Archives for posts with tag: summer

2B692091-A0AD-4844-AFD3-6755D0873689Summer has officially begun. Grace and Graham were done with school last Wednesday. I’ve unpacked a lot of the school stuff. Communication book, drumsticks, catheters, formula, diapers and unused pencils for Grace. For Graham a video showing kindergarten highlights, and so much of evidence of all he learned over the last year. We puzzled through some of the spellings in his work and marveled at his drawings, letters, and numbers. He learned so much in kindergarten!

I’d say their only year together in the same school turned out to be a success. Both of Grace’s teachers mentioned that Graham frequently sought them out to say hello. On the day he used his dragon tracks to be principal for a half a day he came home and reported to us that he’d been able to choose some classrooms to go to with the principal. He went to his own kindergarten room, but he also asked to go to Grace’s general ed room. When Grace wasn’t in that room the principal took him to the special ed room. And when she wasn’t there they went to the band room where Grace’s class was hanging out because the air conditioning in the special ed room was broken. I thought it was very cool that Graham used the opportunity to look for Grace.

For her part as a 5th grader, Grace got the chance to make afternoon deliveries to all classrooms. Evidently, they frequently peeked in on Graham.

There was one day this year when I dropped Grace off at school after therapy and was stopped by the school nurse asking for me to come to her office as soon as I had Grace settled. And then she winked at me. After another trip to the van to get the rest of Grace’s stuff and a kiss on her cheek goodbye, I reported to the nurse’s office to find Graham there. His stomach was hurting. But after a few hugs and a snuggle, he skipped off to kindergarten. I waited for the nurse to call me that day but she never did. He was fine. I was so grateful to have had the chance to be there for both of them that morning.

On Wednesday I attended the end of the year assembly. After songs to make me cry the siblings of 5th graders were offered a chance to line up in the middle of the gym. I saw Graham’s kindergarten teacher help him get into place. Once everyone was lined up the fifth graders “left the building” through a tunnel of high fives. This is what I’ve come to understand is the 5th grade clap out. Grace went second. It all happened so fast I got zero pictures. Graham told me later he got tons of high fives but none from Grace or her nurse Garrett. He was a little sad about it –but glad he got to be right up front.

As I left the gym after her in a hurry I walked by and made eye contact with Grace’s third-grade teacher and then her kindergarten teacher. Obviously tearful I only managed quick greetings–torn between getting to my girl and telling them one last time how much I was thankful for them I ended up following my girl.

And when I got to Grace her nurse and her aide were in hurry to get her water and get her cathed and get her to the park.   This huge moment was done. Life was going on. I walked out of the building crying and cried most of the way home. I swear a few trees cried with me as the wind blew and small leaves blew down around me.

Grace was done with the school she’d been at six years. “We have them the longest” her special ed teacher had said when we had Grace’s transition meeting to middle school. “It makes it harder to let them go” the speech therapist continued.

I’d been up to 11 the night before her last day trying to find words to thank so many people on Grace’s team the past six years. People who have loved her, cared for her, spoken for her, assured she wasn’t passed over. They’ve been with her literally half of her life. How do you thank people for that? And the thing is…the thing that makes me feel so helpless is that I imagine I only have an inkling of what she experienced there. That longing for communication, for knowing what it meant for Grace to be loved by them in what I’m sure were a million small and big ways escape me.   I’m sure that I’m not yet done processing what it means for Grace to be moving on from them. I’m sure there is more crying in my future on the topic.

But to bring this to an end I’d just say that on their last day of school in the same building I missed the opportunity to get a picture of them together. It didn’t work in the morning because they don’t get ready at the same time. After school Grace had a wheelchair appointment, Graham had taekwondo and that was that.

I’m so grateful they had their year- that they experienced sharing in this way this one time. I’m grateful for all the people who were in each of their stories their kindergarten and fifth-grade years.

And now we begin summer stories…

Joy

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IMG_6440When people ask me how Grace is doing a lot of times I respond by talking about how grateful I am that she’s been out of the hospital this summer. Facebook has been reminding me everyday lately about Grace’s surgery, a trip to the ICU, and all the complications of last summer. I have to take a minute to say that I’m crazy grateful for how far she has come in the last year.   Our girl – the one with spunk- has fully returned!   Having the mitrofanoff has made it much easier to care for her- allowing us a flexibility I never even really dreamed possible.   We can be spontaneous with less planning!

Even though she’s been out of the hospital this summer she’s never really settled.   We are constantly tweaking things or watching something. As of this writing, one of the things I feel like we are chasing is the noise that Grace has been making. Our normally quiet girl has taken to being very noisy. Sometimes I think she’s just “talking”. Other times it seems to be a sign of distress. We’ve been trying to figure out why this is. The school year rapidly approaching adds a bit of pressure as even after doctor visits, x-rays, changes in meds, even a dentist check, we still don’t know what is causing her discomfort. We snuggle her at home when she gets to sounding distressed and that calms her. I can’t see that working at school in the same way. I have fears of her being ushered out of classrooms because she’s interrupting others learning. Next week she will be in her last year of elementary school. I’m increasingly aware that opportunities for integration will only become fewer and I want her to soak up every last drop this coming year.

Yesterday I was at Hy-Vee picking up Pedialyte. It had been decided that we needed to give her stomach a break and see if that would perhaps bring her more comfort. I left work 10 minutes earlier than I regularly do and found myself standing in front of several kinds of Pedialyte. Most had prebiotics. I have no idea what prebiotics are and didn’t have time to do any googling. (Grace is not allowed probiotics because of her port so my hunch was that prebiotics maybe shouldn’t be in her wheelhouse either.) So anyhow I found a bottle that didn’t say the word prebiotics on it and went to check out. Luckily there was someone at the express checkout and no line because I was pushing my time. I had to be to daycare to get Graham (who doesn’t always want to leave right away) and be home for Grace’s nurse to be able to go home. Anyhow, I found myself in the express line face to face with this very young looking man and to my horror, I start hearing the music playing in the store and my eyes tear up.

It was Miley Cyrus…It’s the Climb. The part I began listening in on goes like this…

“There’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose
Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb”

So anyhow I start tearing up.   The chasing the noise to no avail. The weight of the past year. The fear. The constantly trying to get caught up. The advocating. The defending her. The unknown.

It all takes a toll. A really real one.

So much about Grace feels like an uphill battle. I wish sometimes it weren’t a battle just a slow and steady climb. But the battle sometimes is a war within ourselves trying to decide the right thing to do. Sometimes the battle is getting what we think she needs. Sometimes it’s about deciding what fights to fight and which ones to let go.

We want Grace to keep growing and learning and getting stronger. That’s the wanting to make the mountain move. She’s got crazy tough epilepsy that affects so much. Growing Grace is slow, long work that requires much perseverance and so much patience.   More perseverance and patience than I have some days.

We don’t know what’s on the other side for Grace. We are taking this one day at a time. That journey – that’s the climb if the song holds true.

So I realized it was a bit much – me getting all teary eyed in a store. I tried to put it in perspective. The tears receded. I was doing what I could for that day. I’d been on the phone with three of her doctors’ primary nurses. I’d been with Grace when she had a hard seizure that morning before I left her. I’d taken her to speech therapy. I’d given her meds, cathed her, dressed her, kissed her cheek, and handed her toys. I’d held her hand. And now I was going to give her Pedialyte and report to the doctor the next day.

I walked out of the store and away from the song.  I was, however, grateful that I had heard it play. Somehow it encouraged me to keep going.

Joy

IMG_5585I am looking forward to summer.

I want lemonade, fresh fruit, berry crisp, miniature golfing, and the feeling of the sun and heat soaking in.

I want less responsibility. Fewer things to juggle. A break.

To get to summer we’ve had to get past the last few weeks.

Grace had surgery last week in Minnesota to revise her mitrofanoff. We are hoping that will be her only surgery for the foreseeable future! She’s recovering well.

While we were in Minnesota Grace got all hooked up for an EEG. We were disappointed to discover that Grace’s EEG (a study of her brain activity) hasn’t shown any improvement since fall.   Her brain continues to experience a lot of back ground noise. We’d really thought it would be better after the addition of a new medication. In the last few months, we’ve seen better focus and more emotion. We’ve had her smile at us more. Her looks and eye contact have been so much fun. Her doctor reminded us that she’s not her EEG- if we are happy with what we are seeing that’s what counts.

Amid the highly scheduled past few weeks, we were alerted that there’s potential concern for her sodium levels so we are following up with some additional testing.

It’s easy to get trapped in the thought that Grace is all the things about her that we monitor and watch so carefully.   We have to remember she is none of those things. She’s a girl who loves to swing, loves music, loves to play, digs sparkle, and has a stubborn streak.

I saw that girl after her surgery. All snuggled under a blanket.

Before surgery I found myself overwhelmed with all the things about Grace. Her scars. Her medicine. Her past experience with anesthesia, etc. There is a crazy amount of information to pass on to the team of people we are entrusting with her care for an hour and a half.

I want a summer for Grace too. She deserves a break. We’ll never be rid of all the things about her. She’ll never drink lemonade or enjoy berry crisp. But she loves flowers, swinging, getting wet (as long as the water isn’t too cold) and being outside on a beautiful day.  We’ll work to spend the summer letting those things be the focus. I look forward to it.

Joy

IMG_8871Yesterday Kevin’s mom sent us an email about Christmas. Christmas seems so far away and I had a hard time wrapping my brain around it. That’s when I realized I have descended back into surgery mode. Surgery mode is about making it through the next few weeks.   Nothing beyond those weeks factors in. I’m planning for those weeks, preparing however I can. Surgery mode is complicated by the outside world which has given us a new nurse and a new speech therapist. ( I can’t even think about not having our old speech therapist- too many feelings). Emails from school are starting to come in – transportation, school supplies. I have more responsibility at work. And although not part of the outside world we have two kids. Graham is four, he fights bedtimes and asks questions about why dirt is black, why someone would want to hurt a policeman, and why we go to heaven twice.

I’m mourning the loss of Grace’s stomach – soon it will look different some kind of medical thing will be there. I worry about how it will look in a leotard for dance. I worry about the surgery. Will it go well? Will it not? Will there be leaking when it’s all done? Will the surgeon be having a good day or a bad day? (She’s just a human.) I worry about Grace. How will she handle it all? How will we know what she needs? I worry about Graham. How will this affect him? How do we make sure he knows we love him when his sister is taking us away from him? I worry about Kevin and I. Will we be able to juggle everything that needs to be juggled?

I’ve enjoyed our reclaimed summer. We did family vacation bible school. We had dinner with friends. We went to fireworks over the fourth. Graham is still talking about a firework that went a bit crooked and landed in a tree not far from where we were. We’ve swung outside. We all went to Farmer’s Day and rode the ferris wheel. Grace and Graham both took summer dance classes. We checked a few things like sparklers, Trainland USA, and frozen lemonade off our summer list. We did it all able to keep surgery mode at bay, I’d thought. I know now I was fooling myself a bit. In all that time we were regularly taking samples to the lab. They all came back fine. We were making new plans to be gone 3-10 days. We were also hedging our bets that it could actually happen this time.

A week from today she will have the surgery. Our last lab checked out fine. History and physical tomorrow and then technically nothing can stop us. One day at a time will get us through.   There will be moments of panic- plenty of planning- hopefully some good rest – worry- but we will make it. The world doesn’t stop – but we can carefully determine how we keep up and what we may need to let go for just a bit.

Joy