We were standing at the edge of the pier, looking at the water that lapped over the brick wall in front of my parent’s house.   The lake water was at a record high and it threatened to creep into the crawlspace if it rose any higher.  Every day, Dad was climbing down the rickety crates that formed a makeshift staircase into the crawl space to check on the sump pump.  Some of the neighbor’s homes had water in them.  He was doing everything he could to keep the water from coming into the house.

“It’s been a shitty summer,” my Dad murmured. He gazed at the flagpole, which was surrounded by water.  The brick wall around that area was nowhere to be seen.

Shitty summer.

The flooded lake.  The cancer.

Dad was in the middle of his six-week regime of grueling cancer treatment: five days of radiation followed by chemotherapy inserted into his port.  The rest of us stood by helpless as we watch the pounds slip away.  The tumor that blocked his esophagus made it increasingly harder for him to swallow any food.  By Labor Day weekend, he was sleeping all day and all night.  He could no longer get any food down and was only taking tiny sips of water.

I fought back the panic all weekend.  I was terrified.  I didn’t want to entertain the possibility that he might not get better.  So I asked him to start thinking about where he wanted to go after he got well.  He looked at me with a little bit of surprise–why the hell was I talking about taking a trip when he was so sick and we didn’t even know what the prognosis was?  I didn’t care if I was being a Pollyanna about the whole thing.  So we talked about Yellowstone and the logistics of getting there and what to see.

By Labor Day, I tried to convince him to call the doctor and request a feeding tube.  Being the strong, stubborn WWII vet that he is, he insisted that he didn’t want to bother the doctor on a holiday.

“Promise you’ll call him tomorrow?” I asked before I got in the car to head home.

“Yea, I’ll call him.”

He finally obtained the feeding tube toward the end of the week.  Rather than getting better, he continued to decline as the effects of the chemo still barreled on.  He still could not eat and that worried me.

“Don’t you think he would be able to eat by now if the chemo and radiation worked?” I speculated with my sister.  Naturally, we feared the worse.  Sixty seven pounds had melted off my Dad’s frame and he hardly moved from the living room chair.

Dad was scheduled for a PET scan last week to determine if the tumor was still growing or if it had responded to treatment.

We all held our breath.

My mother sent an email.

“Good News!!!” was in the subject line.  I just looked at the subject line and started to cry.

“Just got back from the doctor,” Mom wrote. “The cancer cells are dead. He goes back for a checkup in three months.  This is such great news!”

So, Dad, where did you say you wanted to travel to again?

Bookmark me!

More »

I’m sitting in a restaurant in Northbrook as I type this.  I have just dropped off my daughter at the International Center for Deafness and the Arts (ICODA) and I’m passing the time as she practices for the upcoming Peter Pan play.  Three, sometimes, four times a week, we make the one hour trek from our home to the tiny theatre where she joins a group of deaf and hard of hearing kids of all ages.  Each and every time, she’s so excited to go and hang with her friends.

“Hey Mom, look at this neat ASL phrase I learned today!” she signs. 

She’s picking up the lingo, learning the slang and gaining more and more confidence each day as she converses with the kids.  This is from the kid who spoke entire sentences at the age of fourteen months and wanted nothing to do with ASL when her hearing suddenly went south at the age of four.  She’s the hard of hearing kid who spends time yakking on the phone with her best friend from Texas, the one who is quick to raise her hand at school and jump into a hot debate– the child that I thought would never embrace sign.  

And here she is, surrounded by a group of kids who are signing faster than the speed of light and she’s not shying away– she’s right in there asking them to repeat.  Sign it again, she signs, when the rapid-fire signing “goes over her head.”

With a start, I realize she’s applying the same advocating technique that we’ve taught her over and over throughout the years– when communication doesn’t happen, change it so that it does.  Ask for a repeat, ask for a re-phrase, ask for it in a way that gets the message understood.  She’s soaking up the ASL and incorporating it– and loving it.

There was a time she hated it.

“Mom, don’t sign.  I don’t need it.  I can hear you just fine.”

It has been fun watching the metamorphasis over the years, how the diverse communication modes have weaved in and out of her life and how she’s grown and changed.  I love how she’s been able to find her niche with a variety of friends– hearing, hard of hearing, deaf/Deaf. 

I’m often reminded of something that I first heard from Janet DesGeorges and Leeanne Seaver about the parenting journey when it comes to making choices for our kids:

Nothing is set in stone.

Sometimes when we set out on a certain path, we think we’re heading down that path for a long time.  And sometimes our kids lead us down a different path or change the direction in our sails. 

Sometimes the time is just right for a new direction and as parents, we just have to give our kids the opportunity to explore all the different paths.

Bookmark me!

More »

Wordless Wednesday:  It’s a slam dunk off the side of the boat!

Bookmark me!

More »

Just a year ago, I was making phone calls mostly by text relay or a Captel phone and occasionally by webcam using video relay.  In January, I took a position as a Sales Manager for Zvrs and I was introduced to the Z-150 videophone which is made by Tandberg.  Tandberg is a world leader for videoconferencing and apparently Cisco feels the same way– they purchased Tandberg in a recent deal for three billion dollars.

I think they got a great deal.

My life took a huge change when the Z-150 came into my life.   I was introduced to single-line VCO:  when I make a phone call, I use my voice to talk directly to the hearing person on the other end of the connection.  I don’t need a second phone to do this, I speak directly into the videophone and the person can hear me.  Perched on the screen in front of me is a Zvrs interpreter.

A few weeks ago, for the first time, I called my friend Cassie to talk about plans for our kids.  In the past, we always texted or used email but I decided to give her a call because we wanted to discuss something in detail.  It was the first time that she experienced a VCO call and she was simply blown away.

“How are you keeping up with me so well?” she asked.

“I’ve got a great interpreter in front of me and he’s doing a great job!” I explained.  The interpreter grinned.

“It’s almost like you’re hearing,” she said.

The neat thing is that people can call me up using a regular ten-digit number.  I don’t have to explain anything to anyone when I give out my number.  I just tell them, “Call me,” and they do.  When they dial the ten-digit number, it automatically routes through Zvrs and my Z-150 alerts me to the call with an email and then the videophone flashes on the screen.  I press a button and answer with, “Hi, Karen here!”

I’m not kidding when I say that my life changed after getting a Z-150– because now I’m on the phone all the time.  I used to dread making phone calls because the other person would become impatient and hang up.  I still work as a Deaf Mentor on the side and I love being able to call up families and connect with them.  I use the Zvrs Spanish-speaking interpreters to connect with Latino families.

Now that Cisco has Tandberg, it won’t be long until most of America has a Tandberg sitting on their desk.

How cool is it that a deaf person is ahead of the phone trend?

Update: Tandberg picked up the blog on their site: Videoconferencing Changes Deaf Mother’s Life.

Tandberg Telepresence Helps Deaf Mom Communicate Better

Bookmark me!

More »

Happy Birthday to my Baby!

Take This Pill and Have Your Baby in the Morning

Bookmark me!

More »

My daughter came up to me in the middle of the party and asked, “Mom!  What did you do?  The bathroom smells great!”

I guess she noticed the Vanilla Walnut wafing from the plugged in Scentsy instead of the usual boy-mis-aims-and-leaves-a-scent that usually permeats the bathroom. Needless to say, that was one of the scents I selected for my purchase.

You know what that means?  The next time my Mom comes to visit, I can mask my lack of cleaning skills by simply plugging in the Scentsy and popping in the Pomegranate Ice.

Diana demonstrates.

Roberta, Lori (The Facebook Queen) and Lisa.

Jane ponders what scent she’s going to pick.  Or maybe she’s wondering if there’s any Tuscan Lemonade left?

Come on girls, it’s important to choose the right scent.  Concentrate!

What’s a gal’s night out without some Tuscan Lemonade with limoncello?

Next time, don’t leave so early, gals or you’ll miss out on our group picture!  It was 1 or 2 a.m. before we called it a night.

Bookmark me!

More »

It was an absolutely stunning day for a wedding on Saturday. The colorful mums were in full bloom and the sun began a slow descent when Ron and Meredith exchanged their vows in American Sign Language. About half of the guests were deaf or hard of hearing. There were supposed to be two interpreters there, one for the audience and one for the couple, but one interpreter did not show. It was difficult to view the interpreter from where I was sitting but I caught as much as I could. Standing on either side of the couple was the groom’s two young sons with the cutest smiles on their faces.

I especially enjoy deaf/hard of hearing weddings because at those weddings, communication is often a breeze at the dinner table and on the dance floor. When the hubby and I are seated at a wedding where all the guests at my table are hearing, we are often left out of conversations that simply flow too fast for us to follow. Sometimes we’ll gamely attempt to join in the conversation and let everyone know what they need to do to include us. The conversation will slow, we’ll toss in some banter, but it usually ends up going back to the same fast pace at some point. Then we end up talking to each other.

Deaf/hard of hearing weddings are a whole different ball game. Conversations zip back and forth visually while the bread gets passed around. Shoulders are tapped, arms are waved and the energy in the air takes on a different vibe. I catch the eye of a friend two tables down and we catch up on news while we wait for the salad to arrive.

It’s not long before the first napkin pops up in the air. Then another joins, and another– until the air in the whole room is pulsating with the napkins that are being whipped around and around. The usual tradition for a bride and groom to kiss is the sound of a spoon tapping against a water glass. That tradition doesn’t serve well at deaf and hard of hearing weddings where the couple may not hear the tinking sound. Instead, it is a tradition to whip the napkins around in the air to signal the couple that it is time for a kiss.

On the way home from the wedding, the hubby and I reflected on the evening. “I always like going to deaf weddings,” he commented. “We can just kick back and not have to struggle to understand everyone, ya know?”

Yes, I know.

Bookmark me!

More »

Every now and then, I like to participate in Robert Hruzek’s group writing projects–they’re always a fun read!  This month’s subject focuses on:

What I Learned from Laughter.

At first, I thought I would just share the blog post I wrote over at Chicago Moms Blog:

When Your Only Option is a Thong.

When I wrote that one, several friends emailed me and told me they couldn’t stop laughing.  I wasn’t laughing too much when I wrote it, because I was overwhelmed at the laundry piles around my house.  But hey, I learned a valuable lesson from that episode: do your laundry on a regular basis and you won’t have to resort to thongs.  Or worse, commando, as Vicky once teased on Twitter.

When I think about what I’ve learned from laughter, there’s one episode in my life that stands out.  When the three kids were younger, I often had days when I counted the minutes until the hubby would arrive home and provide an extra pair of eyes and hands in my quest to keep three kids in one place.

My oldest kiddo, David, was often on hurricane cycle.  He would bounce from one activity to the next (like his Mom??) and leave a path of destruction in his wake.  I once put the baby down for a nap and left David and Lauren parked in front of the TV so I could quickly go to the bathroom.   I walked into the kitchen to find the two of them drawing wavy lines on the kitchen wall.  In a matter of seconds, David had grabbed some crayons off the counter and coerced his sister into drawing artwork on the flat white builder’s paint.  The artwork stayed on the wall for over a year– because neither the hubby nor I could muster up enough energy to paint over the crayon.

One evening, David was a category five and my patience was long gone.  I was just trying to survive long enough until the hubby arrived home so I could hand off the kid duties to him.  The hubby arrived home and surveyed the toys strewn about, the lunch dishes on the table and me with the harried look on my face.  He could tell it was “one of those days.”

After a hurried dinner, I filled the bathtub up and went to grab towels from the other bathroom.  As I walked back in, my eyes caught something floating in the bathtub.

I screamed.

It was a brand new book:  Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.

I fished it out of the water, wiped as much of the wet stuff off as I could and started to cry.  I sat on the toilet and the tears kept coming.  Mothering three kids just two years apart had taken its toll and came crashing down on me at that moment.  Just then, David came over, climbed in my lap and started hugging me.

“I love you Mommy.”  He hugged me again.

My eyes went back to the book and I saw the title more clearly.  “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.”

I started to laugh.

Alternating between tears and laughter, I smiled at the irony of the whole thing.

It is now years later– the little boy has grown into a young man– but I still have the book with the warped pages stuck together.  It’s a reminder of that hectic time of three kids under the age of four–when I thought the day would never end and I’d never have a minute to myself.  Today, the kids amuse themselves and there’s a little more time for me.  How quickly the time flies, how valuable that lesson of laughter is.

Don’t sweat the small stuff.  And remember to laugh in the process.

Bookmark me!

More »

It’s been a rather cool summer this year and the summer was one of the speediest summers I can ever remember.  It was gone in a flash.  Joe’s Mom keeps trying to tell me that the older you get, the faster time spins.  She told me this when David was a baby and I laughed.  She said the high school years were a blur.  I couldn’t fathom that, because I was holding a little kiddo in my hands and just trying to make it through the next hour with some semblance of sanity and intact thought.

Damn.  She wasn’t kidding.  Time is indeed spiraling by and I swear, it seems like someone keeps turning the clocks on fast-forward.  You know that little baby I was talking about?  This is him:

He’s an offensive lineman for Hinsdale South now. In two short years, we’ll be sending him off to college.  I don’t understand how he went from being a baby just yesterday to this strapping hulk of a boy/man.  I kind of envy the Duggars. If I was smart, I could have cheated Father Time by just having baby after baby.  Yeah, that would have been a good plan– you know how time crawls when you try to get through hour by hour with little ones.  And then it would take forever before the last kiddo goes off to Grown-up-hood.

But getting back to the weekend, another reason I don’t like Labor Day weekend:  each summer that goes by is a summer that I know I can’t get back, another summer ticking by.

So here it is, the big weekend of summer.  So rather than thinking about endings, I’m going to celebrate the weekend instead.  Join me–not in saying goodbye to summer, but just merely, “So long, see ya next year!”

Bookmark me!

More »

My kids are still talking about this year’s week at Camp Lions.  Every year, they look forward to that one, magical week with all their friends.  The conversations last all year–via sleepovers, Facebook sharing, texts that fly back and forth and videophone calls.

My kids spend all day in the mainstream going to classes with students who can hear so they cherish their time with deaf and hard of hearing friends.  Those friendships are deeply important, because communication isn’t an issue and being different isn’t an issue.

At a deaf picnic this summer, a young mother came up to me and signed, “Do you remember me?”  I looked at her–she looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place the moment in time where we knew each other.

“You were my camp counselor at Camp Lions!” she said.

Back in the mid-80s, I did one summer as a camp counselor for the Lions Camp.  I also did one summer as a waterski instructor at Camp Endeavor in Florida.  It’s easy for the kids to remember the counselors, much harder for counselors to remember the many kids!  But I did remember the young girl at camp and it was amazing to see her as a mother to her own kiddos years later.

I have several friends who attended the Lions Camps as young kids and thirty-plus years later, they can recall the fun they had and the connections that were made.  It’s no surprise that Camp Lions continues to fill up year after year.  They are now in their 51st year of providing camps to deaf and hard of hearing kids in Illinois.

So I’m writing this to publicly thank the Camp Lions of Illinois and the Lions of Illinois Foundation because if not for the tireless efforts of every Lion group in Illinois who fundraise each year– the deaf and hard of hearing kids in Illinois would have no magical week to remember.

Thank you.

Camp is Over, It’s Back to the Real World

Bookmark me!

More »