Here is the link to a helpful post on my other blog which is usually about gardening.
Before this terrible year ends, I wanted to share two old posts.
I meant to share these sooner, but I had quite a bit of sewing to do.
Many masks were mailed or delivered to those I hold dear.
Here are two HOLIDAY-appropriate posts.
The first is about handling holiday activities
the second about folks with seizures avoiding RED DYE 40.
‘Status in the Lab’ due to RED DYE #40
50 Status in the Lab
My son ended up in the Intensive Care Unit at our local hospital due to an isolated auto-immune event. He was transferred to our favorite hospital, which is an hour’s drive away. We made the drive back and forth every day. My husband and I tag-teamed for the three weeks while our son was in the hospital and rehab so that he was never alone.
I still had to teach my classes and labs at night at our local community college. Rose had to accompany me to my classes and labs during these weeks. We would visit my son each day and leave in the late afternoon to drive an hour back toward home and eat supper on the way. We would then go directly to the college. I would leave Rose in the lab during the lectures in the adjoining room. Then my students and I would enter the lab for another three hours.
On this particular night, Rose and I had stopped and eaten fast food on the way. Rose had gotten an ice cream float made with a red soft drink. Earlier that day she had bought a red drink from a drink machine in the hospital. It was a stressful time. No one was eating or sleeping well.
On this particular evening, I finished up the lecture and my class and I entered the lab. We happened to be dissecting hearts that night. There was definitely an aroma in the laboratory. Rose complained about everything stinking. I had just gone over the cat’s heart parts with the class. I asked Rose to help me put my demo cat back in the bag. As soon as she finished, she said she felt strange.
I told her to come around behind the front station with me and sit on the floor. She went into full seizure as soon as she sat down. One seizure finished and another started.
I alerted some of my students to assist me. Many were Certified Nursing Assistants taking classes to get into the nursing program. They knew just what to do. When the third seizure started I covered Rose with my lab coat and administered her emergency medication. The seizures stopped.
One of the students that assisted me sat on the floor beside Rose and cried afterward. She shared that her seventeen-year-old brother had seizures. No one had ever told her family about this emergency medication. They usually had to transport him to the hospital at times like this. This girl stayed beside Rose long after the lab was over. This young woman and the mother of one of my former students at the middle school stayed late. The two finally agreed to leave only if they could find a campus security officer and bring him to the lab. I truly appreciated these two women staying with us. I was exhausted before class even started and now I was totally spent physically and emotionally.
This was the event that led to Rose avoiding Red Dye #40. We remembered our neighbor’s beagle had seizures if he ate red colored food. Since that night in the lab, Rose has avoided red foods and has read food labels. It is amazing how many non-red products contain Red Dye #40. We believe that red dye had been one of her triggers all along. I wish we had figured this out sooner.
Seizure Mama speaks to parents:
First, we have learned that Red Dye #40 does affect the brain. Think of all the brightly colored foods that are marketed to children. Once you start looking at all the chemicals in foods, you start to wonder what the effects of those might be on a young body and brain trying to grow and develop.
Second, everywhere I go, someone knows someone affected by epilepsy. You are not alone. Many folks don’t share their stories until they connect with someone who will understand. Then the flood gates open.
WARNING: Misery loves company. Maintain your boundaries. You don’t need to host a pity party everywhere you go. Listen, share a story, maybe some good sources for information, such as the Epilepsy Foundation of America. Then gently remove yourself.
When I taught middle school I used to get very upset about bad things happening to my students. Rose would put my face between her hands and look into my eyes and say, “You are not their mama.”
Sometimes you have too much trouble of your own to be borrowing someone else’s. Remember whose mama you are. You may have a big heart, but you’ve got your hands full.
We are seasoned veterans of stress!
Seizure Mama and Rose
I always swore I would not let fear direct my life.
There are stories I will share when Mama can’t hear me.
She gave out fear like hugs and kisses. That was her form of love.
I have refused to share my fear as fear, so I disguise it in other forms.
healthy foods, vitamins, warm clothes, socks, blankets, wine…
My new fear product is Covid-19 masks.
I envision the virus as a plume of poison wafting in the air
until someone I love sucks it into their lungs.
This is why I am crazy. My imagination runs wild and free.
Since March, I have been making masks.
I work until my hands shake or cramp or my back hurts.
I call my sewing room ‘Purgatory.’
I make batches of similar colors. Right now I have a red and green holiday theme going.
I mail my masks to people who I need to live.
This is really a selfish thing I am doing. Do not be fooled.
I am saving the folks I need to survive. It keeps me from worrying.
Teachers, healthcare workers, friends, family, other mothers, cute strangers…
If you have not received one in the mail you probably will.
I will not stop until everyone I love (NEED) is safe.
I hate sewing, but I hate this virus more.
I guess fear and love go together after all, Mama.
I love you. Wear a mask.
Our drive is long and through the woods.
Yesterday, my husband and son found a strange assortment of things placed beside it.
Someone had carefully arranged their belongings and left them.
They searched for the person, then called law inforcement.
The luggage belonged to a female.
The officer offered to remove it. We declined.
These were someone’s possessions. It was obvious that they intended to return.
It rained all night last night. I awoke hour after hour.
Wondering if she had returned to collect her things.
Where was she going?
Was she safe? Was she dry?
Why had she left home?
The pile was gone this morning.
I am praying for the owner of a blue suitcase. (Will you join me?)
I hope she gets where she needs to go.
I am sharing this post from my other blog.
I am sure that my Other Mothers will appreciate the message.
Have a happy and safe holiday.
Rose and her brother are home. We are feeling blessed.
49 The Same But Different
Any medication change brought its own changes in Rose. Sometimes she got lethargic. Other times she got aggressive. Some medications caused headaches while others caused nausea. One even greatly increased her appetite.
But there is one medication we all know by name. It is on her charts as an allergy. It gets its own story because of all the trouble it caused. When you are down, you remember what kicked you while you were lying there helpless. This drug hit her hard even before she fell and she remembers it. This is the story of our experience with that medication…and its twin.
When a person has had seizures as long as Rose has, the medication choices get more and more limited. We had already tried the main anti-epilepsy drugs in various combinations. If they worked in the beginning, some stopped working for her. Most drugs never worked or had horrible side effects.
Our hopes for Rose being seizure-free began to dwindle, so our tolerance of side effects became greater. I didn’t care if the medications made her blue and bald, as long as they stopped her seizures…or so I thought.
We slowly added this new drug F to her cocktail. She got mean. The more we added, the meaner she got. It was like the drug had magnified teen-angst by ten. Rose argued about everything. She was totally uncooperative. I remember telling a friend at church that if our house caught on fire and I screamed “The house is on fire! Get out!” Rose would probably respond ” No. My room won’t burn.”
I was with her almost all the time, so I was her target. It was hard to be verbally bullied by a normally nice person. She had been a drugged bully before, but had calmed down as her brain adjusted. After weeks of abuse, I was hoping for things to either improve with Rose’s disposition or get worse with some side effect so we would have a reason to get rid of this drug F. I got my wish. Things did start to deteriorate, but we held the line because we knew we did not have many more drug options left.
Right about this time our insurance changed. We could no longer go to the small drug store where everybody knew our names. We had to move all our prescriptions to a big box pharmacy. When I picked up the new prescription of the “Mean Teen” medication, I remember distinctly the pharmacist asking if we had questions about this drug. My reply was something like, “No thanks, we know all about its side effects already.”
I put the new bottle in her medicine basket with all the other bottles. This drug F was one of the pills that could be cut in half if needed. Rose’s dosage required that she take both whole pills and half pills. The tablets were elongated and peach colored. Every Sunday evening I would fill up her weekly AM and PM medication organizer with all her different dosages for morning and night. She had a separate, one-compartment per day organizer for the afternoon doses.
For efficiency, I would cut many tablets in half and put them back in the same bottle with the whole pills. That way I did not have to cut up pills every Sunday evening. If I cut too many pills before the refill, I just put two halves in the compartment instead of a whole pill.
Things began to change as soon as I started filling in the pill organizer with the new bottle of medication. The tablets looked the exact same. The name on the bottle looked the same, but something was different with Rose. I first used the new whole pills and the extra halves from the old bottle. This was probably a fortunate thing.
Rose began to wither. She lost her meanness, but also her spunk. The changes in Rose were gradual, but noticeable. I was pondering what could be going on. We had not changed medications. Why this transition?
The answer to this mystery came on Sunday afternoon, right before disaster struck. I will always be grateful for the timing of this discovery. Otherwise, her dad and I would have been clueless. I sat down at the kitchen table to refill the pill organizers. I had run out of the halved “Mean Teen” pills, so I needed to cut a new supply. I pulled out the pill cutter and got busy. The new pills, as I said, were the same shape and color as the ones from the little pharmacy, but they did not cut the same. I grabbed the bottles to compare them. On the old bottle the drug name ended in “-al.” On the new bottle the same root name ended in “-ate”. The big box store had switched us to a generic form of “Mean Teen” without informing us. The pharmacist had asked if I had any questions. I did not because I thought it was the same drug.
I immediately alerted Rose’s dad to the switch and how I had discovered it. Rose was sitting at the table with us. Our conversation was interrupted by explosive vomiting. Then Rose hit the floor. The onset of the seizure was so fast and her convulsions were so strong that we knew we needed back-up. Her dad dialed 911 as I lay under the table in the vomit cradling her head in my arms.
Seizure Mama speaks to parents:
Generic drugs are not the exact same as brand name drugs. We had discovered this earlier with another drug. Not only can the generics have a certain percentage less or more of the drug itself, they also have different fillers. All this can make a difference. If I had paid attention better, this reaction may not have happened. I have to tell myself that the “Mean Teen” drug in any form was not a good drug for Rose.
I did call a person at the Epilepsy Foundation of America to report the look-alike generic. I also wrote a letter to the State Pharmacy Board to share the story and to suggest that generic drugs not be allowed to mimic the look of the brand-name version. This imposter generic could have caused serious injury to our precious patient.
Pay attention to all drugs all the time. Look in the bottles before you leave the pharmacy. We have had to hand back the wrong drug several times. Be alert. Be vigilant. Use a pill organizer and lock the bottles up in a filing cabinet. You never want to wonder where some pills went. These drugs are expensive and dangerous if used incorrectly.
We should have tossed this drug to the curb long before this event. Hindsight is 20/20. This drug’s side effects almost ruined my family. Desperation should not lead to destruction.
It all started with a bad dream. This one lingered in my mind for two days.
The gist of it was that I needed to spend more time being pretty and less time being useful.
I wondered why my subconscious mind would send me such a mean message.
I guess it is because I rarely look in the mirror. I no longer wear make-up. My hair has not been cut in months. I wear no jewelry because it is just one more thing to decontaminate. Pretty is not on my radar right now. I have work to do.
Between my hours of yard clean-up yesterday, I took a much needed break in the ‘Sad Chair’ beside by our fire pit. I looked up to see my husband cleaning out the gutter at the highest point of the roof. Heights make him uncomfortable. Yet, there he was on the high corner reaching carefully over with his tool to remove debris.
That’s when the epiphany happened. I sad it out loud, “Useful is beautiful.” Just like that, the bad dream burst like a bubble. Poof! Gone!
This morning he needed his arm wrapped before going to his parents to cut wood. I found the bandage and scissors. We had to try several times to get it right. When the job was done, he kissed my check, said “Thank you Deary” and rushed out the door.
He left the roll and scissors in the middle of my one-and-only holiday display. I will leave them there for a while. To remind me that “USEFUL IS BEAUTIFUL.”
So ‘Another Mother’, when you are feeling tired and not so pretty, I want you to remember what I told you here and think about how useful and beautiful you are.
If you have been following this blog and/or have read our book,
you know we have survived quite a bit of hardship.
With those experiences came hard lessons and wisdom.
I expect we all are on the verge of a serious learning curve.
So before the storm starts to rage out of control,
I thought it might be a good time to share some of my survival skills.
NUMBER 1: Let go of the plan. That picture you have in your head will not be happening. Clean the slate and start sketching a new picture based on the present facts. A new blueprint is needed.
NUMBER 2: You are not in control. You may be holding onto the rudder, but something else is blowing your sails. Stay flexible. React appropriately. Stay in the moment. Stay alert.
NUMBER 3: Take the word “should” out of your mind and your mouth. (Example: Those idiots should be wearing masks.) I have trouble with this one. As a former teacher, I have a habit of being the behavior police. I could wear myself out trying to fix this world in my mind. That would be a waste of my thoughts and energy.
NUMBER 4: Pause often. Stop rushing and pause to reassess the situation. Hurrying in the wrong direction means more back-tracking. I said pause NOT park. Keep doing what you think is best. Just keep thinking while you are doing it.
NUMBER 5: Hope is the most important thing in times of trouble. Never let go of it. Through all the hits and shocks, it is important to keep the faith in better times. Hope is your soul’s life-vest. It’s time to strap it on and keep it on.
I will stop there. That is one skill per finger.
- New plan
- Not in control.
- No “shoulds”
- Pause often
- Hold on to hope.
Some things have happened in Rose’s life recently that have tempted me to step in,
but that is NOT my place anymore.
Rose is an adult now.
It is time for her to handle her own issues without her protective mama.
Any time I think about getting involved I ask myself,
“What would Rose do if I did this?”
She would be furious with me for stepping in.
So Mama Bear is stepping down.
Rose can handle it.
We are very honored by this. Thank you Book Authority.