Country Rican

Wrapping up this eye surgery thing

2022-01-23T13:27:00.001-05:00

The new me!

Here I am, over a month after eye surgery trying to navigate the world with these new eyes. Just to recap: I was scheduled to start my surgeries in December of 2020 and had to postpone it due to Covid. Finally rescheduled it for December of 2021 for a million reasons that you will have to read previous blogs to understand. Had surgery on my right eye December 2nd 2021, left eye on December 16, 2021. I am typing this right now in my brand new glasses! Now, I am 48 so they are bifocals; but on the bright side my old prescription was not possible with bifocals so this is definitely a win. Even if I am still learning to see again.

The last 7 weeks have all been about relearning anyway. For starters, we started the surgeries on my weakest eye, turning it into my strongest eye, and confusing my brain for two weeks. I have what is commonly known as a lazy eye. Typically my eyes do not work as a team. My left eye leads and my right eye follows. It turns in, leaning on it's stronger partner, defeated because it just is not as strong. Well, for those two weeks between surgeries the opposite happened. My right eye got the chance to lead and although I am proud and happy for her, the new arrangement was very confusing to my brain. Headaches were common, and you can understand why. On top of that I did have a little cataracts in my eyes so for two weeks I saw things in different colors. It was very amusing to me, not so amusing to my husband and everyone else I kept pointing this out to. "Wow! That is magenta in one eye and purple through the other!"

Then I had my second surgery and things started looking the same color. They were also so incredibly bright I had to wear sunglasses more than usual. My right eye started turning in again. My eye sight got better and better as the days passed, but my right eye will always lag. I could see with my "naked" eyes as well as I did with my contacts. I still could not see up close so I could not read. That is pretty normal for people my age, but since I have been conditioned to wear glasses half the day I was used to taking off my glasses and bringing whatever I want to see up close. Really up close, like an inch or two from my eyes. Anyway, when the lens is inside your eye that is not an option.

I had to wait 4 weeks to get my new glasses. I have had to make adjustments that you would never think of. For example, I am a hairy Latina and I am used to tweezing my eye brows. I have to get them waxed now, there is no way for me to do this right now. I started wearing over the counter readers to read my phone and most books and paper documents. I could see better without them on the computer most of the time. The putting them on and taking them off was getting old. I imagine everyone my age goes through this. However, since I have worn glasses for 45 years I think it is harder for me. This is why the idea of bifocals is exciting to me. I am used to wearing something on my face anyway. I wanted them back! Just prettier.

This would be a good time to mention that it has been almost two months and I still reach for the glasses on my nightstand - almost everyday. I am still amazed I can see inside the shower. When I step out of the shower, I look for my glasses on the counter. Or my personal favorite: reaching for the glasses that are NOT on my face to take them off to read something, Yeah. I have similar issues from wearing contacts for 35 years. My eyes get dry and my first thought is "My contacts are bugging me." Then I remember I need eye drops because I have no contacts! I was standing downwind from smoke in a fire pit and I immediately moved away because smoke and contacts do not mix. Just like most days I wake up and reach for my glasses, I get home from work and want to take my contacts off immediately. Turns out your eyes get tired after looking at a computer most of the day even if you do not wear contacts! It is worse because you cannot just take them off to rest.

Every time I think about the Christmas before, sick with COVID and so depressed about not having the surgery it makes me sad. It was just another stop on a long line of disappointments related to my eyes. As a little girl I dreamed of someone fixing my eyes. When I got contacts lenses I was so grateful to be free of the ugly glasses, and for decades I figured that was the best I could get. Even when they said they could do the surgery my expectations were way down. A lifetime of your sight getting worse, you glasses getting uglier. The doctor would say "there is technology now to make them thinner" and in your head you picture yourself with "normal" glasses, but they come in, you know, like this:

This is thinner

The unfairness of it all. I mean, I don't want to be a whiner, my life is pretty good. I mean, I was born in the projects of the South Bronx in the 70s a blind girl, sure. But I have so much privilege. I am smart, pretty, have amazing parents, friends and family. I have travelled, graduated from two great universities, and have always found kind people to drive me around. I married a man who gave me two amazing girls and once said "you are so close to perfect God had to make you blind to balance it out." Yes, even blind my life is pretty good.

You can understand why I had my doubts about this surgery actually happening, and why I kept my expectations low. For years I heard " you have managed well with this problem maybe one day...". Both my every day eye doctor, and my surgeon were pleasantly surprised. I was very blind. Blinder than anyone I have ever met. I had a -24 in my left eye and a -26 in my right. That was not my only eye problem. My eyes are very unusual. We had discussed it ad nauseum and had concluded that if Dr. Brody could bring me to -5, -6 it would be a huge win. "Normal" glasses was the goal. Post surgery my naked eye is at -.25 on the left and -2 on the right. I now see 20/30 on she left, 20/70 on the right. AH-MA-ZING! I can see better than both my doctors. I can see better than most people reading this. Better yet, my corrective lenses get me to 20/20 on the left and 20/40 on the right. Pretty. Damn. Good. If only I can get used to these bifocals now...

My glasses on the tree.

I decided to put the glasses on the Christmas tree as a memento of this Christmas 2021. Every year we will unpack the ornaments and I will find my old glasses and smile. I will put a new pretty ribbon on them and treat them as the precious things they are. I loved them for so long! Grateful for them making my life better no matter how ugly they were. Those hideous glasses got me through so much. You teach your kids appearances shouldn't matte, they should know I love those ugly things. My kids and I decorate the tree together every Christmas and we talk about the ornaments and what they represent. I get them each an ornament every year to represent what was important to them that year. We have Disney princesses and unicorns, and ukuleles and karate figures...and now my old glasses... to be treasured for the memories.

I have been training for a 5K, my first. I really have not run much since grad school. I started running before Covid and got interrupted for months. I am asthmatic and have long Covid heart rate problems. My time is terrible but I try to get out there every other day and do the 3.1 miles for m health, my girlish figure, and to challenge myself. As I was stretching the other day I had my new glasses on when it occurred to me: I don't need glasses to run. I put them on my desk, and smiled.

The second surgery

2021-12-19T19:52:00.001-05:00

Me in my plastic shield

On Friday the 17th of December I woke up and had no need to put on glasses. I sat up, took the shield off my left eye, and looked around the room. I was amazed at how well I could see. My eye was still dilated so it was by no means crystal clear, but it was so much better than it ever was. I got out of bed and felt like a baby fawn, no joke.

It was 35 years to the day from the day I got my first contact lenses. I told my surgeon about that and he asked me how on earth could I remember that. "Simple, it changed my life". He said "I guess so". It is amazing to me how even those who fix eyes for a living still don't get it. Wouldn't you remember the first day you were able to see without glasses? Wear sunglasses? Run and exercise carefree?

The day before I had gone back to get the surgery done. I wore the same outfit because I am superstitious, Michael says I am a baseball player at heart. I was anxious, but a lot less nervous. I had to wait longer to get seen. It was odd because I was not nervous so I was very much aware of everything happening around me. They were doing all the same things but I without the nerves I felt more. The eye drops burned, I overheard conversations between nurses, with patients and doctors, it was odd. I could also see everything through my new eye, which last time around I was just blind. Perhaps most disturbing, I could feel the doctor poking around in my eye. It was not painful (thank you anesthesia) but a little creepy to feel it, you know?

Everything went well. I have head aches, but it is to be expected. I still cannot read (without readers) and I am still not 20/20, but boy what a difference! I walked around for two weeks with my new eye seeing everything brighter than my old eye, now they match. They are still not working as a team though. The doctor says I am learning to see again and it is going to take time. I get frustrated at times. 47 years is a long time of "making the best of it" with the cards I was dealt. It is true that it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks. I spent 35 years in contact lenses. Every day I think at least once about taking my contacts out to rest my eyes. It sounds funny, but my eyes have been through a trauma and I am used to "giving them a break". This is it, no breaks now. I just have to try to let them heal and hope it works out. I wore glasses for 45 years and I kind of miss them. I reach for them every morning.

On Friday when I went for my post op check up it was the surgeon and a nice resident. She examined me while he stood by taking the notes and filling in the blanks. It was two weeks and a day from the first surgery. She read my vision at 20/60 in my right eye. He was amazed. He said "Lisa it was 20/100 the day after surgery." They warned me that it gets better with time, but he never expected that big a jump in such a short time. This week I go in to see my optometrist. I cannot wait to see what he says. I know I have to be patient but I cannot wait to get my glasses. Not only because they are kind of a security blanket for me, but because I hate the over the counter readers and lets be honest - these glasses might actually be pretty!

I left there with 20/60 and 20/35 on Friday. In my left eye, one day after the surgery, I could see better than Michael AND my doctor. It's been an adventure folks, and it isn't over. I can't wait to *see* what 2022 brings. 😉

One eye down

2021-12-10T18:31:00.000-05:00

Well, I had the eye surgery. It has been a wild ride and even though it has only been a week it is hard for me to explain all that has happened in the last 8 days, There has been all kinds of excitement in my house. For starters, the night before surgery my parents came from Puerto Rico. We saw them this summer, but my mom had not travelled since 2017 (pre Maria) and my dad...well, since 1992. That's right. My dad has not gotten on a plane in almost 30 years. It is and was a pretty big deal.

It is hard for me to wrap my head around the technology folks. I mean, seriously. I have worn glasses since I was 2 years old. Over 4 decades and I am the blindest person I know. I have lived (and seen eye doctors) in New York, Puerto Rico, Georgia, Texas, and Germany. Every time I visited a new doctors I have been met with "Oooos" and "Ahhhhs" because of the nature of my myopia. The time, the money, the tests, the years of it - all fixed in 10 minutes.

Yep. It took longer to sign in and wait in the front office than it did to fix my worst eye. I was taken to a "pre op bay" in the Sandy Springs office of the Woolfson Eye Institute where I was examined (blood pressure, temperature, what not). Then they made me lie down and they probably put 25 eye drops in my eyes. Different ones, over and over, while they explained what they were doing and what I should expect next. Maybe 5 minutes later I was wheeled into the surgical area. I laid there mostly blind while I met the surgical nurse, then the anesthesiologist, and finally the surgeon. They all assured me it was going to be fine. It was going to be short and sweet. That I would be awake but I would not feel a thing. They put something over my face so that only my eye was exposed and all I could hear was the three of them talking, mostly about basketball, sometimes about my eye. All I could feel was water in my eyes, like a waterboarding experience for my eyeball, except my eyes had been numbed by the drops so I could not feel it really. And all I could see was what I can only describe as an underwater surreal light show. It was what I imagine an LSD trip would feel like. Before I knew it Dr. Brody said "I am putting the new lens in now." and I was left thinking "How?"

I sit up after 10 minutes and my left eye is still covered and everything through my right eye was kind of orange or red. I ask about it and they say its the "bactine-like" medicine they put on my eye, it will wash out. I am back in the pre surgical bay area except it is less than 20 minutes after and now it is post surgical. They start putting more eye drops in until the red is gone. I am a bit drowsy from the anesthesia so my nurse calls Michael and puts him on speaker phone so he can hear the after surgery care instructions. They wheel me out to the car where Michael is awaiting me to drive me back home. I am wearing my eye glasses and big sunglasses over them, but I have no eye patch. It does not need to be covered, unless I am sleeping and even then it is a see through plastic cup with holes in it for air.

I can immediately tell a big difference. I cannot say for sure because my eyes an very dilated so it is hard to see but it is obviously improved. By the time I am home I am already trying to read things. I can't. but I can see all kinds of stuff. The colors are brighter, some are even different, and I can tell my eyes are amazing.

The next day there is a little improvement. I go for my post surgery check up and the doctor says everything went perfect and from what he can tell I should see 21/50 with no assistance. I can basically see as well as I did with my contacts, except I am not wearing contacts! Every day that goes by my eyes improve a bit more. I need help reading. I couldn't read my phone at all the first three days. Now I can see the bigger fonts, and if I wear reading glasses I can see better, but not perfect. I went to see my optometrist Thursday (one week after) and he says it worked better than he expected. He wants me to be patient because he can still see some swelling inside the eye. He says 3 weeks out from the surgery he will have a better idea of how well he can correct me. It is safe to say though, my "bad" eye will only need help with reading. We now call it the "new" eye, so as to not offend my left eye, who is used to being the "good" eye.

My brain is very confused. I am getting headaches. I have all kinds of glasses around me but none of them really "work". In order to read and write I wear my old glasses with my new eye closed. When I want to exercise my new eye I close my old eye and walk around with just my new eye exposed to world. Naked. I am practicing reading with my new eye and over the counter readers, but it does not work well. It's incredibly frustrating because I have two separate worlds here. I mean the colors are different, everything is different from one side to the other. I wear an eye patch from time to time. Partly for fun, partly to give one eye a rest.

I find myself reaching for my glasses on my face when I don't have them. I am still amazed that I can see the inside of the shower while I bathe AND, there is no glasses/lenses fogging. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked at my smart watch. and couldn't see the time because in my sleep state I put my hand really close to my face...too close for my new eye.

Mostly I find myself confused. The changes are hard for my little brain. Depending on the circumstances I am either wearing glasses with a lens missing, or an eye closed. I can be wearing glasses or not, There was a moment today when I was at my desk at work trying to remember where I had which set of glasses and why I needed them. Then there's the eye drops: one once a day, once four times a day, another one four times a day, five minutes apart but only until today(Thursday). Tomorrow I can lose one of the eye drops. By next Wednesday I have to start them on the old eye for the next surgery. Trust me, there is a chart.

I am trying to be patient. One more week of this, and I will get the surgery on my "old" "good" eye. That will render my glasses obsolete. I can't wait! One eye down!

My eyes...one year later

2021-12-01T20:15:00.000-05:00

How has your year been? Let me tell you about mine. The last blog post I published was about an eye surgery that I was supposed to have December 3rd and 17th...see here:

https://countryrican.blogspot.com/2020/11/december-17th.html

If you read the blog you will see I was concerned with the surgery not happening because of COVID and the medical system. It never once occurred to me that it would not happen because I would get COVID!

Yet, that is what happened. On November 28th I tested positive for COVID 19. It was brutal. I was sick for weeks. I called the surgeon and they said "let's postpone for 2 weeks." Two weeks later we did again. And two weeks later we did it again. My health was fine by mid January, but I had some long haul COVID symptoms that made me uneasy.

The main issue was my heart rate. It seemed to be fine but would unexp
ectedly shoot up for no reason. Or even when it had a reason (like exercise) it would shoot up very quickly and without warning. I would be jogging and one minute it was 95...102...110...164. It would scare me. I also had chest pais but they never came with the elevated heart rate. My chest pains would happen while I was sitting o the couch watching tv, or at my desk at work, no rhyme or reason. I start seeing a cardiologist and at this point it is February and I cannot take the time off work. Eve if everything settled down I cannot afford to be blind in March in the greenhouse. So the surgery gets postponed indefinitely.

It has been a year since my COVID infection. I have had every test the cardiologist could do. He sees no heart defect. He cannot explain why my heart rate is funky, he agrees it is odd and disconcerting, but he sees no heart disease and so he tells me to keep living my life as usual, and monitor it. I call the eye surgeon again.

Here we go again. This time it's December 2nd & 16th. This time we are all double vaxxed and ready for it. This time, my parents are double vaxxed and boostered and coming to be with me. This time, I think it's actually going to happen!

I have not had chest pains in months, and my heart rate is funky when I run still, but I hear you do not get eye surgery while running so I think it will be fine. There is a new variant: Omicron? We are just going to have to hope and pray it doesn't get to us before the 16th!

My optometrist, who was the one who referred me to the Woolfson Eye Institute to begin with has a plan for me to get working eye glasses through it all. We shall see. Assuming it all goes well I will keep y'all posted to this adventure. If another year goes by without a post...well, let's not even think of that. Here is a pretty picture of today's sunset instead:

December 17th

2020-11-24T19:36:00.002-05:00

For those of you who do not know this, I am blind. I know a lot of people say this but in my case it is true. My vision does not correct to 20/20 even with contacts or glasses. I have worn glasses since I was two years old, and contacts since I was thirteen. I wear coke bottle glasses or gas permeable contacts all the time. Now that I am in my forties it is common for me to have my contacts in and wear my 2.0 reading glasses on top of them. I laugh at people who don't want to wear reading glasses because they think it makes them old. I laugh because I know that lack of eye sight is not necessarily an age thing, but because they do not know how blessed they are to have the option of seeing well.

When I was 10 years old I got the first pair of glasses that were truly hi

deous. That circle that forms in the lens because of the nature of concave corrective lenses for myopia was truly pronounced. Right when I was hitting puberty my glasses became even more unsightly. I was already bullied and called a nerd (which I was, but it had nothing to do with the glasses)an egghead, ugly, and everything else the cruel kids could muster up against a girl that was different in 6th grade. I used to fantasize about eye surgery. Someone magically calling up my house to say they found the miracle cure that would make less hideous.

I am not telling this story for you to pity me. I am saying it because I want to share how easy it is to internalize what you hear day in and day out. My dad told me I was beautiful. My big brother told me I was beautiful. But I did not listen because the boys in the school would use me to make fun of other boys. "Oh yeah, well Lisa is your girlfriend!". Yeah. Revenge was sweet though. My dad was right and I was beautiful. When I was thirteen and got my contacts for the first time... well, it changed my life. I was at the supermarket with my mom and when I got home I got a phone call from a good friend who had seen me from afar and was shocked at how beautiful I looked. She had known me since I was seven, but somehow never knew I was pretty until I was thirteen.

You know that tired old story of the girl that walks around in glasses and gets a makeover and all of a sudden everyone thinks she is cool? That was me. I left for Christmas break in the eighth grade one girl and came back in January a different girl. I mean, I had teachers ask who the new girl was. Also, apparently boobs get camouflaged by glasses because the boys acted like I just got them with my contacts. A credit to my solid upbringing that I did not change who I was or who I hung out with. At the ripe old age of fourteen I knew that if you did not like me before you did not deserve my time after. My best friends from school are the same girls that were there before and after. We still talk.

I counted the other day and I got up to 17 - the number of eye doctors that have evaluated me. I have moved around a lot in my life and certainly that has a lot to do with it. But I am also a doctor snob and have tried different ones at different times. No one holds a candle to me beloved Dr. Hamed Santaella, who treated me from the age of 8 until I was 22. I went back to see him when I was pregnant with my first child to discuss with him the possibility of retinal detachment during labor. He was tickled to see me. Call in his son who was taking over his service to introduce me to him. So proud of having an old patient he watched grow up come back for his professional opinion 15 years later. His son inherited his dad's telenovela good looks, by the way.

When I was twenty three I had a doctor offer surgery. He wanted to do cataracts surgery on me, as research had shown that for myopic patients it could diminish the defect. I went to Dr. Santaella for advise then. He said he thought I was too young to have a surgery that was typically performed on people in the sixties. He said I was a special case and I should beware of doctors seeking a trophy to put on the shelf. You can see why I love him.

Many doctors since then have mentioned this surgery to me. They all say the same thing: "Maybe when you are older". My current doctor mentioned it to me again this year. He said I was a little on the young side, but he wanted to refer me to a clinic in Atlanta that was very reputable and if anyone could help me they could. So I did.

It is called The Woolfson Clinic and the specialist I saw was Dr. Brody. Having recently binged Homeland I had misgivings trusting a Brody but I moved forward anyway. Michael had never been to the eye doctor with me and was a little amused. They were appropriately shocked at my eyes. The technician that helped me at first was not sure his machine was correct when it read my eye glasses at -24 and -26, he did not know they made prescriptions that high. The highest he had seen was a -20.

Dr. Brody was appropriately reluctant. He said he had done this surgery 13,000 times but the highest he had corrected was about a -19. He was concerned with the risks to my retina. And he refused to really move forward until the retinal specialist, Dr. Leff evaluated me and gave him the green light. I liked what I saw. I felt they were being responsible, so we scheduled a visit with Dr. Leff. Dr. Leff was cautiously optimistic. he warned that there were many risks and that with my condition being so extreme the risks were certainly higher. There is always a risk of retinal detachment. Of course, he would be there to reattach if needed, but as I am well aware the window to reattach is small. However, his opinion was that my retina was stable enough to go through a surgery.

These two visits were odd. We left the clinic thinking it is probably not going to happen. I was even borderline offended because Dr. Brody said something to the effect of he was not sure it was worth it, since he thought the best he could do was bring me to a -6 or -5. He is used to correcting someone's eyes, not just improving them. Here is the metaphor I came up with: it felt like I was homeless person trying to get shelter, but the person building the shelter only builds mansions. Maybe you should continue to be homeless, you know, because your used to it. I am not sure I can build you a small ranch.

The day of my follow up came and we went almost expecting to hear come back in five years or something. Much to our surprise, they were picking dates for surgery. After many tests and conversations we met with Dr. Brody again. He was all for it. He was still researching lenses to put in my eyes but he was hoping to get me to -4! or maybe even less! He can't promise anything, but he was sure going to try. He seemed confident he could do it and do it well, after consulting with Dr. Leff. We were shocked but pleased.

So here is the plan. On December 3rd I am currently scheduled to have cataracts surgery. It is an intraocular lens replacement. A lot of people have this surgery because the lens inside their eye gets cloudy. It is removed and people go about their business. In my case they will replace the lens with a monofocal corrective lens. Just removing the lens would improve my eye sight by at least 5 points. The problem is my eyes are so myopic that there is no lens that would correct my vision to 20/20, the best they can do is insert a lens that will get me to maybe a 20/50? 20/75? We really do not know. All we know is we are going to try it, and we are starting with the worst eye just in case something goes wrong. My good eye currently correct in contacts to 20/35, so it is precious. The bad eye? I don't even know! 20/100 with lenses?

The standard operating procedure is to operate on the right eye, wait a few days for it to heal and then operate the left. In my case, we will start on the right (which is the bad one) and then wait two weeks to do the other one. They want to make sure there are no serious complications before trying it on my precious eye... you know, the one that is -24. This presents some challenges though. For one thing my eyes will not correct to 20/20, but my current glasses will be too strong. So, I guess we try to pop out the lens in my glasses on just one side, and I deal with the lopsided effect of this for 2 weeks. Then if all goes well, on December 17th I get surgery on my left eye and maybe I see way better than before without any lenses...but I may still have a -4 or a -6? Let's assume they shave off 20 out of each eye, that leaves me with a -4 in one eye and a -6 in the other. Michael wears -6 glasses, maybe I can wear his while I get my own?

Anyway, that's what happening in my life. Assuming we don't collapse under the weight of COVID 19 in the next few weeks. These are ambulatory surgeries so one can hope they are insulated in the eye clinic from some of this. However, my kids' school just closed for 2 weeks because too many staff members are sick or quarantined so you never know. All I can say is I have to be hopeful that something good will come out of 2020, even if it won't be 20/20 for me, I will take the shack after being homeless for so long.

One more thing: You know when I got my contacts for the first time? December 17th 1986. 2020 has been a very unlucky year but 12/17 may be my lucky day.

On rioting...

2020-05-30T21:58:00.000-04:00

When I was a young undergraduate I took an introductory class to Psychology. My professor was an interesting researcher who worked so much with monkeys that he walked a little like one. I always remember him talking about mob mentality and how fascinated he was with it because of how difficult it was to study. A scientist cannot morally stage a riot to study people’s brain to determine how quickly they decide to join in rioting or looting. He said it is hard to predict when and where it will happen.

This was in the early nineties, and I am certain now that this conversation in class must have come about after the Rodney King Riots. If you are a Gen Xer like I am, it is hard to forget it. Wikipedia says 63 people died in those riots. It was the first time in my life that the public consciousness was so aware of the police being out of control. It is also the start of what we now know is a video age, now the digital age, where civilians owned or carried cameras and therefore were empowered to show their realities.

But I disagree that it is hard to predict a mob. I agree that you get little notice of the mob coming, but you can feel that in the air. I know because I grew up in Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, where people took for granted that whenever there was a long weekend we would see a mob form and police brutality ensue.

In my twenty plus years living outside of Puerto Rico I have frequently described Cabo Rojo as a sleepy beach town. It is on the southwest tip of the island, kind of like California in the US. Puerto Rico is a small place, and whenever there was a long weekend, such as Memorial Day or Labor Day people would come from all over the island to our little town to enjoy the beaches. In the Boqueron township there is still street parties every night of a long weekend. It is the place to be when you are college-aged. Lots of music, alcohol, and young people crammed together in a small plaza having a good time. But inevitably there would be trouble. Someone would start a fight and others would start throwing bottles. In the pushing and shoving, people would get trampled. The riot police were always scheduled to be there, because we all knew what was going to happen.

I cannot tell you how many times I witnessed a cop beating people indiscriminately to make the crowd disperse. Sometimes the fight started on the east side, the cops were swinging their sticks on the west side of the plaza, because that is where they were standing, and it was more convenient than chasing down the instigators. My friends and I all remember that time and have stories of running away from the cops for the crime of being young and just standing next to the wrong person. Of course the trouble makers should be told to leave, perhaps made to leave by force. But that was not what happened. Rather, it was open season. And the police knew that the weekend would come and the kids would go to the plaza and it was only a matter of time before they started swinging their clubs.

I could recount many detailed stories about this time. But what’s more important is that people understand our perspective. We did not view the cops as being there to protect us. How could we? We saw them as just waiting for the chance to start hitting people. Anyone. It was a scheduled abuse of power and the trick for us kids was to go, have a good time, and leave before we got hit by a cop. There were times when a fight would break out, the cops would beat everyone around them, things would calm down, and then we continued partying! Maybe an hour later there would be another fight, more beatings, and so on and so forth.

We hated the cops. To this day, when I see police in riot gear I think about those cops standing together on one corner of the plaza just waiting for a reason to strike. Miraculously no one died that I know of. I can’t help but wonder what I would be feeling if we had video cameras and taped this violence every time it happened. How I would feel if someone had died. Perhaps someone that looked like my brother.

Empathy is lacking all around us. On social media, on the news we keep hearing people discussing whether or not the police were right or wrong. Whether or not they should be charged with a crime. Whether the rioters have a right to protest violently. I can’t help but be on the side of those rioting. At a rational level I know that rioting and looting is immoral and illegal. I am a business owner and I imagine if it were my business being burned to the ground, I would be upset.

But what about George Floyd? His family? Eric Gardner, Travon Martin, Sandra Bland, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile…and those are just the few I remember off the top of my head. #saytheirnames

I am an empath and cry easily, like during Star War movies. So I realize that I am perhaps unusually emotional about this. But I remember saying the day after 9/11 - “Poor Muslims. They will all be judged by this for a generation. Thank God the hijackers weren’t Latin.” I knew the day after that, American Muslims and anyone that looks like them would be treated as terrorists. My heart broke for them. Empathy. Why do so many people lack it? Had I been watching videos of people who looked like my brothers and father, sons and neighbors being killed by those whose job it is to protect them…I would probably riot, too. Wouldn’t you?

I hate to have to resort to movies again, but I remember the moment in “A Time to Kill” when Matthew McConaughey describes the victimization of the little girl. Then he chokes back his tears and says “Now picture she is white.” That is how I feel right now. I hate that that is what it takes to get people to understand the meaning of empathy. But if you are reading this and you are white, try to imagine how you would feel if this was happening to people who looked like you?

I am not black so I won’t pretend to understand what they are going through right now. But I am an empath, and I do have African blood in me. So I must say that when I heard a black woman on the news say “We feel like we are being hunted”, it hurt my heart and made me cry. When you see that video and how that man was treated like an animal. Four cops. And nobody stopped it. No one thought it was excessive. They carried on as if it were business as usual. Because it is. Business as usual for them.

I know the looting is wrong. But I have to say if the people dying at the hands of the cops looked like my kids, my family, those closest to me…you damn right I would want to burn the motherfucking police station down! All of it! And you would too. And if you sit down and think about it - I mean really think about it - you would agree. You would not be quietly sitting on your couch judging those on TV burning down their community. Because that community is just a façade when you do not feel safe. Who gives a shit about cars and buildings when you feel there is no rule of law? There is no rule of law when there is no protection for those who look like you. There is no rule of law if the law does not apply to those paid to enforce it. None.

I wish, I really wish, that as a country we were connected enough to see this as an affront against all of us, because it is. I wish that regardless of your race you too felt like you were being hunted. The reality is that if a police officer can kill you in broad daylight, with other officers looking on, and then go home to their family, then the rioters are absolutely right. We have no rule of law and pretending we do just makes it worse. I wish it did not take riots and looting to wake people up. I wish the news reported “Another civilian was killed by a police officer today and sparked outrage throughout America.” Instead what we hear is how the media takes advantage, or how burning down a business makes no sense. How those people are acting like savages. Well, America you get what you put out. How can you expect people to react peacefully to something so violent?

The mob mentality is hard to study and predict my professor said. Well it happened in 2020 as it happened in 1992 after Rodney King and many times in between, and it will continue to happen until something changes. How many have to die before we stop sitting in judgement? How many cities need to burn before as a society we stop and look at what got them to that place of violence? When will America take responsibility for its violent past and present? When will we stop blaming the victims for violently reacting to America’s violent actions?

Puerto Rico is quaking

2020-01-12T11:56:00.001-05:00

If you have not been paying attention, I do not blame you. There have been so many weather stories lately that it is hard to focus. The news is overwhelming. Most people get stuck on one news source they like and that is all they look at. We are all guilty of it. I do it too. But if that one news source has limited time or resources, stories get missed. It seems to me that we only have time for one major weather story at a time. With winter storm Isaiah, and the Australia fires, only people with ties to Puerto Rico seem to be paying attention to what is happening down there. I read today a volcano eruption is eminent in The Philippines. Weather stories are exhausting us all, and I fear it is only going to get worse. But people need to know Puerto Rico has been quaking for 16 days and counting.

Well, the earthquake swarm (as it is apparently called) is worse than Maria.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2020/01/10/puerto-rico-earthquake-swarm-tectonic-plates/4420857002/

Did you read that? Yes, 950 earthquakes so far this year. I am not even sure they are counting the ones that happened after Christmas. It is a bizarre and terrifying phenomenon that has everyone’s nerves frayed. Physically speaking my family is fine, their houses are still standing. We are lucky in that sense. However, I am not sure any of them will get to sleep the whole night through for a long time.

As most of you know, I grew up on the island and we were told in school that we were on a fault line and we were prone to earthquakes. I remember more than one. The one that I remember best was a 3 something that happened in the late 80s, early 90s. It shook the house pretty good. In fact, there was a crack in the back room’s concrete after that. I was cleaning the mirror on my dresser and I will never forget watching it shake and the feeling that it would fall on me. In the last 2 weeks my family and friends have been through hundreds of those little shakes, and many stronger. Gulp. We have never seen anything like it. Which begs the question: why?

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/2020/01/why-so-many-puerto-rico-earthquakes-have-happened-geology/

I know I have Geologist friends out there, and I do not want to put any of them on the spot, but I really want someone to give me an example of where this has happened before. I am serious! I keep searching for answers and I cannot find them. These articles shed some light on the science behind it all, but it is hard to believe that we are the only ones who have been through this. How can we possibly know how long it will last if we have nothing to compare it to? Again, maybe my news sources are insufficient. I need some help here.

We know the earth is always moving. People who live in places like California can tell you small quakes happen all the time. I went to the USGS map to see if it was happening anywhere else. Bear with me and go click on this link. You will see the world and the dots of where seismic activity is occurring or has occurred recently. The bigger and darker the dot shows the bigger and the more frequent. As you zoom in you will see all the quakes in Puerto Rico and on the side a list of dates, places and times. It took my breathe away. Seriously. It was audible… the gasp, I made could be heard if you were in the room with me.

Here is the link. If you care to go see for yourself:

https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/map//#%7B%22autoUpdate%22%3A%5B%22autoUpdate%22%5D%2C%22basemap%22%3A%22grayscale%22%2C%22feed%22%3A%221day_m25%22%2C%22listFormat%22%3A%22default%22%2C%22mapposition%22%3A%5B%5B17.064661760709804%2C-68.7579345703125%5D%2C%5B18.911483222018383%2C-65.2423095703125%5D%5D%2C%22overlays%22%3A%5B%22plates%22%5D%2C%22restrictListToMap%22%3A%5B%22restrictListToMap%22%5D%2C%22search%22%3Anull%2C%22sort%22%3A%22newest%22%2C%22timezone%22%3A%22utc%22%2C%22viewModes%22%3A%5B%22list%22%2C%22map%22%5D%2C%22event%22%3Anull%7D

Now I want you to imagine how it would be like to live like this.

Monday January 6^th is Three Kings Day, a major holiday for us. That is when Punta Ventana broke. It had been shaking since late December and I believe that was a 5.8 so we all thought that was the big one. Until the 6.4 hit a couple of days after and the María PTSD set in for everyone. No power throughout the island... No water... People sleeping outside... What is happening?! Slowly the power started coming back and everyone felt like we were getting back to normal, but it keeps quaking. We keep saying “It’s normal, it’s just aftershocks”. But it is not because the intensity is not going down, it is zig-zaging and it is a cruel form of terrorism. What I mean is there has been at least 5 earthquakes in a weeks’ time of above 5 intensity, and hundreds of shock between them that go from barely felt to 4 something.

The houses in Puerto Rico are built mostly of concrete because we have frequent hurricanes and so they are built to withstand strong winds. Would you feel comfortable sleeping under a concrete roof when the earth is shaking this hard at all hours? What if you have a two story home? Do you sleep upstairs so the roof does not collapse on you ? Or on the first floor so you can get outside quicker? People have been sleeping in their cars outside their home. No one leaves their car in the car port anymore because God forbid the roof collapses on the car and then you do not have a car either. I see on Facebook everyday. Friends sleeping on the terrace on a hammock and hoping for the best. People in the car. In a tent in the front yard. Friends telling me they slept on the couch so they would be closer to the door. My 89 year old aunt spending the night with my parents because she lives alone and is scared to spend the night alone. Churches enlisting young folks to stay with elderly folks who may not have a family member to stay with them. It is heart wrenching.

My people have been through a lot. The economic crisis, Irma, Maria. Every time we think we are getting on our feet and digging ourselves out of this awful hole we get punched again. Except this feels like you are constantly being smacked with a hard uppercut punch every few slaps. People who would never talk about leaving the island are now saying they might. Airlines have raised their fees in the most shameful price gouging I have ever heard. My brother said he saw a flight for $2,000 this week. It is usually in the $300-$500 range. It is insanity. Someone compared it to living in a war zone, because you go to bed wondering if this is the night the bomb hots your house. No one is sleeping, at least not well. Power is returning slowly and people are getting back to normal until it starts shaking again and the power goes away and we are back to square one. One of my cousins said he doesn’t set his alarm anymore because he will be awoken before 4 am guaranteed. The quote I see most on social media is “Esto no es vida” (This is no way to live).

I want to say, in the face of all this I have heard a lot of good spirits and humor coming from the island. We got a great sense of humor and we joke about it all. You know what they say, if you don't laugh you will start to cry.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2014/01/13/puerto-rico-quake/4449491/

The worst part is the impotence we all feel. At this point there is little to do and seemingly no one to blame. What I do not understand is why the media doesn’t seem to care. Sure, there are a few articles here or there online but I watch a lot of news and I have to seek it to find it. There is no telethon, no movement on how to help. Other than CBS’s David Begnaud (God bless that man) few news people in the states care. The President signed an emergency declaration and I think only the Puerto Rican media covered it.

Here is the list of the earthquakes felt today and yesterday:

http://redsismica.uprm.edu/English/php/CatalogS/Mseismicity.php

You want to help, I know you do. Thoughts and prayers are good. Empathy is important. Be patient with your Puerto Rican friends, we are living under collective anxiety. Charity organizations are out there helping right now. Here is an article with links to people who have people down there helping:

https://www.nbcnewyork.com/news/national-international/how-to-help-puerto-rico-after-deadly-earthquake/2256870/

Most importantly do not close your eyes. When the small headline show up on your phone “another earthquake shakes Puerto Rico” click on it. Apathy helps no one. The media doesn’t report it because they think you do not care. Care! That is what you can do: CARE.

Unintended consequences

2018-09-29T15:02:00.000-04:00

This post is about sexual assault, but I’m not going to try to convince you about my views on Kavanaugh. I am a liberal. I make no apologies about it; it is not a secret. I am who I am, and everyone that knows me knows it. I guess my post is not so much about sexual assault; it is broader than that. My post is about social media and empathy. I am a very empathetic person. For whatever reason, and trust me I have theories, it is hard for me not to put myself in the shoes of the other. I am also very accustomed to being surrounded by people who do not share my world view. Which as time goes by, I realize more and more that it is kind of a rare thing.

Other than my immediate family who frequently agree with me, and for the 7 or 8 years I lived in Athens Georgia, I am usually surrounded by people who disagree with me. Which teaches you a lot of constraint for a lot of reasons: not offending a business associate, keeping the peace at family gatherings, advising a student, or an employee. You also get used to hearing people say insulting things that you frequently have to let go. Especially on social media. Lord have mercy! I do not engage people on other pages anymore. I post things on my own pages and if someone engages with me on my pages I usually respond. But I don’t troll other people’s pages looking to “convince” anyone. Mostly I share with people because sometimes I see things that I think some of my friends want to see. Or because I see an angle others have not mentioned, and I want to add to the discussion. I do know that you are not going to convince anyone on facebook, but sometimes people have a chance to step outside of their box and see something new.

The media flames the fire of drama on social media. It’s true. Michael and I were watching the Kavanaugh situation, and we flipped the channel back and forth between Fox News and MSNBC. It is true that how you see the Kavanaugh hearing depends on what news you are watching. I frequently watch Fox News just so I know what people around me are watching and hearing. Otherwise when I hear them in conversation it would blow me away because the story is so different than on any other news channel.

I have never been sexually assaulted, but I am not going to lie – I’ve dodged a lot of bullets. I am one of the lucky ones. I was lucky to have an overprotective father who would not allow me to stay at anyone’s house until I was 16. I was lucky to have two big brothers who, frankly, are scary. I was lucky to grow up in a neighborhood where “delinquent youth” were my best friends and had my back. I am lucky that in college my brother was on the basketball team. It was hard to get a date sometimes, but bad guys stayed the hell away for fear of getting beat down by a team of basketball players. And then again, I am lucky because I just have not been in the wrong place at the wrong time because sometimes that is all it takes.

I have friends that have been sexually assaulted. I have friends who have been raped by strangers, and I have friends who have been raped by boyfriends, friends, and husbands. I have friends who were molested by stepfathers, uncles, and such. I am 44 years old, and I can name off the top of my head at least 10 cases. The numbers are horrifying. In the last few weeks I have learned about other acquaintances that have been through this, and my heart breaks for them. And at the same time I sit in awe of their courage in sharing with all of us.

When we get in our corners politically we tend to forget our humanity, and that everyone in your circle can read what you put on social media. There are a lot of unintended consequences with this debate we are living through. Yes, it is horrible for the accusers and for the accused. It is especially hard for their families who did not ask to be in this mess. But these debates can be very hurtful. You may think you are being clever, and you are just supporting your “political team” but for a survivor of sexual violence you may come off as blaming the victim.

I have seen some very hurtful things in the last week. I read them move on cringing and saying a prayer under my breath for the women in their family who walk away hurt thinking “wow”. Every time I see a woman saying “if she were telling the truth she would have said something sooner,” I am deeply saddened and hope their daughter/niece/granddaughter/sister/neighbor/coworker did not read that. We all have someone in that position I promise you. One in three women is subjected to some form of sexual violence in their lifetime. How many women are in your family? How many friends do you have? If 60% of these go unreported for fear or not being believed, or repercussions, or because they were too young or they blame themselves… how does it make them feel when you call this woman a liar? Do you think they will ever come to you and confide in you after that?

I am not saying you can’t have an opinion. I understand you may believe this man. I understand that you feel he is credible, and an upstanding member of his community and therefore could not do this. I disagree. Is it worth it to win a facebook argument to alienate someone you love forever? 1 in 3! Even if it is 1 in 6, do the math and figure out what percentage of those women close to you might be triggered by this moment in our history? All I am saying is that some things are more complicated than red vs. blue. Supporting Kavannaugh does not mean you have to berate victims of abuse. Hey, I supported Bill Clinton, but even I admit he owes Monica Lewinsky an apology. Even I think Hillary was a little ridiculous when she said on the today show “This is all a vast right wing conspiracy.” Every time I see someone on facebook selling this “vast left wing conspiracy,” I think they look as foolish as Hillary did in 1997.

I have chosen to educate myself in this area because so many people close to me have been in this position. There is so much ugliness in this world. Why add to it? Be the change you want to see in the world. Take a minute while you scroll on your phone or your computer. And when you see someone close to you share something about sexual assault, stop to think why she might be sharing this. Has it happened to her? Maybe her best friend? Maybe her sister? Her mother? If the answer to that question is yes, who do you want to be? I want to be the friend. I want to be the safe space. I want to continue to be that source of empathy, and understanding, and support.

So to all my sisters out there reliving what has happened to them, to all of you out there suffering in silence because you just saw your best friends’ mom say “these women are liars”, to all of you who were abused by some man in your life and now feel like someone else you love is hurting you again, I am here for you. The psychology behind this is pretty amazing stuff. I hope everyone can take a breath and think twice before they type or speak, and realize everyone is listening.

Post Maria Puerto Rico

2018-07-02T20:12:00.000-04:00

La isla de los ratones
June 2017/June 2018

I’ve been digesting how to describe what I saw when I was in Puerto Rico this time around. My first visit to the island since Maria was 9 months after the disastrous storm crossed it. If Puerto Rico were the United States, the storm entered through Florida and came out through Washington State. Think about that for a second. The island is only 100 miles by 35 so that means there was not an area that went untouched by the storm.

However, my hometown sits where California sits so it suffered less than most. It’s hardly something to celebrate when to get there you must drive across the island and see the blue tarps. Lots of things are different while at the same time – everything is the same. It is hard to put into words when you drive by the spot where you held your rehearsal dinner and it is no longer there. Swallowed by the ocean, or a blown away by the wind. When you fly into San Juan it looks the way it always looks: beautiful. The ocean, the green, the forts… and then you fly over Carolina and you see the blue tarps. And then you realize it is hurricane season and it has been nine months but those people still only have a tarp for a roof. It breaks you heart.

The flip side of it is that you find new restaurants. Places you never went to before because you were attached to the place next door. New places, because there has been some new places popping up from people who see a need and rise to meet it, and others who take advantage of the government incentives to rebuild. You talk to people about what they have been through and there are the teary eyed stories of the fear they went through, but you laugh at the jokes about “eso se lo llevó Maria” (Maria took that); a punchline we now share for anything that no longer is and so we always blame the storm. You laugh because it’s funny and it is so idiosyncratically Boricua: let’s bulldoze this area we always wanted to but couldn’t because of some environmental group and blame it on the storm. People are so strong.

Michael and I drove to a mountain town to visit a customer of ours. They have been our customer for two or three years and we wanted to go see them and see how they were. Now, the greenhouse industry is made up of hardworking, salt of the earth kind of folks no matter where you go, even in Puerto Rico. We went to see their operation and listened to their stories of the storm. They lost every roof and with it their whole crop of poinsettias. The staff of twenty six had to be cut down to six. Fifty one days without a sale or a prayer of any money coming in. “We went through a hard time” she said to me sadly. I don’t really know her, but I do. I do because I know where she comes from and I know what she is trying to do. I know how hard it is to run a business, and I know how fragile our business is. I cannot even imagine what she must have gone through. Her father is in his sixties and he is a farmer, a business man, and a straight shooter. Tells me he had to dig out of his own pocket to rebuild because the insurance still hasn’t paid. “Contractors are making out like bandits around here.” One of his daughters told me the only good she can see from all of this is the push for more sustainable agriculture. There’s a big local push for it.

When you drive through you see the balance of the tropical flora trying to recover against what can only be described as a massive haircut. There have been a lot more cases of allergies and respiratory issues this year. Correlation is not causation, but when there is such a massive cutback of trees I expect this is the result of it. They lost a big portion of their natural filters; it makes sense that the air is not as clean. But they are coming back. It is heartwarming to see a tree almost completely gone starting to flower bright red. Sort of like when you see a flower growing in a crack of a sidewalk.

Mostly I wanted to see for myself what everything looked like now. I wanted to witness for myself what my people went through. You see the joy of life in them. I listened to my friends recount their stories of Maria. How the RN spent three weeks in the hospital she works in with her 12 year old daughter. It was a safe place to pass the storm, plus she knew she was needed there. However, they were basically trapped there, unable to go home and see for themselves what their home looked like for their own safety. I listened to the tales of the weeks and months without power or water, the hatred of the sound of generators in the middle of the night. One lady in the mountains told me her sister in law had just gotten her power back the other day. Nine months to the day from when the storm hit. It’s nice to know they are still working on it. We saw power lines still down and streetlights that still do not work. We saw a portion of the road that had a mini landslide and it looked terrifying.

El puente de piedra - not even Maria can knock it down. Fragile, but still standing - just like my people.

As I sat around the dinner table at THE BEST restaurant on the island as far as we are concerned (very rustic and we are so happy it is still there!) sharing drinks and a meal with my high school besties, I realized this storm was our 9/11. That for the next ten years whenever people met for the first time and shared their stories the “where were you when Maria hit?” question would always be asked. I imagine what I felt for those weeks after the storm not knowing the fate of my loved ones was just like what New Yorkers felt. Yulín our Giuliani. Loved by some, called an opportunist politician by others.

When 9/11 happened I lived on an Army base is Germany, and I witness the spirit of “we are all New Yorkers” even in Germany and France, where everyone hurt with NYC. I was honestly touched, as someone born in that great city with so many ties to it; I could feel the love and the support. Sadly, most people have forgotten about Puerto Rico and María. That tiny island in the Caribbean doesn’t matter much to the world at large. It matters to me. And as a member of the Puerto Rican diaspora it is my job to make sure you reading this don’t forget about us. Or the thousands who died and the government still has not bothered to count. I try to imagine over 4,000 American citizens dead anywhere else and no one caring, and it is unimaginable. I mean, the population of Puerto Rico is only 3.4 million. I’m too pretty for math so someone else is going to have to figure the percentages for me.

I guess Maria should have been a Bin Laden or something. Maybe then we would all be Puerto Ricans like we were all New Yorkers.

The Three Kings

2018-01-06T08:47:00.001-05:00

My first memory of the three kings was in New York City. We didn't celebrate it, even though we were from Puerto Rico, we just did Christmas. I was in my dad's arms and he was showing me an image of the kings on the wall. Maybe it was a Christmas card... I honestly can't remember. I remember asking him about them and him telling me they represented the three wise men who brought gifts to baby Jesus. He told me how in Puerto Rico, where he grew up, little kids left out grass for the camels and the kings would leave them gifts by their bed. I asked if this was at Christmas and he said no. Three Kings Day happens after the New Year. I was around Sofia's age and I remember thinking "Puerto Rican kids are the luckiest kids in the world! They get two Christmases!"

When we moved to Puerto Rico I was 7 years old and I too got two Christmases. The year I moved to Puerto Rico I learned a lot about my culture that showed me I was one of the luckiest kids in the world indeed. This is just a small representation of that in terms that a child can understand. The tradition is near and dear to my heart. I will never forget that moment with my daddy in our little apartment in the South Bronx, and how it opened a window of something magical from my roots that was not a part of our world in the states.

Last night I was trolling facebook on my phone as I waited for my kids to be asleep and saw how many of my friends from back home are keeping this tradition alive for their kids no matter where they live. This morning the kings came to Puerto Rico and other Latin countries, but they also came to Georgia, and Florida, and New York, Maryland, and Texas... American culture permeates my island nation in a way that is hard to explain. But mornings like this I smile as I think our diaspora spreading our culture where ever we are.

My girls have been up for almost two hours and they have not had breakfast. They are playing with their Barbies and Ken dolls, and their LOL pets, and just enjoying their second Christmas... the luckiest children in the world. I am enjoying their innocence, for I know it won't last forever. They each got a Ken and Barbie set and when they opened the boxes they said they had a mommy a daddy a brother and a sister. No boyfriends yet!

Funny story: My in-laws are American and they took down the tree and the decorations shortly after new years day. My five year old asked where was the tree and all the decorations and was told they were put up. "Why?!" Savannah asked. "Christmas is over" Granddaddy said. "But what about the three kings?!" she asked alarmed.
Big sister Sofia said in her 6 going on 16 tone "Savannah! They're not Puerto Rican!" We all had a good laugh.

Raising kids away from your family and culture is hard to do. Teaching them to appreciate the language, the culture and history is an uphill battle. This is the easy part. This, and the beach.

My Tribe

2017-09-26T07:31:00.000-04:00

Sebastian Junger wrote a book called “Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging”. If you haven’t read it I highly recommend it. One of the points he makes is how trauma unifies people. How when something terrible happens to a group of people, they are unified by the feeling of tribalism that is present in all humans. He supports this with evolutionary theory, sociology, psychology, and just personal anecdotes from his time spent in war zones. The classic example is New York after 9/11; how crime rates dropped and how the city became warmer. On 9/11/01 I was living on an Army base in Germany and I experienced this first hand. Americans, especially those with military ties, were treated with a deference that was hard to describe. TSA agents in airports would thank me for my service and sacrifice (I was then a Military wife). I saw the memorials in Paris and in different German towns where the locals were pouring out to show their support. It was overwhelming. Still, the experience was removed from me. I experienced it on TV like most of the world did.

This past week we have experienced, and are still going through, something remarkable that has truly brought home the meaning of Tribe to me. Hurricane Maria has devastated my island of Puerto Rico. Everyone who has Facebook or watches the news knows that. But what we are going through is hard to put into words and I am trying to. Desperately so, because I feel like I will choke on the emotion if I do not get it off my chest. I apologize in advance if some of this comes off as a stream of consciousness exercise but I have been living in two languages for a long time and my brain gets confused.

When Irma came and went and left our Island a little hurt and flooded we moved on pretty quickly. Yes, we were all scared. Who wasn’t? That storm was the biggest in modern history. Cue the memes showing how the hand of God (or Yukiyu) protected our Island paradise yet again. We have grown up hearing about San Felipe and all the horrible storms that have hurt us through history so we take it pretty seriously. We were spared. We felt blessed. We started organizing to help those who weren’t. Taking in refugees from the lesser Antilles (a term I kind of hate) and did what we could for them. You would see it online over and over “Have a lot of supplies that you stocked up on and don’t need? Bring them to x shelter for those who weren’t so lucky.”

So when Maria was coming, we were a little complacent. At least in the US, I know I was. I was worried. My mom sent me a message saying “They are saying it could be as bad as San Felipe” and I got the pit of my stomach feeling you get when danger is near. But we all hoped it would be like Irma, a little damage. How bad can it be. We got this.

On the Island though, people take it seriously: always. When they say “Evacuate” people evacuate. My brother and his family went to my parents and “hunkered down”. My sister in law brought her mom. My niece brought the dog. That’s what they do. We will be together. Sure, its close quarters but you never know. Better safe than sorry. Tuesday evening around 6 pm I spoke with my mother. She said they still had power. They ate dinner early in case the power left. Same old same old. Bye. Love you. I’ll call you in the morning. I actually said to her “Weather.com says the wind won’t pick up to above 25 mph until after 7 am.” She said “OK. Call me after 7 am and I will let you know. Ha ha.” I tried. In fact I have been trying since Wednesday after 7 am and have not been able to speak to my mother yet.

The first time I called and got the fast busy signal I was alarmed. I kept my cool and went to work. My parents survived a Category 3 in 1998 and the eye went over their house – but the phone still worked. What has followed has been agony. I mean…how can I describe this to someone who has not been through it? Can anyone really imagine what it is like to go days without talking to their love ones while watching the footage on TV of everything you know being washed away? I am not exaggerating when I say I have called them over 500 times. I know this, because I can see the “recently dialed” listing on my cell phone. Day in and day out. No communication. Nothing. Landlines, cellphones, emails, whatsapp, text messages, facebook.

Facebook. That first morning when the whole island blacked out and you did not see any communication from anyone on the Island. I have over 500 friends who are from Puerto Rico on my facebook feed all the time. I no longer feel them. My mother likes and shares everything I put on facebook. She was silent. My 17 year old niece lives there. Nothing. Instagram was empty. We all found ourselves, as my dear friend Glianny put it, with our “immigrant guilt” reading the news that the place was falling apart, being washed away by the storm surge or the river flooding. And here we sat. In our air conditioned homes watching our news programs from our DVR while our family sat in total darkness.

Here is when the Tribe starts to make a difference. I have been in constant contact with people I have barely spoken to in years. High school friends. College Friends. That guy who grew up in my neighborhood but happens to be a cousin of a dear friend. My aunt and godmother in New York City. Former neighbors. All calling, texting, sharing information. We are one. We all are together in this diaspora of Puerto Rican-ness sharing words of comfort, repeating the same thing over and over: I can’t sleep, I can’t focus, I’m sure your family is fine, I have this whole in my chest, I feel hopeless, I am desperate for information. Desperation. That is what I felt and saw over and over again. But the willingness to help. The feeling of “Don’t worry, I am here for you” is something that cannot be fully described.

I want you to think of your mom or dad, or both (in my case). Or whomever that someone else who most shaped you into the person you are today. You are most grateful for these people. There is no way to repay them for all they have done for you and you love them beyond measure. You are sitting in first world comfort watching on the news how devastated the place they are is – and yet you do not know if they are even alive or dead. You look around and talk to others who know someone near them and they say “I haven’t talked to anyone yet.” And that goes on for days. No news. Can you imagine the heartache? Going to bed at night thinking “I hope my brothers are fine. My friend of 35 years lives pretty close to the coast. Oh God, my nieces! Mom and Dad!”…thank you Tylenol PM for allowing me some rest.

And you still have to get up in the morning and brush your kids’ hair for school. And remember that check for so and so. And get a birthday present for your husband, and that little boy who’s invited us to his party, and talk to customers on the phone, and employees face to face. And all the well-meaning people who ask “Have you heard from your folks?” and for the 100^th time that day you have to say “No. Not yet.” It hurts so bad, but your kids are 4 and 6 and blissfully unaware that their Island paradise where they go every year to see abuela and the cousins is barely holding it together. So you put on a brave face and you carry on because you can’t let your children see you cry unless there is no other option.

Just when your hope is almost gone you hear from your oldest friend that she and her family are fine. Then you see your cousin marked herself “safe” on facebook. Then, you big brother manages to send a text that says “We are alive and have a roof.” And you cry your little heart out because you have been building it up inside so long. Slowly the good news starts to happen, but the ugly stuff still comes in. Your favorite restaurant is gone. They say there is water running down the streets of your subdivision like a river. Still, you cling to your tribe. You keep seeing the text message and the facebook posts of this person or that person. You reestablish bonds you thought were gone. You feel their warmth and their love when they say“God Bless you” or “we will get through this” because you know they mean it. It’s not some platitude people repeat. It is yet another case of trying to put the energy into words that can never fully express what is being felt.

Today I finally got a message from my niece saying they were all fine. The neighborhood is good. The neighbors are fine. No, my dad has not killed the dog. Yes, they are OK. They are together. She is still a giggly 17 year-old. You breathe a sigh of relief. You keep calling the numbers. All of them because he has an android and she has an Iphone and maybe one has a signal and the other doesn’t? You call your mother landline and it rings for the first time in a week and you hear her voice saying “Hello?” on the other side before the static happens and you can’t talk. But you heard her voice! Ever so briefly and so we are finally going to be OK. Your mama’s voice. After a few minutes I called back and talked for a bit. I didn’t hear anything but I just talked, just in case she could hear me, so she knows we are thinking of them.

As of right now, I have yet to speak to one of my brothers, or my parents. The only person I have had an actual conversation with was my big brother in the capital and that was just 5 minutes. Many of my friends still have no word from their loved ones, desperately clinging to that hope that today will be the day they will speak. I saw on the news that 40% of the island has running water and I hear my parents are in that group. That means 60% does not. Most of the island, still in the dark. My bestie says the line for gasoline is hours long for $20 max. There is still a curfew at night. The big Guajataca dam is on the verge of breaking. The people who had the misfortune to be on vacation down there when this happened are stranded in the airport. One of the towers was destroyed by the hurricane, so they are not functioning at full capacity. The list goes on and on.

I have been jabbering on and on, and I still can’t put it into words. I want to say thank you to those in my tribe who have reached out and helped. I want to say thank you to those who tried and couldn’t get me an answer. We are in this together and I love you all. And to those on the island that found a way to communicate early on, you will never know the hope you brought us. Lastly, I want to thank all those people who took time to call and write an ask how I was, thanks for your thoughts, thanks for the prayers, thanks for making me feel like you cared. Honestly it means a lot to me and I know it will mean a lot to my family when they know.

I want to say one last thing, regardless of politics and what you may or may not know of my island, we are American citizens. We have been (for better or worse) a part of the US since 1898 and citizens since 1917. Puerto Ricans have served in every branch of government and the military, have died in every war. The Puerto Rican diaspora is strong… they say 3.4 million on the island, 5.5 off it. We are one. We will rebuild. We have come together like never before and we will get through this. It is the worse experience of my life, and I was not even there. Love your Tribe, they will be there for you when the chips are down. And whether you like it or not we are a part of this American Tribe too. We need you. We are not just place you go on vacation. Someone in your tribe is hurting, send help!

The weekend

2017-09-23T10:22:00.003-04:00

I left home for the first time in 1996. It was for 10 months, then I was back home for 10 months again, and then I was gone forever. In reality, those 10 months when I was back I was in a sort of purgatory of being home and away at the same time. It was a hard time for me. When I left again in 1997 I just went to graduate school in San Juan. I was home (in Puerto Rico) but not home (in Cabo Rojo).

From the first time I left I have always called my parents on the weekend. Always. For over 20 years. Back in the stone ages of the 90s we had to rely on land lines and long distance calling plans. Remember the “Nights and weekends” plans? That’s why I called on the weekend – it was usually cheaper. If you called during the week you had to wait until after 9 pm to get the cheaper rate. The good old days.

When I lived in San Juan I took off the long distance plan to save money and would buy calling cards (remember those?) just to call my mom and tell her I was fine. When I lived in Germany it was tricky because it was international calling and there was a 5 or 6 hour time difference depending on the time of year. I still had to call home. I was travelling somewhere one weekend and didn’t call home. I thought “I’m in my 20s, I’m in Paris, I don’t need to call home EVERY weekend.” When I got back home I had an email from my brother saying “better call Mami, she is upset.” I learned my lesson and even now in my 40s, if Sunday night come around and I have not called I put in a quick 5 minute call to say “I’m fine. Just busy. Will call tomorrow.” She always says “You don’t have to” but I know I do.

I’m not going to lie, there have been times it felt like a burden. I know my brothers are not held to the same standard. Kano goes months without communicating with anyone. But I know I am the only girl, the baby, “la regalona” and so I keep on keeping on. As a consequence I have developed a reputation for “being in the know” sort to speak. I am the one who calls. Even now with all the connectivity where we can email from our phones and video chat from anywhere I still call. I wake up on Saturday and think about what I am doing this weekend and I always think “when am I calling mami?” I try to do it when I can give her an hour (at least) of my time. Sometimes with a second cup of coffee, or while folding laundry. We have to catch up. I need to hear her complain about my dad or give me some local gossip. They are in their 70s now so there’s always the inevitable “So and so died”. She wants to hear about how busy we are, the girls, the business, school, the tumbling classes, even the laundry. So many days I call and the first thing she says is “What are you doing? Laundry?”

I have not heard from them since Tuesday evening. It is Saturday morning and I still cannot get through to the landline or the four cellphones that I know are in that house.” I know they are OK. I know the house can take the Cat 3 hurricane winds it surely got. I know the town is flooded in the usual areas where it has flooded in the past and theirs has not flooded in 35 years that they have lived there. I know they should be ok. But there is always the “what if” that nags and tears you up inside. You do the mental list of “30 inches of rain, all creeks and rivers out of their banks, all communications down, dad is 75 and full of ailments…” Followed by the “They got this, my brother is with them, his wife is super resourceful, my mom is the toughest woman I know, my dad hoards water, he has a generator…” and now you know what is going through my head at all hours of the day every day for four days now.

I hope I can get through. It has to happen. It’s the weekend….

Maria

2017-09-20T18:56:00.003-04:00

When I was kid I used to love storms. In Puerto Rico the storms were always a fun time. When I was really young it was a time to play cards and board games with my brother. Sometimes I read by candlelight. I remember fondly a time early on – maybe even the first year when I was 7. My dad and my 16 year old brother were fishing with my uncle. My 9 year old brother was staying at my other uncle’s house with my cousins. It was just my mom and I and it started storming. No power. We had two candles. So, as it got dark, we lit one candle and then made another one from the melted wax and some string. Eventually my dad and brother came home with crazy stories of being in the ocean when the storm was coming in and my dad being sea sick. I remember that fondly.

The best part about living in a place where the power goes out frequently is the stories. My mom and dad always had stories about growing up in the 50s in Puerto Rico. As we grew older we would be playing outside with friends in the dark. You see, we didn’t need a hurricane to lose power. Old Don Wilson will tell us scary stories about headless horsemen running around: “You see, this subdivision used to be a sugar plantation… legend has it a headless horseman used to run around and night and watch over the crops…” and he would make the horse sounds and everything. Don Wilson was the best.

I have never seen a hurricane first hand. I lived in Puerto Rico from 1987 until 1998 (give or take a few months) and I never saw an actual hurricane. I remember my brother and I being disappointed when Hugo missed us. We were young and felt let down by the weather report. My mom told us: “No es lo mismo llamar al diablo que verlo venir.” (It’s not the same thing to call the devil than to see him coming.) Hugo missed us just like most storms did. We were in Cabo Rojo, the South/West corner of the Island and they usually make a diagonal line from the South/East to the North/East. Hugo was bad though. Lots of rain and with lots of rain comes landslides. Lots of people died from it. It was one of those things that would be talked about a lot. I imagine like Katrin will be in New Orleans. Everyone will know where they were when, you know?

In 1998 Georges came and did something different. For some odd reason it went from South/East to the middle, and then turned to the South/West. That means it sliced the island in half, with the eye passing through my hometown. My brothers and I all lived in Georgia at that time. So mom and dad lived through the category 3 storm without us. My mom says she was really scared, and my dad fell asleep on the couch, and she got in the pantry and sat on the bottled water through the worse of it. That story sums up my parents relationship pretty well actually. Georges tore up the town. The first time I went back was months after and I was struck at how different everything looked. So many trees were gone or bare. Rumor has it the wasps disappeared after that storm. I don’t have any science to back that story, but that’s what they say.

As I sit here now my family is still going through the hell that is maria. I have no information on how they are doing. Nothing. Last night at around 6 pm we will chatting on the phone. She had my brother and his wife and two kids there. My brother’s mother in law too. It’s a party. They ate dinner early out of fear of losing power. Everything was still calm. Sometime last night the power went out. I called this morning at 8 am and the phone was out. I have tried all day with no luck. We here the cell towers came down. We here power is out in 100% of the island. We here all communication is down. The Weather Channel is the most terrifying thing you will ever see in circumstances such as this.

I checked wether.com for an update on the winds. This I got for my home town:

Cabo Rojo, PR (00623) Hourly Weather

6:22 pm AST

Expect occasional rain to continue for the next several hours.

TIME DESCRIPTION TEMP FEELS PRECIP HUMIDITY WIND

6:30 PM Squalls 80° 88° 100% 91% SW 116 mph

12:00 AM Squalls 81° 90° 100% 85% SSW 81 mph

6:00 AM Squalls 80° 88° 100% 89% SSW 75 mph

12:00 PM Squalls 83° 94° 100% 89% S 63 mph

Can you imagine how scary this is? You watch the footage of what this storm has been doing to the rest of the Caribbean and how San Juan looks right now. You know they have been without phones or power since before 8 am this morning and this nightmare will continue for this long?! I can hardly stand it. I am really grateful my daughters are too young to be aware of what is happening. My oldest niece is in Florida and is 28 years old and a mess right now.

We do not know how long it will be before we hear something. I just checked Facebook and saw my cousin Ivonne marked herself “Safe” in San Juan. That is 1 family member… My dear friend Janice has a flooded house but was able to get on Whatsapp and tell me she and her family are alive and well this afternoon. That’s 1 friend. The anxiety is overwhelming.

I want to thank everyone for the prayers, the messages, the texts, the phone calls. Your concern means a lot to me. As soon as I know something I will share, I promise. I will keep checking facebook. I will keep dialing the numbers and using the apps in hopes of some form of communication. Tonight, I will pray. Tonight I will cry. I will try to lose myself in some TV program and some wine, and tomorrow I will do it all over again.

When I was kid I used to love storms…

800,000!

2017-09-04T20:44:00.000-04:00

I was 7 years old when my parents decided to move us to Puerto Rico. It was June. One brother turned 9 that July, one turned 16 that August. It was without question the hardest decision my parents had to make for their family - and without a doubt the best one. The difference in upbringing between one child and the other two is staggering. I won’t dwell on that right now because that is not my focus. My focus here is that I am Puerto Rican. Yes, both my parents are from there. But I was born in New York City. I never tell people I am from New York. I am FROM the island. That little piece of land is in my heart because that is where I grew up. Where I came of age. First album purchased. First date. First concert. School graduations. My life story started there and nothing will ever change that. It doesn’t matter how many turns my life has taken (and there have been quite a few) I am Puerto Rican first. All politics aside, that is my truth; that is your truth; that is everyone’s truth. You are from the place you formed, not where you were conceived or born, not where your heritage comes from, but where you were at home when all those critical life events that happen from ages 8 or 9 until you are an “adult” in the eyes of the world. So, I am Puerto Rican. New York is where I was born. Georgia is my chosen home as an adult. I am from Puerto Rico.

Those DACA kids… they are American. Their parents made a decision for them just like my parents made it for me. Politics aside, those parents did something unbelievably brave. They said “We are going somewhere else so that your life can be better” just like my parents did for us. And you know what? It was. Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Did my brothers and I have a “caught between two cultures” upbringing? Definitely. Would we change it? Not for a billion dollars (a million isn’t what it used to be). I don’t want anyone to read this and say “Well your parents didn’t break the law.” Because if breaking the law is what it would have taken for them to give us the gift they gave us, I am absolutely sure that they would have. As a parent, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the law over my kids’ wellbeing. And if you cannot understand the level of sacrifice and love that those parents felt and the bravery of what they have done, I honestly do not want to know you. What would stop you from saving your kid’s life? And do not kid yourself, because for some of these people that was the choice they faced.

Empathy is the ability to put yourself in the shoes of another. Maybe it is easy for me because I know what it is like to be the underdog. And I will forever be able to put myself in someone else’s suffering space. I feel sorry for every one out there who is unable to understand this. I pity the fools (pun intended) who are so full of hate that they can look at a 21 year old who has no real memory of anywhere but here and say “go back to where you came from”. Go where? Again, when I was 21 I was graduating college in Mayaguez, something I seriously doubt would have been as easy had I been in the South Bronx. If someone had told me then “You have to go to the South Bronx because that is where you are from” I would have been terrified, and rightly so. Does this sound ridiculous to you? It should, because it is.

The sight of President Trump is revolting to me for many reasons. I had originally set out to further explain this past sentence, and redacted it on hubby’s advice. Putting that aside for a minute let us focus on what he has just done here. For years these brave kids have been coming out of the shadow that is the life of an undocumented immigrant and said “Here I am”. They have stepped up and said “Hey, I didn’t choose to be here but here I am. What do you need me to do? I will do it.” And they have. Most of them are working or going to school. They understand what is at stake. The government told them “come forward and we will give you a shot.” And so they did. They gave their address, finger prints, their blood… do you understand this? 800,000 people voluntarily went into the USCIS and said “take my biometrics, sure”. Can you imagine how terrified these people are now? All reports indicate that ICE agents have become “more aggressive” under Trump. Could you sleep at night knowing you gave them everything they need to hunt you down?

And now the president is saying “I do not give a shit”. It doesn’t surprise me because it has been obvious for a long time that the president cares only about himself and his self-interests. But this amounts to Lucy pulling the football from under Charlie Brown. What is worse is he is so completely spineless that he does not take a stand on the issue. We hear over and over “he is not a policy guy”, a euphemism for intellectually lazy. Or “he really doesn’t have a firm ideology”, another euphemism for his caring about nothing but his own ego. I have seen him say “We love the dreamers” before. We all know his words are meaningless because he contradicts himself all the time. What matters is action.

His actions say he is coward. He cares nothing about these kids, the precedent, the presidency, or ramifications of his actions in the future. He cares about his base and he doesn’t want to offend them. Therefore, he punts. He gives the program 6 months for congress to fix it or it is dead. OK. You mean the same congress that has passed nothing in the last 8 months? All of a sudden they are going to fix this problem? The people, most of whom are facing reelection in 14 months? I know he hopes they fix it, I mean…he is human, right? But he is too chicken shit to say so. He is incapable of taking a stand. I would respect him more if he just said “I’m ending it” because at least then these kids could know where they stand. But he can’t fix it because that would piss off the racists who LOVE him. He can’t just stop it because the business community would turn on him, that’s tricky too. So he puts it on the group of people who for seven years promised to repeal and replace Obamacare and have a majority in both houses but still can’t pull it off. Those people!

He is a coward. Those DACA kids have more bravery in their pinky finger that this man. He didn’t have to do this. This is a decision because a handful of Attorneys General and senators threatened to sue over this. Everyone knows he’s a tough talker, unless it means angering his base (that 24 % is all powerful).

If you want to know more about DACA here is what they say at the Pew Research Center about it:

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/09/01/unauthorized-immigrants-covered-by-daca-face-uncertain-future/

Here is what CEOs say:

http://money.cnn.com/2017/09/04/news/companies/business-leaders-protect-daca/index.html

I will leave you with this: 800,000 mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, students and soldiers, employees and friends. This guy said it better than I can:

https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/09/01/opinion/daca-trump-dreamers-immigration.html?referer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2F

Acceptance

2017-08-28T13:06:00.003-04:00

Here’s the thing: my head still hurts. I do my best not to complain too much. The reality is that in the last 2 months I have had maybe 3 migraines that made me want to take a pill for it and lay down. There have been a couple of times when I took two Ibuprophen PM and called it a night. For the most part it is business as usual. What choice do I have?

As an update, in late May the headache sort of went away. It was gone most of June and July. I went to Puerto Rico for 9 days and only had a headache once. I went to Columbus Ohio for 4 days and didn’t get much of a head ache. (Good thing too, because just me and the hubby with customers and no kids = a lot of alcohol.) June, July and August my headache started a couple of days before my period. So I went to see my Ob/Gyn and he said the same thing that the eye doctor and dentist: “Not me.” Sigh. I go for a follow up with the Neurologist this Thursday. He will more than likely do a second MRI to see if anything is different 6 months after. He did say “It’s a migraine” but really did not give me a solution for it.

I started seeing a Chiropractor. He found me to be “the leaning tower of Lisa” and started treating me to “straighten” me up. He thinks the curve in my spine might be causing the headaches. The reality is that after 6 weeks of treatment I feel better in the sense that my back is better. Also, if I don’t see him for a few days I start to hurt more in my neck. However, the month of August has seen headaches just about every day. They are different though. Not as intense. Usually they come on in the afternoon. In his defense he said it could take 3 months to see a difference. I figure why not? At least he is willing to do something to try and help.

I try not to complain. Sometimes I just tell people “Can we move this indoors, the sun exacerbates my headache” and they usually seem surprised that I still have one. Truth be told I think most people think I exaggerate. If anything, I minimize it. I get tired of hearing myself talk about it. I can’t imagine how other feel! Poor Michael! He says “I just want you to feel better consistently.” I believe him, but he must be sick of driving me to the chiropractor and to yet another doctor. Hey, at least we know it’s not a tumor!

What I am trying to say is I guess I have almost given up. I mean, I am almost ready to throw in the towel and say “This is the new normal.” I guess I’m supposed to hurt and not know why. It is hard. I get sad when I hear Michael telling the girls to be quiet because Mommy has a headache. I don’t want them to grow up thinking I was always in pain and didn’t let them have fun! And so I keep planning the outings. Whenever we can go to a birthday party, or a book store or a hike I go no matter how I feel. I keep thinking of how fast this summer passed and just like that both of them are in school and now we are restricted by the school calendar. I keep taking my supplements; put some Excedrin in my purse and role with it. I was really fortunate that our trip to Puerto Rico didn’t seem affected by it. I’m hoping we can get away for fall break and have a good time, and only worry about Savannah crying because she does not want to walk. Hoping Sofia remembers this time as Savannah being lazy and not me being sick.

What would you do if you were in my shoes? Seriously. I am curious. Acceptance. That’s all I got. At times I feel like I am being a quitter. But am I? I have tried all the home remedies. I have been to 7 doctors and no one has helped me so…at what point do you just say “It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” Or “Let go and let God”. Or - Shrugging my shoulders “Eh!”

So this Thursday I will go back to see my neurologist and see what he has to say. Otherwise I just have to take five deep breaths and just accept the new normal. Acceptance. What else is there?

Still here...

2017-05-07T19:57:00.000-04:00

Remember that head ache? It is still here. Yes. I have had a head ache for 4 weeks. It's a little hard to believe, I know. I see it in people's faces when I start to tell them about it. I know it is hard to comprehend but it is true. I just keep living my life, try not to talk about it too much, and hope that we can get rid of it someday.

There are a few new developments. For one, we do not believe it is cluster head aches anymore. If it were, then I would have had immediate relief from the oxygen and a few other factors lead us to believe that is not what I have. It's a shame too, I was looking for a medical reason to do mushrooms...

The Neurologist told me to start taking a daily baby aspirin just in case this was related to my arteries as a preventative measure. He also sent me for a lot of blood work. The results are in and apparently my anti phospholipid antibodies are high. Not life threatening high, but high. And combined with the head ache is cause for concern. I am now headed to a Hematologist next week, my guess is to run more tests and see if the answer lies in my blood. Let's hope it's not autoimmune!

In any case, my head still hurts, and I am still searching for the reason why. I have had some relief from the pain. I continue to say on a scale of 1 to 10 at it's worst it was a 7. Maybe I experience an 8 or 9 for a bit, but for the whole day the worst was a 7. Now, on the best days it is barely a 1. There was one day last week I was almost giddy because it seemed like it was almost gone. The best days are when I sleep well, and I wake up with just a mild throbbing over my left eye, no other pain in my head. It's a nuisance, but very bearable. As my friend Jess said the other day "Your bar has been lowered, it is very low" and she is right. It is all perspective. Usually as the day goes on the pain tends to spread to the rest of my head. Always the throbbing on the left side with the added joy or pain through the rest of my head.

I have not taken a day off since the first week when the pain was migraine-like. And when I say no day off I mean no day off. I help run a business and I'm raising two little girls. So even lazy Sundays mean laundry and meals and refereeing sibling fights. Days out are fun but also involve thinking about meals, changes of clothes and when I'm really lucky: a trip to the port-a-potty WITH the two kids at the same time. Yeah!

I feel bad taking time off. After all, I have missed so much work for doctor visits it does not seem fair to take more time off. I will however do so soon. We are in the plant business, so Mother's Day is the Super Bowl. But maybe after Mother's Day I can send the kids the school and just stay in the house by myself for the day. Goals...

I'm OK. Some people don't know what to do with me. I can't possibly have a head ache for this long and still function right? What am I going to do? Stay in my bedroom? Not likely. I am reminded of the first time hiking with Michael. We were in North Carolina and being the outdoors woman that I am I managed to go a mile downwards on a very rough terrain without a problem, only to twist my ankle on the smooth bald of the mountain. I made it up the mountain, very slowly. Only stopped a couple of times to rest. Did not complain. When we made to the parking lot Michael wanted to go for another short hike. I looked at him in disbelief: "Um...I'm hurt!" He figured it was not that bad because I barely complained and made it all the way up. He was shocked when I took off my boot and my ankle blew up to football size. I am Carmen Sanchez' daughter - we keep going.

Anyway, I am touched by all the people who email and text me concerned. I am seriously dealing with some shit. It's not the pain, it's the uncertainty; the realization that I could be seriously ill and it is out of my control, you know? I will keep ya'll posted. Meanwhile, if you feel sorry for me you can send me chocolate, or bourbon. A nice bottle of wine... you know, to drown the pain away...

Day 19

2017-04-26T20:36:00.000-04:00

This headache! Nineteen days now... I am better. I feel better. I still have a head ache, but on a scale of 1 to 10 I would say it is a 1. I am fine. Really. In the grand scheme of things, I think I am pretty good.

I'm blogging this because it is too much to put on a facebook post. Those of you who care enough will click on the link and read all about it. If you do not, I will spare you.

I went to the Medical Center in Elberton on day 5 and saw the nurse practitioner. She prescribed migraine medication and it did nothing for me. Other than make me light headed on top of the head ache. I went back that Friday (day 7) and saw Dr. Jonathan Poon. He said maybe it's a cluster headache. We'll get you some oxygen and an MRI next week.

It turns out it takes an act of congress to get oxygen for a headache. I finally got my tank four days after seeing the doctor. That was day 11. I actually got a second tank from a different supplier that came on day 14 that sits untouched. On a side note, one of the delivery guys told me I should do mushrooms - that he has seen it work on other patients. We'll call that plan B.

Anyway, day 14 rolls around, and my headache is down to a 2-3 on the pain scale. I get my MRI and discover it is a special kind of torture - especially with a headache. Laying in that coffin, listening to those hideous noises with a head ache....Thank goodness I've been meditating and had that to fall back on. Horrible. At this point I have given up on all forms of pain medication. I do my oxygen 3 times a day, I take magnesium oxide and vitamin B2, and go about my day because what else can you do.

Monday evening Dr. Poon calls me at the end of the day to tell me the MRI was in. No tumors, nothing extreme, but there are a few findings. One, I have damage to my sinuses from previous sinus infections and we need to treat that aggressively because it is affecting my level of pain. And two, there are some spots that he does not like, and a Neurologist should look at them. He is not certain; after all, he is not a specialist. But sometimes these type of spots can be a sign of MS. So better safe than sorry.

MS.

I try to calm myself down. I don't even tell Michael because he is getting up at 3:45 in the morning to drive a truck load of plants to Atlanta, and the last thing he needs is this distraction. Plus, if it were that serious they would rush me to the neurologist right away, right? The next morning the doctor's nurse calls me and says "I got you in to see the Neurologist tomorrow. Can you make it?" Um... sure. SHIT! Tomorrow?! No Bueno.

I tell Michael, we tell each other all the things you tell each other to try to make yourself feel better. That night I take Benadryl because otherwise I won't sleep.

The amount of paperwork I had to fill out at the Neurologist was insane. The whole time I'm thinking of President Bartlett on The West Wing..."relapsing remitting non fatal..."

One thing I learned today, is that the nurses in the Athens area must refer to this Neurologist as Dr. McDreamy... how could they not? Super nice and very good looking. He thinks I have a migraine. A MIGRAINE!!!! a three week long (so far) migraine. He says migraines come in different forms. Apparently mine like quality over quantity. I had a few in my 20s. I have a 10 day headache in my 30s. His thought is that this is how I get migraines. He is not concerned with the spots on the MRI because they would be consistent with the migraine long term too. I do not have other symptoms of MS, so he is not that worried. He can't completely disregard it though. It's possible, but I would need a battery of invasive tests to confirm something he doesn't think is really there. He sent me to get blood work done - 13 tubes of blood ya'll! (They were not all the way full, but still 13?) He also wants me to go back in four moths for a follow up and see how my headaches are. He will probably get me a second MRI then to see if there are any changes to be concerned with.

All in all, he was very kind, very calm, and very cute so what can be wrong? Oh! I still have a headache though... And the neurological exam was interesting. In the last two weeks I have learned a lot about migraines, cluster headaches, MS, and supplements. In fact, Dr. McDreamy says of all the things I have done for my headache he bets the most effective are the Magnesium and the B2. How about that?

Most of all I have learned just how much we take for granted feeling well. I am healthy 95% of time, and I take it for granted. I'm going to try not to do that ever again. If I do, remind me of the 3 week head ache I had in 2017, will ya?

Priorities....

2017-04-16T20:18:00.000-04:00

It always surprises me when I look at my blog and realize how long it has been since I wrote something on here. It shouldn't surprise me at this point. Life gets in the way, I guess. I know I have said it before, but when you are raising a family and running a small business, there is little time for things like: everything that is not essential. However, I sit in my office this afternoon and wonder if I am defining "essential" as I should.

It is Easter Sunday. It is Sunday afternoon and I am sitting in my office waiting to process orders to ship first thing Sunday. I scheduled more than enough people to handle this, but even good people get sick- or flake- from time to time. This is what responsibility is. It's showing up and getting it done. Even on Easter Sunday. In a perfect world my little family would be hiking near a waterfall. Instead, we are all here. But is it THAT bad? No, it isn't. My girls are having fun. They had candy (always available in our office). I printed them color sheets so they made coloring books of Tom and Jerry and The Lion King. They had a little dance party earlier. Right now one is dancing to Taylor Swift while the other is drawing a face on a "balloon" she made out of a glove. Life is pretty perfect. They are 4 and 6 and they understand that we have this greenhouse and sometimes that means that we are all here "working". Sometimes that means we play, we wait, but no matter what we are together, healthy, and in my mind wealthy. Yes, wealthy. Because even though we still live in that mobile home we have the luxury of owning three homes. We have our health. We have food, GOOD food, mind you. Like fresh asparagus my father in law grows for us. I mean, seriously? We need for nothing. So yes, we are wealthy.

We have our health. Now this brings me to the real reason I am sitting here writing this. I have had a headache for eight days now. I am waiting on the insurance to approve a treatment of oxygen (which might as well require a majority in Congress) and really still don't even know if that is going to get rid of them. Nothing I have tried to get rid of it has worked. Day after day a throbbing pain on the left side of my head. Sometimes it's a small throbbing, sometimes it radiates all over my forehead, sometimes my eyes feel like they are going to burst. It is painful, but more than anything it is annoying. Yes annoying. Because I am a mom and a boss and don't have the luxury of staying home in a dark room. Nor do I want to. Who wants their life to be like that? Hell no! My mother in law kept the girls yesterday. I could have stayed home and slept. Instead my husband and I went out for Thai food. We also went to a boulder climbing place we wanted to check out, and he climbed his little heart out. I wanted to do it too, but was afraid that was too much for my little cluster headache having self to try. And that is what pisses me off. Not being able to do something. Seriously. But I also realize how lucky we are. I mean, it's just a headache, right? I also hate how tired I am at the end of the day. You would be surprised how exhausting it is to live your life with a constant headache.

Don't get me wrong, there is a part of me that is scared of what else it could be. I'm scheduled for an MRI next week to confirm that it is nothing major. I hope this is all it is. a big time major pain in the ass nuissance that may interfere with my daily activities, but won't stop me from enjoying this blessed life I lead.

Happy Easter folks. Here's to redifning the essential in our lives.

My daddy

2015-06-21T12:59:00.000-04:00

I am a daddy’s girl all the way. I grew up with my father, my mother and two older brothers. I have always considered myself a “guy’s girl” because I was always close to those three men. We watched baseball and basketball and fights. We watched Westerns and Gangster movies. I can be girlie too, don’t get me wrong; but I was raised with brothers and for the most part my dad did not differentiate between me and them.

I always tell people my dad was a feminist. For a Puerto Rican male born in the 40s this is something rare. I do not know what he said to the world. He might have cracked sexist jokes or what not – but I never saw that side of him so I do not know. I know the way he treated my mom on occasion was not the way he brought me up to be treated. Maybe that is hypocritical, I don’t know. But I prefer to view it as him wanting his kid do better and go further. I honestly do not think he was always conscience of what he was doing. To this day I don’t think he would openly consider himself a feminist, but he was.

In a world where women were frequently taught to be demure and “ladylike” my father always encouraged me to be loud and outspoken. At times when my mother would protest that my skirt was too short or my bathing suit too revealing, my dad always laughed and said I looked beautiful. From time to time he would laugh and say “You look kind of slutty” (pareces un bollito loco) and laugh. As if to say “Do what you want, let them judge you, who cares?” In a time and a place when women were taught to “know their place” my dad would tell me I should be a lawyer. “This one, this one will be the first president of Puerto Rico” he would tell people when I was in college.

My dad was always an athletic man. My childhood memories are full of baseball parks. He was always on a team, playing in some league. When his eyes started to fail him, he started running. We would frequently go to the beach and my dad would run, swim, snorkel. In this regard I was always a girly girl. I never wanted to exercise. I would go to the beach with him and read on the sand while I worked on my tan. He’d get home in the afternoon after a run and try to convince me to go with him next time. “You have the legs of a runner!” he would say. “Yeah, but not the lungs” I would retort.

A blue collar worker, my daddy worked hard his whole life. Because of his hard work and his brains he would make it to places of authority in the factories he worked in. When I talked about getting a job he would always say “focus on your school work”. My dad didn't get to go to College, he went to a Community College for awhile in New York and always talked about the astronomy classes he took. He got a telescope once and was always looking at the stars. Another time and another place, who knows?

My dad was the proud black sheep in his family. The youngest of 5 surviving siblings of a broken home, he saw his share of trouble in his youth. He was always proud of telling truth to power, and always being on the side of the underdog. Even though he was on the straight and narrow most of his adult life, he seems to never forget the wild man he was and always welcomed those with a streak of independence in our home. My extended family is huge. My dad has 4 siblings, my mom had 5, and then there were their cousins and all of them had their own families…each with their own black sheep (or two) who always knew they were welcomed at Tio Cano’s house (or Luis, or We). My oldest brother claims my dad told him when he was growing up “If you are not in bed by midnight you better be home”. My brother also says my dad would talk to the street junkies in the neighborhood in the South Bronx like they were friends. When my bro asked why he said “you should treat everyone the same, no matter what trouble they are in.” And that’s how he lived and that is what we learned.

I left home at 22 and returned in ten months. My parents took me in no questions asked. For the next 9 months I was unemployed and sort of floundering. I decided to go back to school and I had to go to San Juan because of credits and transfers and what not. I had no money, no financial aid, and no job. My dad took out a personal loan to get me set up so I could go back to school. That was August. By May I had eloped in Vegas and had quit school. My dad never questioned me. Never second guessed me. When I called from Vegas to say: “Hey, I just got married”. My mom was speechless. My dad said to my new husband: “Welcome to the family”. No lectures. My dad will always say: “It’s your life doll”. “Papi, people keep asking when we are going to have kids…” My dad: “They won’t raise them. Ignore them. You have kids when you’re ready. You will never need or miss children…until you have them. Then you can’t live without them.” I eventually called again to say we were separating and it was amicable: “There is no need to get ugly. You guys should always consider each other family. It didn’t work out. You move on.”

It would be over ten years before I could get back to graduate school. This time I did it myself. I worked as a staff member so tuition was free. Working full time and grad school part time was not easy, but there was something in me telling me I had to finish what I started. When I told my dad I was done: “That money you borrowed finally paid off.” He said: “I never gave it a second thought. Best money I ever spent.” A few weeks later we are all sitting around the breakfast table, the whole family together again getting ready for me to marry in a few days and my dad stands behind me, rubs my shoulders and asks: “How does it feel to have your Master’s degree?”. My mom said: “She is getting married, she is changing jobs, moving, and you are asking about school?” My daddy said: “Most of us in this room have been married, changed jobs, and moved, more than once. She’s the only one who has a Masters.”

That is my daddy. There are a million other stories to tell but I won’t keep bragging. He is older now. More mellow. His health has ups and downs. I cannot get him to get a plane for anything so to see him I have to pack up the family and fly down to the Caribbean. I know, not exactly a hardship – except for the cost of flying a family of four. At 73 he is not the spry young hell raiser he once was. Instead he is gentle grandfather in love with his “mun~ecas” as he calls us. After two sons and one daughter, he has been blessed with five granddaughters and says “All my granddaughters are beautiful, they really are.” I know you think that what he is supposed to say. But the dad that I know and love doesn’t say what he is supposed to say. I am pretty confident that if one of us gave him an ugly grandbaby he would just say: "The grandkids are all beautiful…well, except for______. She just isn’t.”

To the class of 2015...sorta

2015-05-31T14:51:00.000-04:00

It was twenty years ago I graduated from The University of Puerto Rico – Mayaguez (COLEGIO) with my bachelor’s in Political Science. Yes, I am THAT old. I look around my wonderful life now, and think back to who I was then and what my whole world view was back then and it is amazing how much things have changed. For one, at the age of 21 living in a small town in Puerto Rico, I had no idea there was a place called Dewy Rose where I would one day live, work and happily raise a family.

The world has changed a lot in twenty years, but not so much that I am going to sit here and reminisce about the so called good old days. I am an optimist and I want to always think we are better off now then we were then. I want to raise my girls to live in today and for tomorrow and not for yesterday. But at the risk of being cliché those who do not learn from history…well, you know.

I am fortunate to have a lot of young people in my circle, or at least in the next circle over. A lot of people who I love and who I have seen grow up are going through some amazing changes. They are all very different from one another. Some are family; some just feel like they are. They are graduating high school, or college, taking trips outside of the US for the first time, or moving overseas. They are all amazing young men and women who I am proud to know and look forward to what they will do next. They are all smart, good hearted people and I wish I could sit them down and tell them what I have learned in the two decades since I left home but they would probably look at me and nod politely while in their heads they are thinking “she is one crazy old lady!”.

That’s OK. At you age I would probably have done the same thing. But one of the ways the world is better is that I can sit at my laptop on a Sunday afternoon and pretend I can talk to you one on one, write on a blog and send it to you through facebook. That way you can read it or delete it, but I can pretend that I got through to you. Or better yet, maybe I do get through the you. Who knows?

I went to college at the age of 17 because I was the youngest in my class. That means I was 16 when I was doing college applications and trying to decide who I would be when I grew up. Makes perfect sense. Doesn’t every 16 year old know everything? Anyway I was an argumentative child and had heard all my life I would be a lawyer one day. That, or president. I was also always good at the Social Sciences, history, languages, and so I went to the best school I could get into (and that I could afford) and chose Political Science as my major. I was able to stay at home while I went to college because it was so close so I did n’t need to worry about room and board. That was the first “grown

up” decision I had to make. I would have much rather move to San Juan and go the Rio Piedras campus. But I could not imagine being able to afford living on my own. Besides, my friends were all staying close. I was scared to even try.

Well college is college. In some ways it was an extension of high school, in others it was a whole new world. New people, new challenges, new experiences. By my second year I had figured out I did not want to be a lawyer. I loved Poli Sci though, so I stuck with it and started thinking maybe Graduate School was the way the go. My point here is to say, I changed my mind early on, and changed the course of what I would do. I didn’t change my major, but the goal had already changed. Truth be told, I did not know what the goal was anymore. Finishing the degree became the goal and moving on to the next level. Never be afraid to change your mind. Never be afraid to try something new. Never

think: “I don’t know anyone doing this, maybe I shouldn’t.”

Not doing something just because no one else is is as stupid as doing something just because everyone else is. You have got to follow your gut. Go with the instinct. Do not be swayed by public opinion. Let me tell you a little secret. Most people were like me. Most people went with it and did what they thought they were supposed to do. I find that most people, every day, still now are going through the motions and doing what they think they are expected to do. Life is about figuring out what works for you. Life is about growing. In order to grow you need to be exposed to new things, and yes, sometimes you need to change your mind and sometimes you need to fail. You will be hard pressed to find someone, of any age, that could not name something they wish they did or didn’t do. But you know what? That is life.

I moved to Georgia a few months after college. I only stayed for 10 months and went back home. I was not happy. That life at that time was not what I wanted. I changed my mind and went back home to try something else. My roommate who was a dear friend who moved to Georgia with me thought that my returning home was admitting failure. thought about for a long time before and after I moved. Yes, I had failed. It was not the first time I failed at something, but it probably was the first time I publicly failed. Meaning that there was no hiding it. I was returning because it did not work out. So what? I still left. I cared about being happy and that was not making me happy. I was

22 years old. I was not wise beyond my years or anything like that. In reality I was selfish. I wanted what I wanted, and so I was changing my mind again. Who cares what anyone thinks? Turns out, it was the right thing to do. It was experience I would never take back, even if it ended in failure. The same could be said for my first marriage...but that is material for another blog!

My dad used to tell me no one expected me to be a saint, but they did expect me not to be stupid. So that is what I tell you dear friends. Don’t be stupid. This is your life, and it is the only one you get. Do not make your choices based on what others are doing or saying they are doing. Do not make choices based on what is expected of you. But do stop yourself every once in awhile and think: “Is this the smart choice?” Things can go wrong quickly, and you may find yourself in a situation you do not like very fast. It doesn’t hurt to stop every once in a while and think: “Hold on, how many ways can this go wrong?” And I do not mean paralyze yourself with fear. I mean being an adult is about making choices, they should be YOUR choices, but they should also be SMART choices.

Twenty years ago I left Puerto Rico and moved to Georgia for the first time. I have had over 10 addresses and over 15 jobs. I have lived many places, and I have done many things. Good and bad. I have made my share of good and bad choices. Some of them I wish I never did (even some good ones). Some I would do again and again (even some bad ones). In order to grow you must fail. It is part of it.

There will be times in the next year when you will be sitting alone in your room...or not alone but lonely somewhere, and you will wonder why am I here? Am I doing the right thing? EVERYONE goes through that. No matter where they are or what they are doing. Find someone to talk it out with. Sit down and write about it. Work it out. If you need an older and wiser person who is not your mother to talk to, I am here for you. Know this! I will listen and I will not judge. I am your friend, believe or not.

Two years! Really?

2015-05-10T10:03:00.002-04:00

I thought about blogging about motherhood today. So much to say, so much to do...I sit down and knock the dust off the laptop, open the blogspot and see I have not blogged in two years! And the last time was for mother's day in 2013! I sit and read what I wrote two years ago. Holy cow! That was a hard time. I look around at my life now and I think, it is not that bad. Not at all. Do not get me wrong, it is always a little hard, but nothing like it was around that Mother's Day - the first as a mother of two. I say this now for all of my newly mother-of-two out there: it does get easier.

A lot has not changed: still running a business during the busy season, still raising two little ones, still living next door to the in-laws, but everything is easier, perhaps because it was so hard in the beginning. Sofia is now 4 and fully potty trained. Savannah is almost 2 and 1/2 and we are actively potty training her now. They share a room which is a wreck. A WRECK! Most days I don't care. I am too tired to keep it clean. They sleep through the night, they are not getting sick all the time, they are healthy, active kids who adore each other. Maybe they watch too much TV, but they also run outside, eat lots of fruits and vegetables, and love books so I pick my battles.

I look back to early motherhood and I am amazed at how easy and simple it seems now. When Sofia was born my mom stayed with us until she was a month old. My friend Page and I took her to the airport in Atlanta with Sofia (1 month old) and Collin (6 months old). After dropping her at the airport Page and I went to a Mexican restaurant with our babies to get "chipped up" and I sat there and cried. I was tired, and sad, and overwhelmed, and scared. Pretty quick after that we got into a routine the three of us (Michael, Sofia and I) and it all seemed so silly. Fast forward almost 2 years and there we are again. Michael, Sofia and I taking my mom to the airport after our second, Savannah, was a month old. No tears, but still scared. Holy crap! It's two on two and as our dear friend Curt Smith told us when we were pregnant with Savannah: "Two parents and two kids is not a fair fight. The kids will win everytime." No joke. Savannah's colic kicked in. Sofia started getting sick a lot. We had a terrifying month until my brother came and suddenly it was 3 on 2 and we could get things under control. It was unbelievably difficult that spring, but ever since then we have gotten our groove on and we got this.

Michael and I are parents of two kids less than two years apart. We run a small business that thankfully is growing, but it is as much work as raising a family and that is all we do. Every once in awhile we find a perfect crazy balance between family and business. Michael has a meeting at a conference in Ft. Lauderdale? Let's pack up the van and drive down there with the kids, visit Gus and Nisha, go to the beach, have the business meeting and a great family adventure at the same time. We drove 12 hours with two small kids and no electronics. The kids had books, markers, toys and snacks. I only remember one melt down that was insane, but we played "Let it go" from Frozen a few times in a row and they calmed down. The business meeting was a success too.

While we were in Florida Nisha asked me what I did other that business and babies. Nothing. Every once in awhile I have child less date with Michael. We watch a lot of movies when we get the kids to bed. But honestly there is no time and/or energy for much more but that is OK. It is temporary and we know it. We already see them playing together in their room and forgetting about us. It won't be much longer and things will change forever. Sofia starts Pre-K in the fall. Before we know it they will be living their own little seperate lives and we will both be wishing for a time when they needed us more. OK, I will be wishing for it, Michael might be celebrating. Although I think he will have a harder time with Sofia starting school than I will.

It's Mother's Day. Michael is at work. Sofia is at church with her grandmother. Savannah is watching Team Umizoomi and I am clicking away drinking coffee. Each of us in our own little world. The house is a mess but it will be 90 degrees this afternoon and I think we will blow bubbles outside this. Chill. It is Spring time afterall. No need to stress it.

More Sundays like this and maybe I can get to blog again in 2015.

Life and other illnesses

2013-05-12T14:26:00.001-04:00

It is not my intention to use this post to complain, so I apologize in advance if it comes off that way. I am just trying to update folks on what has been going on and paint a picture of what our life has been like for the last couple of months. Unfortunately, just describing it might come out as a complaint.

Just to recap: Savannah was born the Monday after Thanksgiving. My mother had been staying with us to help me with Sofia during my last trimester. She left right before the New Year, when Savannah was a month old. At that point, the primary care of Sofia during the day passed on to my mother in law, who offered to take care of her at least until she was 2 years old. Michael and I had decided we were going to start Sofia in daycare around this time. Ann just wanted us to wait a little longer to allow Sofia to be 2, and Savannah to be at least 3 months old. Ann is wise and already knew that daycare meant colds and other bugs, so she was concerned about Savannah getting them too soon. She also thought that cold and flu season would be coming to an end by late February early March, so it would not be too bad.

Boy were we wrong.

Around this time my brother came to visit. He was just coming to meet the new baby, and to stay a few weeks on his way to something new. After a few weeks here he decided he would stay a little longer to help out. We hired him at the greenhouse since it is the busy season and we were hiring people left and right. We thought he would be full time, but he really ended up being ¾ time, since he spends so much time driving us back and forth to doctor’s appointments. I am not exaggerating. In the last three months we have been to the doctor at least 10 times. Last week alone I went on Monday, and Sofia went Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. We live in the boonies, so the pediatrician is 45 minutes each way, and I don’t drive.

We have been sick so many times; I now have a collection of baby medicine syringes. There was the ear infection/sinus infection combo we all got. Except for Savannah, who cannot get sinus infections yet so she gets a pass. There have been days when we were all coughing, some of us phlegm. There is also the stomach junk. One night Sofia was vomiting and Michael and I spent all night taking turns between who cleaned up the child and who did the next load of laundry. There is also the side of diarrhea that affects some of us after taking antibiotics, which then gives Sofia the worse diaper rash I have ever seen. Oh, and did I mention Savannah has been teething for what seems like her whole life? I mean, she is passed the colic (thank God) but then started teething and is waking up repeatedly at night, drooling and irritable, slight temperature. All of this happening while we are running a small business that makes most of its money exactly during these two months. That is to say that while all of this is happening Michael is putting in 12 hour days at work, at one point with a sinus and an ear infection.

This last week was especially brutal. I have been having back pain, which I also had when Sofia was this age. It is a combination of hauling a baby, nursing, not sleeping, post pregnancy normal adjustments, big boobs, a history of falling down, etc. Monday morning, as I am thinking about calling the doctor because I am certain I have bronchitis, I fall down the steps of my house. Yeah. Add another reason for the back pain. Make that two reasons, since I did in fact have bronchitis as I suspected. All that was not as bad as hearing the pediatrician say Sofia might have walking pneumonia two days after. Thank God she does not have it, but she did have her first x ray. Fun!

Michael sleeps on the floor besides Sofia’s crib on a make shift bed (or a pallet, for you southern folks). This started because Sofia would wake up with coughing fits and he had to walk across the house a few times a night to help her. I had to stay with Savannah in case she needed nursing, or anything else. They were tag teaming us. Right when we got Sofia down, Savannah would wake up. After a few nights of that Michael decided it was best to divide and conquer. Sofia keeps him up and Savannah keeps me up, but that is better than both of them keeping us both up. When Savannah was a month old she would sleep 6 and 7 hours straight. Now I am lucky if I get 3 hours, most nights it is just 2 at a time. She wakes up for a lot of different reasons. She too has had her share of colds, luckily nothing too serious. I am still nursing her so that factors in as well.

Let me tell you, after almost 6 months of interrupted sleep I finally understand first hand why sleep deprivation is considered a form of torture.

Now, let me focus on the positive. After almost 6 months of interrupted sleep I still function. I get up and get my girls ready every day. Sofia either goes to daycare (which she loves) or to her grandmother (also a treat) when we feel she needs another day away. I go to work and pay the company bills, call customers, sell on the phone, and of course: mother our 20 employees - because being a personnel manager is like being a mom or a referee, or both.

The business is doing well. A few new hires in the right places, and a lot of systems put in place by Michael have made a huge difference. He is truly amazing at what he does. It is a testament to his abilities that we have been able to do well with all the obstacles we have faced this year. We are not the only ones sick, you know. This will be known as the year of the sickness. There was not a week in all of April when we were fully staffed every day. The stack of doctor’s notes from my employees (either for them or their kids) is at never before seen levels. Oh! And one of our drivers totaled our biggest truck on a delivery. Thank God no one was seriously injured. He quit and left us down a driver and a truck right in the middle of the busy season. Still, the week after that we had the biggest week we ever had for finished product sales. Ever. And we pulled it off beautifully.

My girls are healthy. I mean, Sofia is using a nebulizer right now, but that seems insignificant. They both are generally healthy happy babies, and I am blessed that they have no major illnesses. Sofia is the smartest 2 year old I have ever seen. Her vocabulary skills are so far beyond what I thought a 26 month old could do, it is astonishing. And she is so darn cute! Savannah is just a sweet baby. She has been a little high maintenance at times, but she is so sweet and happy she makes up for it. She gets her colds, but has been able to either avoid or fight off the strong stuff. We are very close, because it seems like it is just the two of us a lot, since daddy is on Sofia duty.

My in laws are terrific. Ann and Robert are always there to keep Sofia when we need them to. She loves them so much; she even takes her medicine if her Mum is giving it to her. I am so lucky to have them next door! They really do go above and beyond. Especially Robert, who never had the time or the opportunity to care for his kids or grand kids this way until now. Sofia is truly lucky because he is great at it. She calls him Robert, by the way. Mum and Robert.

My brother is he best brother anyone can ask for. The other morning I got him up to watch Savannah because she decided to get up at 5 am. Michael had been up with Sofia since midnight because of the 104 fever. I sent Michael to bed, stayed with Sofia and gave Savannah to Kano. Kano got her to sleep and kept her with him until 8 am when we were all up. He and Savannah are crazy about each other, it is really cute. Savannah fusses at the greenhouse and the staff members say “Quick! Get the uncle!”

Michael is the best daddy. You guys should see him caring for Sofia. Sleeping on the floor, monitoring her fevers, giving her water in the middle of the night, and rocking her on the recliner because she coughs less sitting up. I can not imagine a better daddy for my girls. He wanted her to be a daddy’s girl and he has got it – for better or worse. She is potty training and more than once has requested that Daddy be the one to take her to the potty. I hate to laugh but it is kindof a good deal for me.

I look ahead to a time when the business slows down. I hope the bugs will take a break at daycare soon now that it is warming up. I pray that first tooth will break through soon. Maybe then I can switch Savannah to her crib and Sofia’s room will become “the girls’ room”. Maybe then, finally, my husband and I can go back to sleeping together in the same bed every night, and I might even sleep more than 3 hours in a row!

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you mothers out there who are reading this and thinking “you poor thing” or “I hear you sista’” or “you are so lucky!” I especially want to thank Michael’s mom for helping me with my girls so much, and for raising such a wonderful man in Michael.

And last but certainly not least I want to thank my own mom, who has put her life on hold for me and my daughters, and is such an inspiration to me. How the hell she did this with 3 kids I will never know.

To everyone else out there, I am sorry I have been kind of MIA the last few months. I catch a glimpse of the news and have so much to say about so much of what has been going on. I just can’t seem to wrestle up enough energy to sit down and put down in writing a coherent thought. And those days I do, the interruptions from the girls stop me from following through on any of it. Hopefully soon, very soon, we will get back to some sense of normalcy. One can hope.

Green beans

2013-01-28T19:57:00.001-05:00

For at least a month I have been thinking of blogging. I miss it. There are things I want to write about, and so I start them in my head but never get to actually write about it. I am too busy.

Here is my usual process. I think of something, and then I can't stop thinking about it. And so I start writing it in my head as I sort laundry, or wash my hair. What usually ends up happening is that one night I am up for some reason and it all comes together and so I write it out in the next couple of days.

The problem is I have a 2 month old with colic and an almost 2 year old, so there is very little spare time. I do not sleep much, so there is never a night I am up for no reason. If I am up, believe me I am busy bouncing a baby or something. When I am washing my hair I am thinking about the grocery list or the laundry or something I forgot to do at work. Every once in awhile I think about blogging about my daily craziness, but thinking about it makes me more tired and so I don't. Sometimes, I catch an article on my phone while I nurse or catch a glimpse of a news story and my minds starts to work on something on guns, or immigration, but I never get there.

To break my blogging silence I am going to share a story that I will have to live with for the rest of my life, and it is a good illustration of just how tired I am. My brother got here on Friday and on Saturday the two of us went to the grocery store with the two girls as Michael worked. Just a normal trip to the store. Sofia is sitting in the cart that Kano was pushing. Savannah is strapped to my chest with the Moby wrap. We check out and load the kids and the groceries in the van. My brother says: "That was not that hard." I was putting my wallet back in the diaper bag and that is when I notice I am not wearing my engagement ring. SHIT!!!

Now I have had that ring for almost five years and it means the world to me. I have loved it from the moment Michael gave it to me. It is a gorgeous ring, and how can anyone not love the symbol of when your life's partner asked you to marry him? It was such a wonderful proposal, such a special day, such a great man...such an expensive ring. My beautiful ring! And so when I noticed it was not on my finger I almost had a panic attack.

I said to my brother: "My ring is not on my finger!" and he said: "What!?". And so the search started. Kano is looking in every grocery bag, in the shopping cart under the car in the car seats while I frantically unpacked the diaper bag three times in a row. I kept saying "There is no way it can be anywhere else, I would have felt it fall off my finger it is so heavy...". Well it was no where to be found in the car and so Kano went back to the supermarket and tried to retrace my steps. He said he looked inside the ice cream fridge and people were looking at him like he was nuts. He looked on every shelf he could remember I touched. Nothing.

While I waited a nice woman came to ask me if I needed help. She saw me with all my doors open, holding a newborn, with a toddler in a car seat and figured something bad had happened. I told her what happened and there was a look of pity in her eyes. "I'm glad your brother is with you and I hope you find it. Good luck." There are still good people in the world. I broke down and called Michael to tell him. He was so calm. He said it was OK. It was, after all, just a ring and could be replaced. At a considerable cost, but still.

Finally I went inside and reported to the customer service lady what had happened. There was that look of pity again. She said "Maybe someone will turn it in" but her eyes said "yeah right that's gonna happen". I walked outside defeated and we drove home utterly depressed. Again we searched. I checked my dresser, the floor of my bedroom. Kano looked outside on the grass and the steps just in case. Finally I started to bring the groceries in when I saw Michael walking up to me. I started to tear up. "I LOST THE RING!" was all that was going through my mind. He hugged me and said it would be OK.

Michael was being a total Buddhist about the whole thing. It was eerie how calm he was. Why stress over something material? We are fine. The kids are fine.
Michael: "You will get another one eventually. Much less expensive and it will probably be a few years, but you can get another one."
Lisa: "But I love that ring."
Michael: "Apparently not enough. I mean. You love the kids, you would never lose the kids, but the ring..."

And there it was. Worse than losing the ring was the reality that I would never live this moment down. I would forever be the butt of a million jokes of the girl that lost the ring. That's when I started doing what anyone in my situation would do, I started making excuses for myself. "I have not had a decent night of sleep in two months. I was recently cut open. I am sleep deprived like a prisoner at Guantanamo." But I knew that Michael had the upper hand and that no matter what I would never live it down. My brother was shocked at how well we were taking it. He said he would go back and look again. Michael was saying it is worth a shot, but he seemed pleased that I had messed up so royally and that he could forever tease me about it. He joked that he would forever get his way "Sure, you lose your engagement ring but I get in trouble for forgetting a birthday gift" sort of thing. He even said this was worse than when he lost my cat.

Michael and Vito, back in the day.

I want to say for the record that losing the cat was worse because we really cannot replace a pet. Sure, we got PiGi and we love her, but Vito was our first pet that we adopted together. He was a very cool, panther like cat that Michael lost because he left the kitchen door open. I mean, it was October, it wasn't even a busy time of year for him. Anyway...the day you lose your engagement ring you are not in a position to split those hairs.

Also...I am very tired. Having a C section when you have a toddler is very hard. Having a newborn with colic when you are recovering from a C section is even harder. Returning to work with two small children, while one has colic and the other hits the terrible twos and you are recovering from a C section and most days you are working on 4 hours of sleep...but still. I LOST THE RING.

Right as Kano is putting on his jacket and telling us he is going to walk all over the supermarket and then hit the pawn shops I said: "Check the bag of green beans." I kid you not. My gorgeous engagement ring was sitting in a produce bag full of green beans product of Mexico. It was in the Green Bean bag.

THE GREEN BEAN BAG!!!!

This was taken on the day we got engaged.

I started jumping up and down. Sofia started giggling with me. When Sofia is happy she occasionally says "Happy Happy Happy". I jumped up and down with her saying happy happy happy. All of us in the kitchen, laughing in disbelief. Kano said we needed to go back and claim a discount on the green beans because obviously the weight was off.

I know that I will never live it down. Michael is still finding funny ways to slip my screw up in conversation. But at least I have my ring on my finger while he laughs at me.

It was in the green bean bag!!!!

Mother of two

2012-12-04T19:12:00.000-05:00

On November 26^th, at 9:35 in the morning, my doctor cut me open and took out my second daughter. I hate to describe it that way, but it was awfully clinical. After having a vaginal delivery, it was a bit of a shock to my system. Not that I can complain. My baby was breech and my options were limited. I am lucky to have a great doctor who I trust did what was best for me and Savannah. Last time he told me there was a 98% chance that I would push out my baby, this time the odds were reversed. That’s life for you.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I talked to friends who had had c sections. I even have a good friend who had two of them with my same doctor. I researched it online, so I thought I knew what to expect. Still, I was overwhelmed by the whole experience.

We got to the hospital at the same time as last time. We went to the labor and delivery section same as before. We even had the same wonderful nurse as before: Kathy. She started as an RN in Athens in 86. Dr. Goggin started in 87. They go way back. Everything seemed pretty normal. They went through all the routine questions and explained what was going to happen for the umpteenth time. Then they told me we would walk to the C section room. I thought: “Wow that seems easy.”

The moment you walk into the room it feels like you have left the warm and cozy labor and delivery section miles behind. It is freezing cold, very bright, and there are like 12 people in there. They are all very relaxed and are trying to make you feel comfortable. You know, so you forget you are going under the knife. They proceed to do the spinal block. Now I had an epidural last time so I knew what was coming. Except last time we did this in our cozy room with Michael holding me. The nurse who held me, Keeta, was very nice but she was no Michael. The process of having someone stick you with needles in your spine is always scary, more so when you are surrounded by strangers and the room is freezing cold. The block starts working immediately. And that’s when everything starts to happen in a fast forward sort of way.

You lose feeling in your legs, then your midsection, up to your breasts. They lay you down on your back. There you are: on a table with bright lights above you, flood lights, if you will. There are maybe six people surrounding you. Two are tying down your legs to the table. Two are disinfecting your belly, another two are poking you with something, or rubbing you with cold stuff, to make sure you have indeed lost feeling. These two are constantly asking you: “Cold?”, “Colder?”, “Not cold?” as they test the cotton balls and prickly things at different points in your body. The nurses at your feet are explaining the reason they tie you down is because when you lose feeling in your legs they might move off the table without you realizing it, so it is for your safety. All this is happening in a time frame of 2-3 minutes, so you are overwhelmed, sprawled on a table, your arms are spread to your sides as if you are about to be crucified. You are flat on your back. A position you have not been able to hold for over 5 months due to pregnancy. The room is cold, the lights are bright, and you are pretty much naked.

At this point, because I am who I am, I say to the room: “Am I the only one who is reminded of the X files right now?” I get a big laugh. At least I have not lost my humorous touch. The anesthesiologist points out that they are about to pull a living being out of my stomach, which is pretty SciFi. I respond with: “I’m just saying this is what an alien abduction must be like.”

My doctor walks in and joins the party. He laughs along with us, comes over to reassure me everything is going to be OK. I ask him when is Michael coming in. He tells me saw Michael leaving for the Waffle House, so he is not sure. Everybody is a comedian. I tell the nurse who leaves to get Michael to please remind him to bring the camera. When Michael comes in the first thing he says is “I did not need reminding you know.” Then he starts asking if he looks like Dr. House in his scrubs. He is trying to be very cool about everything, but I can only imagine what must have crossed his mind when he walked in. I mean, I was well informed about everything and I was still overwhelmed by it. He has no clue and so I am now worried about him instead of me or the baby. The anesthesiologist and Michael are talking about where he can stand or sit, when he can take photos, everyone is sort of cool, except for me. I am a nervous wreck.

They tell me they are there. At this point Michael should get ready to take pictures and I need to brace myself for the pressure I will feel as the nurse will push the baby down and the doctor will pull her out. “Pressure” they said. I felt a lot more than pressure and my body was pretty numb. I hate to think what that might feel like without the spinal, like Lori in “The Walking Dead”. Perhaps it was because of the baby’s position. After all, they were pushing on her head. Michael took pictures of the whole process. She came out butt first and he said it looked like getting her arms out was the difficult part. I’d share the pics but they are too gruesome.

She was very purple, and she did not cry right away. I could not see a thing because I was sprawled on the table with my gut open and curtain separated me from the action. Michael was taking pictures and giving me the play by play. He said “She’s out. Honey, you did it - again.” After a brief pause she started crying. At that point I let out my breath and I started crying. Sobbing, actually. Maybe it was relief of all the stress built up over the last few weeks. Maybe it was how overwhelmed I was with the whole process. Maybe I was just sad with the realization that this would be the last time I did this, and here I am not able to hold her or see her. Then Dr. Goggin held her up like she was Simba in The Lion King so I can finally see her face. I kept crying, but I was laughing too.

Eventually they brought her to me so I could see up close and give her a kiss. It was maybe an hour later in recovery that I was able to hold and nurse her. She took to it right away, much faster than her sister had. It was at that point that I started feeling like things were going to be OK, though I was already missing Sofia. They brought me Sofia that afternoon so I could see her and introduce her to her little sister.

I managed to talk my doctor into letting me go home after 3 nights. I seemed to be healing well, and the baby was fine so why not. The benefits of having the same doctor who knows you and how you will take care of yourself. Having a C section is no joke though. When they took my bandage off and I was able to see the staples digging into the skin of my lower abdomen… wow! I do not know what I was expecting, but it certainly was not that. Every other part of me seemed fine so I kept forgetting about the incision. They took the staples out and it is healing well, but it is all very odd to me. I honestly do not know how women go through this more than once. Michael and I had already decided on stopping at two, which is just as well because this pregnancy, this delivery, this recovery has been all around harder.

I read a lot about having more than one child. One always wonders how one can possibly love another like the first. Everything with Savannah has been so different than with Sofia. I suspect if we had ten kids each one would be different. I am really glad we decided to have another one though. It is heart warming to watch Sofia learning what a sibling is. I can already see how we all will have different relationships with each other in our little family. It’s going to be good, this new addition. Sofia is crazy about “baby” and wants to pet and hold her. It has been hard for me not being able to pick her up and sit her on my lap because she weighs so much, my big girl. Lucky for all of us she has her daddy, one granddaddy, and two grand mothers to show her that love.

We have been very cautious with her because she is only 21 months and does not understand this baby is not like her baby doll who has been abused severely and still looks the same. Also, we came home three days after Savannah was born to find Sofia with a fever. And so the two kid drama began! Michael was under the weather all week, Sofia has had a cold, my mom caught it, now my mother in law (who was caring for Sofia while we were in the hospital) has it too. And so, as it was to be expected, Savannah has it too.

Sunday night she had a stuffy nose. We were scheduled for the pediatrician’s office for Monday morning because it was her one week check up. Once there we were told that it was either an innocent cold or a serious virus and that we should send a swab to the lab to make sure. What if it is this virus? Well if the test is positive we will need to see her back right away, we may need to keep her in the hospital for observation for a day because she is so new. In a one week old baby this sort of thing can cause apnea and is very dangerous. Gulp. Michael and I did our best not to freak out. Fortunately, they were just being overly cautious and it is in fact just a cold. However, last night was rough on poor little Savannah. She coughed and sneezed, her running nose was keeping her awake and of course me too. At a rational level I know she will be fine, but when your baby is one week old and sick…it’s hard on mama. It is an understatement, but I cannot put into words how it feels to hold a newborn coughing in your arms at 4 am while you can hear your 21 month old coughing in her room. All while your abdomen is healing from being cut open one week before.

I don’t mean to complain, I don’t. I have many friends with children that have had it so much worse than I. My heart goes out to them. I cannot fathom the horror of what some of them have been through. They know who they are, and I will respect their privacy. I am grateful that my girls and healthy and well. One week from now they will be better and we will carry on and that is what matters. I am blessed to have so much. I am truly blessed to have my mother here to help round the clock, and to have Michael’s mother next door always there willing to take Sofia so that the work load for us will lessen. Most of all I am blessed to have a partner like Michael, who is such a source of love and support, and such a good husband and father I could cry just typing this. Part of this is the hormones, and Michael will surely make me regret writing this soon.

Anyway, there is my update. Sorry the blog was so long but this has been a fun filled 8 days. I promise next time to blog about something like the fiscal cliff, or the Mayan end of days…

Last pregnancy update before baby...

2012-11-16T20:50:00.002-05:00

Sigh... We are having us a baby on Monday November 26th via C Section. Unless some higher power intervenes... this is the plan.

Little Savannah is a stubborn little girl. She has been in Frank breech and nothing we have done to spin her around has worked. I am still walking around the house at times like an elephant (and I mean this in more ways than one). The only advantage to doing this is how amused Sofia is by it. Savannah ain't budging. At 36 weeks my OB tried an External Cephalic Version. Basically, he tried to spin her himself by "massaging" her over my big belly. I use the term "massage" very loosely here. Luckily it was less than 3 minutes of trying, because I do not think I would have been able to take much more of that. He says after almost three decades of doing this he can usually tell right away if baby is going to go along or not, and if it seems like she isn't cooperating he does not try to force it. She was not cooperating. The next day I could still feel where he had prodded my belly - unsuccessfully. I had told myself beforehand that it didn't matter how painful it was as long as we did it to avoid the C section. Well it didn't work, which is depressing. I left the office a bit defeated. We talked about a vaginal breech delivery and he explained the process and it scared me. He told me to look it up online, because he knows I look it all up. Then he said "You won't want to do it, but if you do we can talk about it." I didn't even bring it up after reading about the probability of needing forceps, etc. At that point I figured a C section was the safest way if she won't turn.

And so we went in for our 37 week appointment, where he broke the news that the probability of her turning after 37 weeks are very low. It can happen, but it is unusual because she is already dropping and fairly large getting bigger by the day. Sofia was 7 lbs. 9 oz and we induced labor 9 days early. I expect Savannah will be just as big and we are going in 9 days early again.

The reason for this is he does not want me to go into labor and have to do an emergency C section. A planned one is much safer, especially when you live an hour from the hospital. Still, we are 10 days away and my contractions and cramps keep increasing. I told my doctor I was having really bad back aches and cramps, and the contractions were pretty frequent even as I sat in the waiting room for my appointment. His words, I kid you not were: "Oh, you are going to have more contractions in the next days than you ever had before and you already have a baby." Nice, huh? Last time around every time I left the doctor's office I was full of positive energy looking forward to what was to come. Those days are gone! I know he is just keeping it real. Everything he told me last time happened just as he said, so I can trust that he is telling me what he believes to be true. Apparently, my uterus (and my body in general) is not happy with the position the baby is in. And so it is doing it's job, trying hard to spin that baby around. Unfortunately, the odds are against it, but that won't stop my body from contracting, which won't stop all the rest from aching.

Michael of course is freaking out because he is starting to ship poinsettias, and so things are busy at work. The week after Thanksgiving is pretty much the biggest poinsettia shipping week for us and I will be in the hospital most of the week. Michael has to be in and out, and Sofia has to go stay with Grand mama and Grand daddy, while my mom helps me at the hospital, and so it goes. I also have a new office employee who thank god seems to be working out because she is having to learn as much as possible quick. Baptism by fire. She is doing a good job which is a very good thing because that is one less thing to worry about. Last time around I worked until 4:30 on a Tuesday and we induced labor early Wednesday morning. I was back n the office part time the next Thursday to do payroll. That's how smoothly my labor went. This pregnancy has been all around harder on me, so there is no telling how the recovery will be.

I am grateful though. I do not want to sound too whiny. I realize how lucky I am to even be able to get pregnant, and carry my babies to term. Sofia is the joy of our lives, and I am sure Savannah will be just as great. Her health, her beauty, her smarts and her all around charming personality are a gift to all who have the opportunity to meet her and I realize how very blessed we are to have her, and will be to have her sister. It is just very hard to remember that at 6 am when you have to ask your husband to give you a little shove so you can turn over in bed. Or when you wake up with heartburn at 4 am when you have to pee for the third time that night, and as you walk to the bathroom your belly contracts, again, and you have to stop walking to wait for it to pass and you think "heartburn, pee, sore hips, cramps, and now you are awake." The hardest thing is trying to get Sofia to understand when you cannot pick her up, or can't let her jump on your lap and you realize it's going to be awhile before she can play with you the way she had grown used to. But, I just have to tell myself she will have a sister soon, a playmate for life, a partner in crime.

It will all be worth it.

I am also grateful for my family. They are awesome. The idea of having to stay in the hospital for 3 to 5 nights is overwhelming, but I know my mom will be with me every other night if I so choose for her to be. I am thinking she and Michael can take turns so that neither of them has to be there all the time. Meanwhile, my mother in law is keeping Sofia for however long I need her to. Sofia adores Michael's parents, and knowing she will be cared for by grandparents that love her and that she is so at home with, makes all the difference in the world. After every doctor's appointment I speak to my mother in law and she always says the same thing. Don't worry. When you come home we are here if you need us. You rest up and heal. You got two daughters and two grand mommas here to take care of them for you. What can be better?

For the last 48 hours Savannah has been very active. I mean, we can see her moving by just looking at my belly. It is like something out of one of the Alien movies. I expect her little hand to pop out any minute. I believe she is trying to flip...she can still do it. Maybe she will be one of those procrastinators that works better under pressure. Lord knows I was when I was in school...

Here is a picture of my belly. Next time I blog there will hopefully be a new baby picture.