Blame Game

Stupid Facebook.

I have a love-hate relationship with that blasted social network.  Love, because it keeps me connected to people I would otherwise rarely (if ever) keep up with.  Hate, because sometimes I inadvertently find people I’d rather have forgotten about.

Oooh, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it?

Primarily, I use Facebook as a youth-stalking tool.  I like to keep tabs on my church kids, and these teeny-boppers lurve to barf every detail of their lives onto their profile pages.  Thanks to Facebook, I can keep much better track of who’s dating, who’s breaking up, and who’s on the verge of jumping off a bridge. 

Every once and a while, I look at the side bar and take note of the people that Facebook is recommending I become friends with. 

A few weeks ago, I noticed that an acquaintance from Texas had Facebook-friended my OBGYN.  Of course, I was told by the website that I should also become friends with the doctor, as if doing so would fulfill a lifelong dream.

My heart started beating faster when I saw the doctor’s name.  I have tried with all my might to push any memories of her, of Ellie’s delivery, of the events leading to my sterility, to the dark recesses of my mind.  Back there, in the abyss, the memories are safe.  They don’t lead to endless “what if?” questions.  They don’t cause me to ask, “why?”.  They just sit there, stagnant, minding their own business.

But, seeing her name brought it all back.

I should have closed my laptop and left it at that.  I should have just gone straight to the pantry, picked out the greasiest, highest-caloric-content food I could find, and stuffed it in my heart, er, I mean mouth.  But, no….

I clicked on her name and was directed to her profile page.

Which was not blocked.

I saw her profile picture.  She looked more beautiful than I remembered.  And she was holding a baby.  And smiling.  Not an OBGYN smile, but a Mama-smile.

I read her wall.  She had a baby 3 months ago.  Macy.  I love the name Macy.  Who wouldn’t want to share a name with a high-end department store?  Macy was perfect.  She was born at term.  She was hitting her milestones.  And there was no word of any uncontrollable-post-partum-bleeding-which-required-sterility-inducing-surgery.  Perfect pregnancy.  Perfect delivery.  Perfect baby.  Perfect post-partum-ness.  Perfect life.

And it made me mad.

I have never blamed my doctor for Ellie’s brain injury.  I don’t think it was her fault.  I don’t believe there was any negligence.  I don’t think I could win a lawsuit.  I want to believe she did everything she could for both Ellie and me.

But, that doesn’t mean I don’t have questions for her. 

Why didn’t you tell me that at nearly 7 weeks early, Ellie could actually be born not-breathing?  Why didn’t you prepare us?

Why didn’t you try to stop labor?

Why didn’t you give Ellie a dose of Serfactin to give her lungs a boost?

And, of course, the most passionate question; one that I ask of God:  Why does SHE get a healthy baby, and I don’t? 

The doctor could afford amazing care and therapy for a disabled child.  She’d know which specialists to see.  She could hire a physiotherapist-nanny.  It would make her a better doctor. 

Irrational thoughts?  Absolutely.  I know that.  But, I can’t help it.  This is what floods through my brain when those hidden memories and feelings are allowed to resurface.

I don’t want to blame.  I don’t want to be bitter.  I don’t want to be jealous.  I know too many mothers of special needs kids who spend countless hours replaying the delivery, asking the “what if’s?”, being consumed by anger.  I don’t want to be like that. 

And, for the most part, I’m not.  For the most part, I am convinced that God has a greater plan for Ellie and that her cerebral palsy just HAPPENED.  It’s nobody’s fault.  Bad things happen to people.  We need to rise above our weaknesses and allow God to use us.

But, every once and a while, I feel jipped.  And I want someone to blame.

It’s all your fault, Facebook.

Convos

It's a sad day when half-marathon training becomes an easier resolution than blogging 52 times in one year!  But, alas, I have committed to both, so I will keep keeping on.

Life is busy.  My brain is tired.  My fingers, like my heart, are sometimes too fatigued to regurgitate my feelings into cyber words. 

So, today, you get a Top Five List. 

Top Five Conversations From This Past Week

1.  "I have chosen you as 6-month tenants for my single family home."  
Did I mention that we've *basically* sold our house?!  I only add the asterisks because there are conditions on the offer that come off on March 30th.  We have no reason to believe that the buyer will have any trouble meeting these conditions, so I'm moving along as if it's sold (famous last words?).  Of course, that means we need a place to live while our new house is being built!  I was really hoping that we'd be able to find a single family home, rather than an apartment, because wall-and-ceiling-sharing neighbors always scare me (or, more accurately, I don't want to be restricted by THEIR noise regulations, ha!).   There was only one neighborhood house advertised for rent and the landlady had more than a dozen rental requests within the first week of advertising.  All of the other tenants-in-waiting were willing to sign one-year leases.  Yet, for some miraculous reason, the landlady chose US!  She said that we "felt like the right fit".  Well, hit me with a hot note and watch me bounce, I'll gladly fit into your 4 bedroom, 2 bath air-conditioned rental!

2.  "Dear Jesus, please help Grandpa not to fall out of any more trucks..."
Oh, Ellie.  My dad fell out of a semi-truck last week, and, as he was saving his face, he broke his wrist.  That evening, as Ellie and I were saying her night-time prayers, I suggested that we pray for Grandpa, that his hand would feel better and heal quickly.  And, well, this is how Ellie interpreted that suggestion.  Funny girl.

3.  "And with that, the West Virginia Mountaineers are out of the tournament..."
Oh, I have nothing against West Virginia.  In fact, Richard was born there, and many of his extended family still live there.  BUT, I was elated when the Mountaineers went down in the second round of the March Madness tourney because Richard picked them as grand champions in his brackets.  Bwa ha ha!  The bracket-loser is responsible for cleaning BOTH vehicles (inside and out, including Armor All and vacuuming!) AND the winner gets to pick the restaurant and movie.  A clean car, sushi restaurant and a chick flick...it's too much happiness!

4."Mommy!  Your pants are falling off!"
Guess that's what happens when you do enough of that aforementioned marathon-training!


And, by far, the very best conversation I had this week...

5. Ellie's Occupational Therapist: "I'm a nervous wreck!  My daughter is a journalist and now she's in Japan, covering the earthquake."
   Me: "Oh, yes, I once had a dream of foreign correspondence.  In fact, I even went to journalism school at Carleton University."
   Ellie's OT: "Really?  That's where my daughter went!  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were there at the same time---you're probably her age."
   Me: "Oh, yeah, how old is she?"
   Ellie's OT: "28."

TWENTY-EIGHT, people!  TWENTY.EIGHT.

Yet Another Reason to Loathe The Conservatives...

Vic Toews, Member of Parliament
Suite 306, Justice Building House of Commons
Ottawa. Ont. K1A 0A6

March 11, 2011

Dear Mr. Toews,

It is with boiling blood and deep disappointment that I write to you today. I cannot keep quiet any longer, as the leader of your party continues to insult my love of and allegiance to Canada.

One of Mr. Harper’s contemptible Liberal attack ads centers on Mr. Ignatieff’s time in the United States. The ad features quotes from Mr. Ignatieff, as the Liberal leader verbalizes his fondness of the USA. The underlying message of the callous advertisement is that, because Mr. Ignatieff expressed devotion towards the United States, he is no longer a patriotic Canadian.

This message is an insult to my entire family, and I take it personal offense to it. I am one of the most patriotic Canadians in this country, and would, without a doubt, give my life for the Great White North. I also pledge allegiance to the United States, where I lived for nearly ten years. I love BOTH these nations, and I am so grateful for my dual-citizen family.

When I resided in the United States, I was very diligent in my quest to keep abreast of Canadian current events. We flew the flags of both Canada AND the United States from our front porch. I religiously followed both curling AND NCAA football (still do!).

Now that I’m living in Canada again, I take just as much care to stay informed with American current events. We still fly both flags, only this time, they’re covered with snow for half the year.

I truly cannot express the anger I feel at Mr. Harper’s insinuation that a devotion to our southern neighbour diminishes my love for Canada. This attack on my patriotism is infuriating! Perhaps Mr. Harper’s heart is incapable of dual affection, but this is not indicative of other (very loyal) Canadians. So, please stop insulting such a large section of the populace.

I would ask that you pass this message on to Mr. Harper, along with a request to remove the offending commercial from television.

Sincerely,
Chrystie ...

A New Day

I hate leaving my Grump-a-Dump post up here for too long.  Because, really, my pity parties are not worth attending.  They are boring and awkward.  And all there is to eat are carrots (without dip) and ice cubes (with freezer burn).  Not a good time.

But, today is a better day.  The sun is shining.  I've had 3 cups of perfectly-brewed coffee (if I say so myself), and I've finished my treadmilling for the day (for those of you who are wondering: I'm averaging 15 miles per week, so the resolution is still resolution-ing!).  AND!  And.  There's an unwatched episode of "V" waiting for Richie and me on the DVR tonight.  Whoop!

Plus.  There's this:

Ellie's first time at Disney On Ice, and she LURVED it.  So did I.

Happy Friday, friends!

P.S.

For those of you who have been patiently waiting for a Vancouver update, I posted it here, on Ellie's blog.  It's a good 'er!

Trapped

It’s March.

And you know how March makes me feel?

TRAPPED.

Trapped by old-fart-of-a-man-winter. Turning the calendar to reveal March induces visions of tulips and jackets-without-liners. But, these dreams are quickly dashed when, like this morning, I walk out the front door and turn into a statue of ice. With the windchill, it was -35 today. MINUS THIRTY-FREAKIN-FIVE. After thawing out in my not-quite-as-cold car, I start asking myself, “Why do I live here?” “Should we move?” “Remember last year, in Florida? Well, it wasn’t like this, that’s for sure.” And these panicked inquisitions make me feel even more…

Trapped.

Trapped by house-building. Things are getting serious now. We’ve got the floor plan to the “almost done” stage. We’ve set up a meeting with the builder. Our lot is just waiting for the first back hoe. And the bank. Oh, the bank. They’re just waiting for our signatures on that trapping piece of paper. The paper that signifies we’re going to be here FOREVER. Because, surely, if we design a house from scratch, “exactly” the way we want it, we’ll have to live there until we graduate to the nursing home, right?

And we can’t move. Because how on earth will we ever find a school system as good as we’ve got up here, in this Frozen Wasteland? Yes, the stellar schools in this small town have me feeling…

Trapped.

Trapped by Ellie’s teachers and therapists and educational assistants. I read enough blogs and message boards to know that the education and help that Ellie receives here is nearly unmatched. While down in Florida, I saw the tears of frustration stream down parent’s faces when they described the impossibility of securing a one-on-one aide for their disabled child. Kids similar in ability to Ellie received one-on-THREE help. Can you imagine Ellie have to share her EA with 2 other equally-challenged kids? But, in order for Ellie to go to school here, we kinda hafta live here. Here, where your schnot freezes and the closest Target is 3 hours away.

And, where else could I find a job I love so much? Yup, I am…

Trapped. Again.

Trapped by my job. The job that brings so much joy, yet requires me to physically report in for 48 weeks of the year. Report in HERE. Not on my lanai in Honolulu. Not on my townhouse deck in Lake Mary, Florida. Not on my brick patio in Lewisville, Texas. Here. Where I can’t even see out my office window because the blasted snow drift is so high, it obstructs my view.

See.  I kid you not!  The snow drift really IS that high!

And, since March is Ellie’s birthday month, the new calendar page breeds yet another emotion. I feel…

Trapped.

Trapped by my stupid uterus. Ellie will be 6 in a couple of weeks. SIX! I feel like the window is closing. You know, the window that I swore was already long shut…and locked…with the key hidden beneath the monstrous pile of cleared snow off of Route 90. But, every once and a while (like today), the feeling resurfaces. It makes me sad. I still kinda wish that I could give Ellie a sibling. I still kinda wish I could navigate the road of “not-special-needs” parenting. But, it’s so complicated. Long gone is the possibility of saying, “Hey, let’s have a baby!”, and then a couple months later, after peeing on a stick, start the 9-month countdown. I have no control over my reproductive organs. And, lack of control ALWAYS makes me feel trapped. ALWAYS.

To top it off, you know what else makes me feel trapped today?

This blog!

I am, of course, joking (somewhat). But, in all honesty, I was NOT In a mood for writing today. And, given the subject matter in this post, I probably should have saved you all a URL trip and simply posted a pretty picture. But, now you know where my heart is at.

Thankfully, though, I do NOT feel trapped by my grouchy mood. I know this will pass. I know that it’s reedonkulous of me to coat the good things in my life with toxic, freezing waste. What makes me feel trapped today will make me feel blessed tomorrow. I know that.

And, hey, the high for tomorrow is minus ten. With every degree forward, another cell bar breaks.