after an abortion) as justification for their decisions.  It's not my place to judge or question them.  I can only speak about my own feelings.

I don't know where to draw the line for anyone else.  It's not my right to draw that line.  All I know is that I am troubled by this discovery.  I am saddened and shaken that someone could think so little of a kid like mine, with his messed up heart and his humor and love of WWE, that they would let him die rather than fight, but again, I am making it about me and my feelings.  Hindsight might give us blinders.

I read an interesting blog post the other day; written by a woman whose son died from serious congenital defects after battling and suffering for the better part of his short three year life.  She wrote that if she had known what was in store for her son before he was born, that she would have had an abortion rather than put him through what he eventually did.  Again, hindsight in action.  Her story made my heart ache for her and I take her at her word, that she loved and wanted the best for her son; even if that meant not letting him live at all.

So, what is the difference?  You might be wondering.  The difference is that my kid and kids like him don't suffer from Down syndrome.  They are living and thriving into their 50's, 60's and 70's.  And I look at my son and wonder what about him is so horrible that you can't imagine being in my shoes.  And I am trying, mightily, to put myself in yours.  I was there, fifteen years ago and I chose my son. I realize that fact colors my every thought on the subject.

I don't wish to judge or condemn or ridicule or belittle anyone else's choices and I certainly don't want to become a spokesperson for the anti-choice movement.  I believe in choice.  I just know that I am troubled and that I wish to get to a point in our history that sees Down syndrome in a better, more realistic and hopeful light than it does now.

Engine Two Diet Part Two (Really more like 17)

In March, 2010, I was lucky enough to spend five days at an Engine 2 Diet immersion through Whole Foods Market (I worked there at the time).

Here is what I wrote about it six months later:

What I Have Learned in the Six Months Since the E2 Immersion...as told to Rip

September 10, 2010 at 2:01pm

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Here is my top ten list of the things I have discovered since the Engine Two Immersion (find out what E2 is here)  in March 2010. Six months out, there have been some subtle and not so subtle changes; mostly in my thinking. I have lost ten of the fifty pounds that I need to lose; but I am not stressed over the number. The strides I have made far outweigh the stumbles. So, here you go:

1. Kale is my friend! I never thought it would be. We eat it every day and my husband swears he likes it more than any other salad leaf. Who would have thought? And, it’s not just for dinner; oh no…Kale breakfast smoothies with raw cacao are energy filled and delicious!

2. Reading labels 2.0. I thought I read labels before I listened to Jeff Novick at the immersion. And I was sort of right, and sort of, mostly wrong. Now, instead of just looking at total calories and making sure there is no High Fructose Corn Syrup or Trans Fat in my food; I am now looking at sodium content and fat to calorie ratio. Thanks to Jeff, I will never look at food labels the same way! (Unless it’s vegan cookies…but, we’ll get to that!)

3. Regardless of what the scale says, I know I am doing good things for my body. My energy is high and I am sleeping well. Those are two issues that I brought with me to the immersion that have really improved. I feel like (for the first time I don’t want or need a quick fix) I have my whole life to get better and better at being plant strong. There is no rush. I think about some of the most dedicated plant strong people I know and remember that many of them were much older than I am now before they committed. I will nudge myself when I need nudging. And if I need help, I have so many fabulous resources in the plant strong friends I have made. I am at peace with the pace (most of the time).

4. I cannot convince anyone. This was really hard, especially since I want my loved ones to be as healthy as possible; but, all I can do is give help WHEN ASKED and be the best example I can be. Eventually, the one’s who want it for themselves will come around.

5. Lesson number 4 (above) does not apply to my children! I have eliminated all dairy and eggs from the house. They do still eat 4-5 servings of meat per week, mostly at dinner. They also get pizza on Friday, with cheese and whatever they want.
Why? Because with all of the other changes, I did not want them to feel like they had to give up everything. If they know that they can still have Pizza Fridays, it makes all of the other changes easier to handle. They are eating a veggie and fruit with their lunches and a veggie and kale salad with dinner.

Will they ever be 100% plant strong? I hope so. For now, I am turning them on to all of the good things I am eating, severely limiting the bad stuff and educating them to make good choices.


The post script to #5 is that all of my boys (ages 10, 11 and 14) have grown faster this year than any other since they were toddlers. My oldest, Brett grew six inches and my younger ones each grew four or five. I know that it is the power of kale and extra veggies at work!


6. I am running again. The New York Marathon is in my sights. I am still not ready for 2010, but I know I will be for 2011!

7. I am becoming a fearless cook. When the cupboard is bare I don’t panic and order a pizza like I used to. I always have canned beans; I always have frozen vegetables; I always have brown rice and pasta. I throw a combination of these things together with a little vegan pesto (to die for!) or some low oil pasta sauce or some Frank’s Red Hot and I have dinner with just a little creativity and very little time.

8. I’ve learned what my triggers are. A dozen bagels in the house? Bad idea. One bagel with some Earth Balance every other Sunday? Acceptable and delicious!
Doughnuts? I can’t buy them. They cannot darken my door or I will eat 6, minimum.

9. I can live (very happily, thank you!) without cheese. I truly did not think it was possible. Seriously. Even sitting in the immersion all hopped up on kale and no sugar added desserts, I was thinking in the back of my mind “I’ll still eat cheese, once in awhile…life would suck without cheese”.
But, I was wrong! I realize that without cheese on pasta dishes I can actually taste the rest of the food! The sauce tastes sweet, the added vegetables fill me up, it’s not just a bowl of calories that I’ll regret eating later! Cheeseless pizza? I would have laughed in your face six months ago. What would be the point of that? But, like the pasta, I’ve found it’s what else you put on top that matters. Artichokes? Vegan pesto (it’s seriously my favorite)? Spinach, broccoli, tomatoes, garlic…there is just no room or need for cheese. Sometimes, Friday pizza night comes around and I eat a delicious bowl of gnocchi and broccoli with sauce and nutritional yeast and a big salad. I am full and won’t fall asleep during the movie portion of the evening the way I used to after eating my fill of cheese pizza!

The other bonus to not eating cheese is that it was a huge trigger for me and now it is not an issue. How is that for awesome?!

10. I still have a ways to go and it’s okay. I’m okay with the journey. I still haven’t beat my sugar addiction, but I know I will, when I’m ready. What happens is I sometimes get caught up in this new found love affair with food and over do it. Oreos are vegan?!?!?! What?!?!?! Then I proceed to polish off the package in three sittings. Smart? No. Necessary? Hmmm, maybe? Doing stupid things like this while sticking to a vegan diet is a huge difference from my past behavior. I’m not quite ready to kick sugar and all processed food out of my diet just yet. But, I’m thinking about it. I know I’ll get there.

So, where will I be in another six months? Definitely in Austin celebrating one year of Plant Strong Happiness with Rip, Char, Natala, Jeff, Pam and all the others. I’ll be getting ready to start six months of training for the NYC Marathon. And…I’ll be down the last forty. I just know I will. It’s coming. I can feel it. One day and one bite at a time.

Like

Comment

• Sherrie Marchi and Dawn Bowie like this.
• 

  Lauren Maehrlein more power to you!

  September 10, 2010 at 2:20pm · Unlike · 1
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  Natala Constantine Every day is a choice of what you fill all those beautiful cells with - and you are well on your way to filling each of them up with lovely healthy goodness - you are awesome!

  September 10, 2010 at 2:27pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Christy Ijams It's too bad that the people who are the loudest and crankiest about not wanting your opinions, ideas or philosophies run down their throats are the same ones always shoving theirs down yours. 
  
  I'm very very proud of you and all the progress you've made.

  September 10, 2010 at 2:28pm · Like
• 

  Amy Dietrich Hernandez Wait...I'm not loud or cranky, am I?

  September 10, 2010 at 2:40pm · Like
• 

  Christy Ijams What?!?! No no no... Not YOU!! the naysayers.

  September 10, 2010 at 2:48pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Kathy Wallace Amy, I admire your determination. Making life style changes is never easy, and with your perseverance, I know you will make it to where you want to be. I am very proud of you and inspired. Think positive and continue being strong!

  September 10, 2010 at 2:56pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Rita Fann I got a little misty reading and relating to your quest......I'm there with ya!

  September 10, 2010 at 2:58pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Amy Dietrich Hernandez Rita, I was going to tag you! and a few others...but this stupid Facebook wouldn't let me tag more than I did! Glad you liked it! Soooo looking forward to DMB with you next Friday! Whooo!

  September 10, 2010 at 3:00pm · Like · 1
• 

  Lindsay Adair · Friends with Katie Morris and 7 others

  Thanks, lady! That's very inspiriing!

  September 10, 2010 at 4:01pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Rip Esselstyn Amy-
  This is a beautiful list. Thank you for sharing your journey so openly with the rest of us. I appreciate you in a big, big, way!!
  PlantStrong!
  Rip

  September 11, 2010 at 12:20pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Amy Dietrich Hernandez I so appreciate you, Rip!

  September 11, 2010 at 2:50pm · Like
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  Rip Esselstyn Right back at you!

  September 11, 2010 at 3:01pm · Like
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  Sherrie Marchi Wow, Amy. You're really making me second guess my allegiance to cheese. I do so love all of those veggies you spoke of, except the pesto. I yakked on pesto once. I don't know if I can do it.
  I do, however, LOVE nutritional yeast! I eat it on popcorn. Roz Spencer taught me that trick.

  September 11, 2010 at 3:31pm · Like
• 

  Amy Dietrich Hernandez I will never make you eat pesto, Sherrie! Mine is just basil and nuts and garlic, basically. I miss you!

  September 11, 2010 at 5:49pm · Like
• 

  Jeff Novick · 4 mutual friends

  Congrats! Keep up the great work!

  September 12, 2010 at 10:45am · Like

As I re-read my words, I am struck by how much I learned and how much has stayed with me, even almost four years later.  My veggie to crap ratio has dramatically shifted towards veggie.  Putting frozen spinach in with my pasta is a no-brainer, now, something I learned from Jeff Novick (find out more about Jeff, here).  I have crowded out (a term I learned from Dr. Fuhrman); (check him out here) excess meat and processed junk with extra vegetables and big salads.

I am part of the way there.  I haven't run another marathon, yet, but that idea has not gone away.  I still plan on making it happen.

What has changed since the immersion, is that I am now a gluten free person.  My mom, my sister, my aunt and my son all have gluten intolerance or Celiac and I have some of the symptoms, as well.  Instead of subjecting myself to invasive and expensive testing, I decided to try cutting out gluten and I have seen a difference in the way I feel.  

For awhile, I think I was having a kind of pity party over bagels.  I really, really love bagels.  I am from New Jersey and bagels and rolls are a big part of breakfast there.  Man, I love bagels.  And lox.  And hard rolls with butter.  Oh geez... Anyway...

I'm feeling like now, finally, after a few years of hemming and hawing, I am at the point where I don't really care.  Yes, I will always kind of want bagels, but I want to feel good more than I want to bite into that deliciousness.  That seems like a little thing, maybe a subtle thing, but it is not.  It is HUGE, trust me.  

The trouble with going gluten free is that it is limiting.  Not eating meat and cheese and eggs seems damned near impossible when you can't eat most veggie burgers, or pasta, or...you get the picture.  So, I wasted more time, eating meat and cheese and not really feeling great about it, but not wanting to feel deprived.  

And, I gained weight.

And I started feeling really crappy.

And I gained some more weight because I felt crappy.

And...yeah, vicious cycle and all that.

The difference today, is that I have finally, truly become a fearless cook.  Cooking with no limitations is easy.  Cooking without gluten or animal products is much harder.  But, do you know what else is hard?  Being fat.  Being fat is the hardest thing, ever.  I don't feel like me.  

For the first time in a long time, I feel like the planets are aligned in just such a way that it might be possible to kick this fat to the curb for good.  Maybe it's my obsession with "The Biggest Loser".  Maybe it's my pants size, or maybe it's the fact that I am staring down the barrel of a 44 (birthday) this year.

I don't really care what it is.  Whatever it is, I am thankful for it.

And I am done, so done with feeling crappy.

I am not sure how often I will post about this, but I will keep writing as I go.