Monday, August 27, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Defending the world while he sleeps
Oh, how I wish I had a picture of this to share. William has a superhero costume that came with a black face mask. Last night, he fell asleep in the mask. Too cute.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Feeling Blessed
Last night William had his first outpatient occupational therapy session at the Childrens Hospital main campus. Though the hospital treats some very ill kids, I went expecting that in the occupational and physical therapy waiting area we would really only run into kids who were recovering from everyday accidents, perhaps a few with broken bones, a few with birth defects that require these services, and of course, other kids on the autism spectrum. How very wrong I was...and how very lucky I am.
When we arrived at the hospital, I of course parked in the visitor parking area that was as far away as possible from where we actually needed to be which caused us to take a lengthy jaunt through the hospital halls. This brought one of the first moments that made me stop and catch my breath. There it was, in a hospital just for children, a huge sign that said "Hospice." I said a silent prayer for all the families there, all the while my sweet son chattered away about his latest video game obsession as we continued quickly through the hallways. As we passed the Radiology department I wondered whether my friend's sister was working but decided that since I wasn't 100% sure where I was going that we should just keep moving.
Upon (finally) arriving at our destination of a tiny little waiting area just outside a set of elevators, we were kindly greeted by a gentleman and his father. The man immediately asked William if he would like to play a game of tic, tac, toe. In true style, William ignored him and played on the wooden tic, tac, toe board alone. Still under my above mentioned assumptions, I figured this man was waiting for a child that was with an occupational or physical therapist, and made mental note of how kind the man seemed. We all went about our business; reading, chit-chatting, playing a game of solitaire tic, tac, toe.
Down the hall from the OT/PT gym, I watched as a nurse, a mother, and a small boy began walking toward the elevators in front of us. Enter moment #2. This small boy (probably 2-3 yrs old) had patchy hair undoubtedly from chemo treatment and a tiny face covered in a mask. His mother and the nurse had taken him on a walk and to see if he had the energy to play on the hospital's playground. More silent prayers as I watched him reach up his tiny fingers to push the elevator buttons.
Early for our appointment as usual, we still had time to kill. William continued his game of tic, tac, toe and I watched as the nice man from before reached out and turned one of the pieces and said "I'm O's," trying to engage him in a competition. Without looking up, William turned the block back around, uttered a polite but stern, "no," and continued on his own. The man then turns to me and asks if I have a child staying on this floor. What? I thought all of the kids in this area were outpatient. I explain why we are there and then return the question. Moment #3.
His 17 year old son left for football practice one morning. At 8AM he started working out with the team. By 8:10, he had passed out. 10 minutes. His life, his families lives, completely changed in those 10 minutes. Taken from his local hospital to Childrens for days of CAT scans and surgery. The result...a Stage 4 brain tumor. His family's address is now the Ronald McDonald house. They were in the waiting area when we got there because his son was having an MRI. They are currently awaiting the results of the MRI to tell them whether or not the cancer has spread through the spinal fluid into his central nervous system. As this sweet, strong man told me his story, I watched my son play alone and was ever more thankful for him. I didn't think that was possible. I was thankful for his health, his smile, his unwillingness to allow a strange man to play games with him, his incessant chatter about that stupid video game.
I left content that this soon to be "routine" trip to OT at Childrens' Hospital had made a profound impact on me, but sorrowful for the reasons why, touched by the families inside who share their stories in tiny waiting rooms outside of elevators and who tell their stories without words through tiny eyes peeking over a hospital mask as they return from a stroll down the hallways.
And there was one more moment to seal the deal. As we walked out of the elevators and started down the hallways on our way back to the car I realized we were lost. Realizing we could wander the halls forever and never find our way back, I figured we would have much more luck walking outside where I could see the streets and know exactly where we were. Hand in hand we started our trek in the muggy heat to the visitor parking garage. On our way, we passed the Ronald McDonald house...just as 2 families were leaving to walk across the street to the hospital to visit their loved one inside. More silent prayers, an extra squeeze to the small hand in mine, and a little giggle at the ongoing chatter about the worlds best video game.
Take a few minutes today to be thankful, for all things great and small. And take a few minutes to pray for that nice man's son. His name is Rodney. You never know how your life will change in 10 minutes.
When we arrived at the hospital, I of course parked in the visitor parking area that was as far away as possible from where we actually needed to be which caused us to take a lengthy jaunt through the hospital halls. This brought one of the first moments that made me stop and catch my breath. There it was, in a hospital just for children, a huge sign that said "Hospice." I said a silent prayer for all the families there, all the while my sweet son chattered away about his latest video game obsession as we continued quickly through the hallways. As we passed the Radiology department I wondered whether my friend's sister was working but decided that since I wasn't 100% sure where I was going that we should just keep moving.
Upon (finally) arriving at our destination of a tiny little waiting area just outside a set of elevators, we were kindly greeted by a gentleman and his father. The man immediately asked William if he would like to play a game of tic, tac, toe. In true style, William ignored him and played on the wooden tic, tac, toe board alone. Still under my above mentioned assumptions, I figured this man was waiting for a child that was with an occupational or physical therapist, and made mental note of how kind the man seemed. We all went about our business; reading, chit-chatting, playing a game of solitaire tic, tac, toe.
Down the hall from the OT/PT gym, I watched as a nurse, a mother, and a small boy began walking toward the elevators in front of us. Enter moment #2. This small boy (probably 2-3 yrs old) had patchy hair undoubtedly from chemo treatment and a tiny face covered in a mask. His mother and the nurse had taken him on a walk and to see if he had the energy to play on the hospital's playground. More silent prayers as I watched him reach up his tiny fingers to push the elevator buttons.
Early for our appointment as usual, we still had time to kill. William continued his game of tic, tac, toe and I watched as the nice man from before reached out and turned one of the pieces and said "I'm O's," trying to engage him in a competition. Without looking up, William turned the block back around, uttered a polite but stern, "no," and continued on his own. The man then turns to me and asks if I have a child staying on this floor. What? I thought all of the kids in this area were outpatient. I explain why we are there and then return the question. Moment #3.
His 17 year old son left for football practice one morning. At 8AM he started working out with the team. By 8:10, he had passed out. 10 minutes. His life, his families lives, completely changed in those 10 minutes. Taken from his local hospital to Childrens for days of CAT scans and surgery. The result...a Stage 4 brain tumor. His family's address is now the Ronald McDonald house. They were in the waiting area when we got there because his son was having an MRI. They are currently awaiting the results of the MRI to tell them whether or not the cancer has spread through the spinal fluid into his central nervous system. As this sweet, strong man told me his story, I watched my son play alone and was ever more thankful for him. I didn't think that was possible. I was thankful for his health, his smile, his unwillingness to allow a strange man to play games with him, his incessant chatter about that stupid video game.
I left content that this soon to be "routine" trip to OT at Childrens' Hospital had made a profound impact on me, but sorrowful for the reasons why, touched by the families inside who share their stories in tiny waiting rooms outside of elevators and who tell their stories without words through tiny eyes peeking over a hospital mask as they return from a stroll down the hallways.
And there was one more moment to seal the deal. As we walked out of the elevators and started down the hallways on our way back to the car I realized we were lost. Realizing we could wander the halls forever and never find our way back, I figured we would have much more luck walking outside where I could see the streets and know exactly where we were. Hand in hand we started our trek in the muggy heat to the visitor parking garage. On our way, we passed the Ronald McDonald house...just as 2 families were leaving to walk across the street to the hospital to visit their loved one inside. More silent prayers, an extra squeeze to the small hand in mine, and a little giggle at the ongoing chatter about the worlds best video game.
Take a few minutes today to be thankful, for all things great and small. And take a few minutes to pray for that nice man's son. His name is Rodney. You never know how your life will change in 10 minutes.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Welcome to the 21st century!!!
I have a new phone! I have a new phone!!
I just got it this morning so I still have to play around with it and get used to it. Yea new phone!!
Okay, so why all of the excitement over something that people change like they change underwear these days? Well, if you've seen my old phone, you know why. If not, allow me to elaborate...
When I started my job 2 1/2 years ago, I had my own (very old) phone. It started dying, wouldn't hold a charge, right about the same time my boss was firing our Operations Manager who had a company phone. He graciously gave me that phone, told me to ditch my old dying phone, and has been paying for my phone ever since. VERY appreciative, but the phone was, well, hideous. It was definitely a rugged, manly construction worker phone. It was big and bulky. And it wouldn't die...it was dropped, spilled on, even run over in the driveway (I'm not kidding), and the thing barely had a scratch. Wait, I think I've found a picture. This is what I've been carrying for 2 years now:
But now, just when I was about to take the plunge and purchase a replacement, my boss decides that he is changing cell phone service carriers and we all need new phones. Once again, he is more generous to me than I deserve. And now, no more manly phone!! And though most people have had camera phones for YEARS, this is my first. Here is my new, much cuter, phone:
I just got it this morning so I still have to play around with it and get used to it. Yea new phone!!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
To go or not to go...
I skipped my 10 year high school reunion. I was living over 7 hours away and had given birth to Evie just 3 weeks earlier.
My 15-year reunion is this month. I live just around the corner from where the festivities will take place. When I first found out about it, I was planning to go. Now, I'm torn. The closer it gets, the more I'm thinking about skipping this one as well.
Can anyone make a convincing argument for why I *should* go?
My 15-year reunion is this month. I live just around the corner from where the festivities will take place. When I first found out about it, I was planning to go. Now, I'm torn. The closer it gets, the more I'm thinking about skipping this one as well.
Can anyone make a convincing argument for why I *should* go?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
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