Concussion Conclusions

Nearly 3 weeks ago, I was in a car accident. In addition to whiplash and other muscle strains that were to be expected, I realized that I also had a concussion. Lack of focus, dizziness, headaches, and forgetfulness have become common occurrences for me. It's frustrating and disorienting, and I am having difficulty coping.

I no longer want to go to playgroups with the baby. I dread getting in the car and try to create excuses to keep me from having to do so. Shopping is virtually impossible; bright lights and colors everywhere cause vision distortion. I cannot keep track of appointments or my possessions, and struggle to keep up with my children.  I am embarrassed while trying to converse with people as I cannot remember what either of us is saying. Instead of calm and patience, my family is greeted by irrational anger and frustration.

I am working with my doctors and my therapist, but for concussions there is very little to be done but to ease the healing process by resting and avoiding additional stress to the injury.  It is easier for me to just drop out of life for a little while.  I will be back when I am able.

Farewell to an Unparalleled Woman

An amazing woman died this morning.  Dr Maya Angelou overcame tremendous adversity to become one of the most highly regarded poets and authors of our time.  She used her words to fight injustice and was active leader of the Civil Rights Movement, acquainted with both Dr King and Malcolm X.

But her works continue to ring true today.  They are still a rallying cry for anyone fighting grave social evils, whether it is the GLBT community, or women straining to be heard over the din of male entitlement.  If you have been at all active on social media platforms within the past month, you will undoubtedly have seen the hashtags #grabbed and #yesallwomen.  And if you read them, you would have been shocked by the stories of daily abuse that women, modern American women, still face.  Even more appalling was the response by men, who shouted down the stories as "attention-seeking" or "whiny", and then turned around to proclaim their own tales of woe and rejection at the hands of women, further proving that chauvinism is alive and well in this country.

Maya Angelou did not allow naysayers to defeat her.  Her voice was not dimmed by those who disagreed with her.  She triumphed over bigots and misogynists by never bowing to their demands, by refusing to sit quietly.  As women, we must follow her strong example.  We will never effect change by merely stating what has happened to us.  We have to use our stories to educate others, and to enact real change.  We are not crying for sympathy -- we are calling for the men of the world to look at what is happening to their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, friends, and do something to help.  They don't have to be monumental actions, but simple, personal things, like treating women in their lives with respect, as people, not as sexual objects to be owned, used, and discarded.

Women also are not above reproach.  We too have a responsibility to be respectful of each other, to end slut-shaming.  We cannot expect men to treat us with respect when we do not even afford each other or ourselves the same.  We also cannot ask for men to listen to us if we are unwilling to open a dialogue with them.  We have to be willing to respectfully listen to their views as well, no matter how much we disagree.  Despite seeming convenience, we must avoid using sex as a weapon and any other manipulative tactics.  These will only weaken our position, and make us no better than men who do the same.

I am proposing a revolution, but not a violent one; rather, a revolution based on respect and tolerance.  Dr Angelou proposed the same.  It was not easy, nor was it quick, and it continues to evolve today.  However it will be effective and long-lasting, as long as there are people willing to work for it.

Thank you, Dr Angelou, for teaching us to overcome adversity, bigotry, and misogyny to find peace.  Your voice, your words, will live on, as we fight injustice the world over.  May you rest in peace.

A Plan for Fighting Writer's Block

I've been avoiding my blog for awhile for a very lame reason.  I can't figure out what I want to say, much less how to say it.  I feel like I should write more often, but every time I make time to try, my screen and I strike up a blank staring contest instead.  (It wins.)  Occasionally, I'll have a flash of inspiration --a funny anecdote, an important topic-- but then nothing gets transmitted from my brain to my fingers.

Perhaps I mentally set the bar too high for myself.  Let's not kid around, I'm a mommy-blogger, not a Pulitzer-worthy journalist.  But I prefer to actually want to read what I write.  How can I ask other people to read something I consider dense, dull, and directionless?

A friend advised me to try writing through my writer's block, saving it, and editing out what I don't like.  Problem is, even after filling a page, I'd read it a few days later and then delete everything I'd written while simultaneously bashing my head against the monitor.  So my new approach is to write about my writing struggles.

This bit has flowed surprisingly well, primarily because I felt no pressure to write this.  I just wanted to test an idea and had nothing to lose...except my writer's block.

"I Am the Face of PPD"

The following is part of a project spearheaded by Grey Rose Studio and Sacred Roots Holistic Community for Women to raise awareness of post-partum depression.

Sitting in a hospital room, alone, I looked out the window and wondered how it had all happened.  I had been here before, well, not here exactly, but a place very similar.  At that time, I was 21, had miscarried 4 months previously, and was so depressed I had convinced myself that  somehow the miscarriage was my fault.  I was suicidal and terrified.  Following the advice of my doctor, I willingly admitted myself to the hospital to get help.  An amazing team of nurses, therapists, and doctors diagnosed and treated me for post-partum depression.

I didn't understand; how could I have post-partum depression?  I hadn't given birth. I lost my baby in the first trimester.  This wasn't possible, or was it?  I was assured that it was.

Several years later, my husband and I were expecting our first baby together.  I told my midwife about my previous pregnancy and resulting hospitlization for post-partum depression.  She recommended putting me on an antidepressant for the last 6 weeks of pregnancy.  Our son was born without any serious complications, and I tried to settle into life as a new mommy.

But then the flashbacks of an assault from 2 years prior started.  I would have entire conversations and not remember them happening at all.  My parents offered to take care of the baby so I could get help again.  One Saturday afternoon, which I don't remember, I had an "episode" and tried to kill myself.  My husband found me, and called 911.  They rushed me to the hospital and admitted me for treatment.  And it was there that I thought over everything that had happened: the miscarriage, my inital diagnosis with PPD, the birth of my son, and then the resurfacing of traumatic memories.

This time the doctors diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder, in addition to post-partum depression.  I was released from the hospital in 2 days, and entered an intensive outpatient program for 2 weeks.  My parents kept my son for me for several months until I was finally able to take care of myself again.

My husband was incredibly supportive.  He stayed with me as much as he could, and even got a transfer with his company so he could work from home.  He helped me readjust to being a person first, and then a mom.  He knew that I would never be able to take care of our son, if I didn't take care of myself.  At the time I struggled hard against that line of thinking.  I felt like I had to put the care of my child above everything else.  It has only been after years of therapy and practical experience that I finally understand that he is right.  I can only be the best mom to my children if I am first caring for myself.

It has not been easy, and there are plenty of days that I still struggle, but I now have two happy, healthy boys.  I fight to make time for myself at least once every week.  I am so grateful for the support of my husband and my family, and the kindness of my therapist, who kept me on track the many times when I wanted to give up.  I know my story isn't that uncommon, but while I was going through everything, I felt terribly alone.  I hope that this can help other women, who are experiencing similar struggles, to know that they are not alone, that there is hope, and that they can feel okay again.

New Book, New Year, New Ideas, Right?

I keep doing this thing, where I think out paragraphs of conversation in my head and don't say any of it.  But I think maybe I should say them out loud, b/c it's important to get out what's going on in my mind.  Otherwise I just occasionally say things that seem to everyone else to be completely random and/or crazy, when in actuality if I said everything I had been thinking up to that point, it wouldn't seem so totally out of line.  I might make sense.
I'm considering picking up my blog again, the one about being a soccer mom, but I'm not entirely sure that's practical.  Lately, it seems I'm increasingly concerned with the practical.  How much does this cost?  Is it really worth that?  Can I really spend time doing that without feeling like it's a waste?  I don't know why the sudden obsession with practicality.  It's like I have to justify everything I do or, in many cases, don't do, now that I have another child.
My husband thinks I'm starved for human contact, and perhaps this is true.  I'm a stay-at-home mom.  I don't have a job any more, at least not a paying one that takes me out of the house.  I have 2 little boys, a 4 year old and a 3 month old.  They are my job.  And I love being home with them.
But I would be lying if I said I didn't miss my old job.  And I also miss contributing financially.  My husband's income keeps us from being hungry and part of his job keeps a roof over our heads.  Some days I stress about feeding us for 4 days with only $45, keeping in mind that a big chunk of that money has to go towards buying gas.  I'm not saying this b/c I want charity or pity.  I want to be able to work.  But I can't work outside the house right now, not with the way things are with the boys.  Maybe in a few years...in other words, an eternity.
I've been offered an opportunity for on-the-job training.  A company will teach me a skill, while paying me a stipend, as long as I agree to work for them for 2 years.  Only a few problems with this:  2 hour commute (each way), and I have no interest in the subject matter.  If they were going to teach me to appraise art, or offer me photojournalism assignments, I'd be thrilled and say yes without any hesitation.  On the other hand, it would be steady pay and get me out of the house.  But I fear I would be bored out of my mind.  Not that there'd be any difference from my current state of mind.  Everything sounds inane and uninteresting.  I don't want to do this or that or anything I can think of, but I also don't want to do nothing at all.
So I'm thinking of starting an intensive workout regimen.  Something that requires no real equipment and costs no money.  I had considered P90X but don't have $200 to buy the DVDs.  Also everyone in my life thought it was crazy.  And that forced me to reexamine my motivations.  Well, #1 is body image, which has completely evaporated thanks to pregnancy and a C-section and breast feeding.  Also my husband finds my best friend very attractive and she is built NOTHING like me physically.  So even though he tells me he thinks I'm beautiful and sexy and I know he has no intention of cheating on me, I can't help but think if I was built like her, maybe what he says would be true.
This isn't to say that my husband is a bad man.  In fact, I believe he is a wonderful man, a great father, a hard worker, and I know he loves me and our boys more than anyone else in the world.  Which is why what I said in the previous paragraph is so incongruous to me.  I struggle with this on a daily basis and try to reconcile it with the man I know.  Mostly I just can't do it, so I start to take myself apart, piece by piece.  And I realise just how terribly insecure I am.  I want to be super mom...correction, supermodel mom.  Perfect hair, perfect makeup, flawless style, chic yet functional, incredibly organized, health-conscious, thrifty, crafty, environmentally aware, spotless house, well-behaved kids who are socially conscious and compassionate, and yet thoroughly well-adjusted, playful, inquisitive boys.  If I ever achieve all that, I believe I should be eligible for a Nobel Prize of some sort or at the very least a book deal.

Not the best day

The monster that I birthed is sick with a nasty cold, so he can't go to school.  But of course he's feeling well enough to wreak havoc on me and the house.  I can't go to work b/c he's home sick, so I attempted to make things go well today, but they did not.  Perhaps I should have tried harder.  Maybe setting up a painting table and drawing with markers wasn't enough.  I probably should have broken out the clay and potter's wheel too.  (Okay, that's not fair.  We don't have either of those things.)  But I do feel like I made an effort today, and it didn't matter.  It seems like no matter how hard I try to keep things neat, to entertain him, to run the house, it's never quite enough.  And as far as he's concerned, I cannot entertain him, but he and I still expect me to do so.

Working with Oliver

My son was diagnosed with autism about a year ago.  At the time he was already part of a state-sponsored program, receiving in-home therapy from a speech pathologist, an occupational therapist, and a special educator.  His diagnosis didn't change much in the way of his treatment, aside from adding another educator and increasing the frequency of the home visits. After over a year in the program, Oliver has made tremendous progress.  His speech is still delayed, but is becoming more clear, appropriate, and frequent.  He initiates social interaction, tries to make jokes, and is more flexible when faced with unexpected changes.  I'm increadibly proud of him and his accomplishments.

That is why I get so aggravated by the casual manner in which people react to his changes.  Things like, "I knew he'd talk when he was ready," or "He's just lazy" or "You are too easy on him" are so dismissive of all the months of hard work put in by Oliver, his therapists, and Zak and me.  We have been proactive in seeking treatment and doing everything we could to make it as effective as possible.  We don't just work with him on his letters or his numbers, we've taught him how to sign, to communicate with pictures, and now to finally speak.  We work with him on his manners, being considerate of others and their feelings, and appropriate social interactions.  For parents with a typically developing child, these tasks may be part of their routine too, but I don't really know.  I only know what it's like to be Oliver's mom.

We had to learn how to teach him, how to communicate with him.  He's working on processing the world the way typical people do, but it's still a challenge.  He's not unintelligent by any means.  His problem solving skills are downright uncanny.  He thinks outside the box and finds ways to acheive goals in a manner different from the accepted norm.  But he still struggles with some sensory issues and inappropriate reactions.  It's taken me some time to realise that his tantrums are now normal.  He gets upset when he is told no, but his recovery time is much faster.  He no longer hits or reacts violently when extremely upset.  He just cries and crumples to the floor, very similarly to the other toddler meltdowns I've witnessed in the grocery store or the library.

I don't know if Oliver's initial diagnosis was wrong.  At the time, it seemed to fit the way he reacted to the world.  And I don't know if early intervention will have the same results for every child with autism.  But I do know that thanks to his teachers, therapists, and the strategies they have given us,  we have formed a fantastic team to facilitate Oliver's growth and development. 

He doesn not act like the same child from a year ago.  He used to be unable to sit and play for longer than 30 seconds.  He ate crayons instead of drawing with them.  He had no concept of pretend play, was intolerant of changes in routine and attempts to redirect him.  He could say "hi" and "bye" occasionally but not when prompted.  Now he plays with his trains for hours on end.  He sits at a table and draws or colors, scribbles on a chalkboard, and is learning to write his name.  He can put together a puzzle with multiple pieces, match colors and objects, and respond correctly to questions.  He can speak in five word sentences and engage in a conversation.  What he says is not always clear, but he is more patient and tries to find other appropriate ways of getting his point accross.  He follows directions and can be redirected to a different task when necessary. 

All of this did not happen overnight.  It took a lot of patience and understanding on our part, a willingness to learn how his mind processed the world around him.  It took a lot of patience (a virtue uncommon in most 2 year olds) and perserverance on his part as well.  He stuck with the work, became more tolerant, and thrived in his environment.  He continues to work hard, losing patience soem days, but for the most part, he keeps at it.  His language is developing and becoming clearer.  We have started working on goals for typically developing preschoolers like counting, identifying letters, colors, and objects, and potty-training.  We hope to start him in preschool in January.

If you see Oliver one day, please remember that he is the way he is because we all worked hard to get there.  He didn't just wake up one day and decide to talk, or suddenly become a 3 year old with an insane work ethic.  It was a gradual process that has changed our lives forever.