Baby

I have been called many things... some of them lovely and sweet, some others not at all lovely or sweet.

I have been Suzanne, Suzie, sister, daughter, Beth, Sue, Zimmy, Wife, Mommy, Divorce', swan, slave, Arnold, sister-heart, spice, bitch, liar, manipulator, destroyer, strong, weak, stupid, smart, Sweetie, Honey...

But just recently, and completely without any sort of guile or plan or intent that I can see, He has begun to call me "Baby."

I cannot even begin to explain or understand how that simple thing thrills me down to my toes.  I have never been anyone's baby.  It is the most breathtaking and amazing thing...

swan

Censorship

Censorship is a bad thing.  The right to speak freely; to think freely; to write freely; and to read/watch/listen as we choose is an essential part of living lives as we would choose.

For me, being against censorship is like being pregnant:  there is no such thing as "a little bit pregnant," and there is no such thing as being a little bit against censorship.  It really does end up being an all or nothing sort of stance.  If I say that I am not in favor of censorship, then I have to be "not in favor of censorship" for anyone; for any cause; for any set of  beliefs or opinions that any person might espouse.  And, honestly, that can put me in some pretty uncomfortable spots.  Sometimes.  Last week, I ran up against one of those spots.

I was preparing for my school day; running around making copies and checking in with my colleagues, making sure that I was on top of things before the first bell rang.  Cruising through one classroom where students were gathering for the morning, I overheard one of the girls from the 8th grade class talking to a group of friends.  They are an interesting bunch, full of life and fun, sweet and funny, ornery (some of them), and shy (others).  They are good to one another.  They work hard.  It is clear that they have parents who love them, care for them, and work hard to guide them along the path to adulthood.  They are all 14 years old, and just a few days from leaving us to head on to high school, and the life beyond that I desperately hope will be good and full and exciting and wonderful in all the ways they dream...  But, I digress.  Walking by, I overheard one of them say to her friends, "I just finished reading Fifty Shades of Gray."  I was, I admit it, a little shocked, but kept on walking (the trick of an experienced teacher -- don't hear what you do not want/need to deal with).  I heard, behind me, a chorus of "ewwwwws," from the others, and I imagine there was quite the discussion in my wake.

My immediate and visceral response was that 14-year-olds ought not be reading the notorious BDSM potboiler that so captivated adults during the last year.  My grandmotherly self came roaring to the front to insist that it just isn't right, and really, what could their parents be thinking.  Of course, to be fair, I have, over the years, been uncertain that popular series like the Twilight saga, and The Hunger Games, were necessarily good for kids either, although they were fanatic and voracious about them in their seasons.  I listed for myself, all sort of reasons why Fifty Shades of Gray ought to be on the banned books list for our young people below a certain age:  too explicit, too intense, too confusing, too pointed in its perspective, too...  Young people ought to be, no -- DESERVE to be, protected from the darker, seemier, more adult things of this world until they are grown and "ready" to handle all of that

Yeah.  That's the gist of the internal monologue I ran through, before I started asking the grandmother inside some tough questions:

• How young is too young for "such things," and who decides?
• What sorts of things ought children and adolescents be "protected from," and who decides?
• Who is going to do that protecting?
• Do I trust the ones who would set themselves up as "the protectors?"  Do you?
• At what age, exactly, would we consider that someone is "ready?"
• What, really, is the harm in knowing and understanding that there is something called "sex," and that people engage in all manner of sexual practices, and that there is nothing inherently bad about any of those practices when everyone is able to make judgments for themselves and consent to whatever activities they choose?
• What about violence?  
• What about "anything?"
• Is literature that deals with difficult or challenging themes, necessarily a bad thing for young teens?

Eventually, I settled in and owned up to the FACT that censorship is a bad thing for everybody, and that everybody deserves the right to choose what they will read, see, listen to, believe, write, sing, say, ... regardless of their age or any other factor we might point to as some kind of artificial barrier.  No censorship ought to mean just that -- NO Censorship.  As for my sweet 14-year-old students, they have all got parents who love them and care for them.  I am content to leave the decision making about what those young people should and should no be reading in the capable hands of their parents.  I don't envy them the job they have to do, but I trust them to make reasonable decisions for their own kids.  It isn't a decision that belongs to me, or to anyone else outside those households.  For us, these young people have the same right to freedom of speech as any one of us.

NO Censorship.  For anyone.  By anyone.

swan

I Know You Were Wondering

I spent all of last week, fussing about my heart.  I saw a cardiologist on Wednesday afternoon.  He was the only one we could find with an appointment available, and we had to travel to the other side of town -- something which he seemed to resent, frankly.

As reported in the last post, he recommended a nuclear stress test, and a 48-hour Holter monitor, but neither test could be scheduled before the 21st, and then no one could see me to interpret those test results before June 4.  It all just seemed crazy, but what could I do?

By Thursday, things seemed to have calmed down, and I had some occasional sense of tightening in my chest, but none of the fluttery, skipped beats that I'd had earlier in the week.  I dared to hope that maybe, things would just settle down on their own.  Friday morning, however, it all started up again.  By mid-morning, I was experiencing continual fluttering in my chest, and lots and lots of skipped beats.  There was a tight, achy feeling just behind my breast bone, spreading across the tops of my boobs, and then under my arms on either side.  I was starting to feel a bit light-headed and sweaty.

I kept thinking, "If I can just make it to lunch, I can sit down and have a bite to eat, and maybe it will settle down again..."  But as I worked along through the morning, it just got worse and worse... and I got more and more anxious and worried.  Finally, I sent a note to the office with one of my kids, asking if someone could cover me so I could go to the emergency room.  It was only a few minutes before the school secretary was in my room, saying that she would drive me to the hospital, and of course, someone would watch my classes.

I grabbed a few things, and some papers that needed to be graded.  Threw everything in the back of my car, and she drove me off to the local ER.  Tom met us there.  After about four hours in the ER, I was admitted to the hospital for further tests and observation.  After 24 hours of monitoring, lots and lots of blood work, more chest x-rays, an echo-stress test, and a standard echo-cardiogram, the official word is that I have not had a heart attack.  There is no damage to my heart, and there do not appear to be any blockages or structural issues.  Whatever is causing all this irregularity in my heart rhythms, it does not seem to be a "heart-problem," per se.  Eventually, the hospitalist prescribed a blood pressure medicine that is sometimes used to treat irregular heart beats.  I am worried about taking it, because my blood pressure is already pretty low, and I have tried blood pressure meds before as migraine preventatives.  Usually, they just drop my pressures so low that I pass out, but this is the only medication that anyone can come up with to help manage this problem.  So, I guess we'll see how I tolerate this one.

I do have an appointment with the cardio guy that Tom has seen on Friday this week.  Not sure what will come from that appointment, but if this is going to be some sort of continuing reality, I probably need to have a good cardio doc on the team.

Anyway, I am home, feeling relieved, if still puzzled.  I am hoping to be able to just finish the school year, and then maybe a summer to rest will help get me back on track.  That's all the news I have for the present.

swan

PVCs

I saw the cardiologist this afternoon.  He says I am having PVCs (premature ventricular contractions).  They might not be anything much, but also might indicate some underlying issue.  So, I need to do an exercise nuclear stress test and a 48-hour holter monitor.  Those tests are scheduled for next Tuesday, because it takes 3 days to get the necessary pre-certification from the insurance company.  After that?  I cannot get an appointment to have a doctor follow up with an interpretation of the testing until June 4.

Seriously?????

swan

Hurt Feelings

I live, if you were to ask my children, in the "hinterlands."  From their perspective, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, of any sort of value or interest about the place where I live.  Never mind that I am closer to most of everything (except California and the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico) than they are, they seem to believe that they live in the heart of everything great and perfect, and that my town is the armpit of the universe.

OK.  I exaggerate.  I know.  It is really just that my feelings are hurt.  Some.

Here's the thing.  I (and WE) have made the effort to get out to visit them at least twice each year since the birth of my grandson.  We have driven, 1200 miles each way, across the barren, desolate, dusty, hot middle of the country at least six or seven times.  And I flew out once at Christmas on top of that.  Figure gas, hotels, meals, and various entertainment expenses, and each one of those trips ends up costing us somewhere in the neighborhood of $1700.  Multiply by six, and we've made a pretty significant investment.  AND, those trips are brutal; grueling.  We love seeing them all, but we come home exhausted.  We are not getting younger.

Last summer, my son and daughter in law took the grandkid, and traveled 900 miles to visit her grandfather. I didn't say anything, although I did notice that HER grandfather got the nod ahead of me.  I'm an adult.  I can take turns and play nice.  My son assured me that THIS year, they would travel to see us.  That was last summer.

Since then, they have embarked on a major house remodel (largely driven by HER mother) with the intent to sell the house when the update is finished.  It is a tiny, little house in a not very nice neighborhood, and they are very motivated to move out of there so that they can put the little guy in school in a better district.  OK.  Got it.  They've spent a lot of money, and my son has worked like a fiend to make it happen.  It has been a tough year, during which daughter-in-law and grandson have lived with HER mother.  The other grandmother gets her share -- but then she is right there, calling the shots, and swaying the vote with infusions of cash.  That is a game I cannot play; don't feel that I ought to have to play...

Now, my son tells me they are "tapped out."  They can't afford to travel this summer.  And I believe him.  He works, and daughter-in-law stays home.  He is working furiously to try and make a life for them all, and without much help.  Maybe that is the choice he would have made -- but I'm not sure of that.  Whatever, there is no money for a visit to us.

I planned for the promised visit.  Counted on it.  Did not budget for the trip myself this year.  And we have the likelihood that T will have a major surgery this summer as well.  So.  I haven't got anyway to travel to them.  Not this year.  The earliest opportunity for me to get out that way will be next spring.  By then, the boy will be almost 5.  He'll be big.  He will surely not really remember me.  I will be the far away, sometimes talked about "Gramma" that sends presents now and then.  That makes me sad... and a little bit angry.

It isn't anyone's fault really.  I know.  I made the choice to move away.  I could have stayed close.  I chose the life that is here.  I cannot be there, so I cannot expect anything other than what is happening.  Even if I were able to continue to make the twice yearly trip back and forth, it would still come to be that the boy will grow up without me.  He will do that.  No amount of yelling and crying and kicking things is going to change one darned thing -- I just need to suck it up and act the grown up here.  But, oh...  it hurts.

swan

Chest Pain

I went off to the emergency room yesterday afternoon.  I'd been feeling "off" in some undefinable way; a little disoriented and emotional; and then some pretty intense pain and tightness in the middle of my chest.  Tom was scheduled to be at the Reds game with His son (a birthday present), and so I waited until He was on His way, and then found T and told her that I needed to go get checked out.

Things happen in a whirl when you walk into an emergency room and say, "I'm having chest pain."  In no time at all I was hooked up to an EKG machine, they'd drawn the necessary blood, and then it was off to x-ray.  Based on everything they could find, there was no immediate issue, and they sent me home at about 6:30 PM.  A very long, tiring afternoon, and no answers at the end of it.  It was a relief to know that there seemed no sign of heart attack, but now I have to go have a stress test done, to eliminate the possibility that there might be a blockage.  So...  another challenge added to the already full plate I've got in this next couple of weeks.  :-P

I tend to go along figuring I'm pretty healthy.  This sort of thing reminds me that we are fragile, finite creatures.  Another present reminder to cherish the days.

swan

May the Circle be Unbroken...

I am the oldest child of an oldest child (actually, both my parents were oldest children, but today, I want to talk about my Father's family).  My father, Henry, was the oldest of seven; brothers E, C, J, F, and G, and their one sister, D.  Except for my parents (who moved west to Colorado when I was an infant), the whole crowd of them were born, raised, and lived their entire lives in a working class, blue-collar suburb of Akron, Ohio.

Every summer, until I was 14 or 15 years old, my family traveled "back to Ohio" to visit with the family that still lived in the town that my parents remembered as "home."  We would leave on a Friday evening, when my father got off work, and drive straight through, arriving at my grandparents' house about 3 PM on Saturday afternoon.  The adults would wrap up around each other and party for the entire week we were there.  As kids, we would fall into which ever age-range gang of cousins (there were 46 altogether) was closest to us, and then run like wild children for the entire week -- living on root beer floats and donuts and hot dogs; unencumbered by the usual constraints of parental supervision.  It was a wild, joyful, magical summer passage ... and I believed that it was the most magical of places; filled with wondrous and wonderful people who were all related to each other and to me.

My Dad died almost 22 years ago.  Since that time, one by one, the others of his generation have died as well.  On May 6, the last of my Dad's brothers died after a long illness.  While their sister, D, remains, the uncles are all gone now.  Somewhere out there, the brothers are all reunited, and if there is fishing in the great beyond, then the fish better watch out!

Tom and I traveled up to the northern part of the state on Thursday night to attend the funeral.  It has been decades since I spent time with my extended family.  There in that place, I found myself surrounded by dozens and dozens of my, now adult, cousins -- each of them with a face I recognize as "family," though I don't think I'd know any of them if I fell over them on the street.  How very, very odd... to be confronted at every turn with eyes and mouths and noses; with shoulders and hands and chins that cause me to imagine that I have seen that face somewhere before.

At the end of the day, we drove back home (well, Tom drove), exhausted and a little dazzled at the size of the clan to which I belong.  And I cannot help but marvel at what my grandparents, two first generation children of German immigrants forged -- this remarkable, swirling, far-flung, boisterous, open, loving family.

In my mind, I keep humming that old song, "May the circle be unbroken...," and I do feel as if the circle of brothers is, once again, complete.  On the other hand, the circle is so much wider... so very very much wider than the uncles, the aunts.  I am part of the bigger circle; the circle of cousins and cousins children and grandchildren:  forty-six become eighty plus become probably a couple of hundred.  No, the circle is not broken at all.  The circle has circled round and round and come back again...  Far and wide, the circle encircles us all.

swan