Step AWAY From The Glitter!

I’m not really sure how it happened, but I am raising two Girly Girls.  I’m ill-equipped for this and have no guidebook or frame of reference for the challenge.

I’m a girl, obviously.  I mean I have the parts and all the official paperwork says F rather than M.   I have conditioned myself to wear a bit of make up and appropriately feminine clothes when necessary, but that is about the end of my experience with girlishness.

I was not what you’d call a Tomboy, either, so my discomfort with all things Girl is not some act of rebellion.  I came from a home filled with boys but never tried to be one of them.  I did everything my brothers did and everything my sisters did, too.   We climbed trees and camped and built stuff.  We also cooked and did laundry and took care of one another.  Equally.  My brothers are very nurturing and my sisters are very strong.  So I guess it never actually occurred to me that we were supposed to be different. 

My mother has always been an independent thinker as was her mother before her.  I am a child of the 70s when women proudly wore pants and Gloria Steinem was always in the news.  I grew up understanding history and knowing that (to borrow a phrase from Virginia Slims) “We’ve Come A Long Way, Baby”.   I have always just known that I could do anything or be anything I damn well wanted and don’t think I’ve ever taken that for granted.

At the same time, I’ve just never felt the need to Roar.  Or to Empower myself, worship my inner goddess, or whatever it is Oprah has told us we all need to do.  Female bonding makes me squirm and man-bashing makes me mad.   Certainly, I have many wonderful friends.  Half of them have breasts.  The other half don’t.  I love them equally, fiercely, and individually because they each bring something to my life.

The truth is, I just don’t think there’s anything special about being a girl.  At all.  But there’s also nothing special about being a boy.  We should all be the best human beings we can be, right?  So we are all special just for being. 

Why do we insist on putting girl babies up on glitter-covered pedestals that remove them from the real world as long as possible?  This is where I struggle daily as a mother to two little girls and the Quiet Feminist who resides inside me takes up her sword.  Somehow we went from breaking through glass ceilings to trying to squeeze back into glass slippers.

One only needs to spend two minutes in the baby section of any department store to see what I mean.  Pink onesies scream “Princess” or “Diva” with attitude and are covered in ruffles, glitter and sequins.  Toddler shoes have high heels (!!!) and rhinestones.  Meanwhile, the boys’ section features comfortable cotton jersey and practical shoes meant for active little feet.

As their mother, I can control what they own and what they wear, but only to a point and I can’t really control the steady flow of input into their minds.  Whether I buy them or not, they will see heavily made up dolls in stripperesque clothing and princesses waiting for a man to rescue them while fighting one another for his attention.  They will see classmates wearing those awful shoes.  They will hear pop singers measuring their value on appearance.  And I absolutely can NOT control the glitter.  It’s on EVERYTHING!  Oh, how I hate the glitter.  On pajamas, really?!?  A four year old needs to sparkle while she sleeps!?!?

 

The shows that target my girls feature female characters who are just horrible people.  Backstabbing, manipulative, judgmental, nasty, self-centered and mean while their male counterparts get to be smart, thoughtful, funny and vulnerable.  Even the fairies are bitchy!  The fairies!

All I can do to counter this is to lead by example and teach them that it’s okay for them to be entertained by this stuff as long as they understand that it’s not real.  They are expected to treat everyone the way they hope to be treated and that it’s never okay to be hurtful.  I teach them to mean what they say and say what they mean and to expect the same of others.*   I try to nurture their creativity, their cleverness and their individuality while telling them that they absolutely can be or do anything they put the effort into and that there’s nothing wrong with Pretty, but what matters is what’s behind it. Pretty has nothing to do with their worth.

I know things weren’t perfect back in “my day”, but I sure do long for those days when kids were allowed to just be kids and had never encountered the word “Sexy” or had any concept of salons, manicures and “Girl Time”.  You can get silly and play hard in a spangled tutu, but there’s nothing comfortable about that.

Now, I know some of this is just my own preferences talking.  I get way more satisfaction from painting a wall than from painting my nails.  A “spa day” is my worst nightmare.  And I would much rather have people think I’m smart or funny than think I’m “hot”.  Ick.  If my girls really do take pleasure in those things, that’s fine.  I will do my best to make sure they beautify their hearts and souls before they decorate their bodies.  I will never win the battle against the glitter, but I won’t go down without a fight!

 

 *That’s a whole ‘nuther soapbox about female insecurity, but women, please, stop analyzing every sentence you hear.  “You look nice today” very probably means “I see you today and you look nice.” And not “You look really bad every other day so what’s up with this looking nice thing?”  Stop doing that to yourself!   Don’t go looking for hidden meaning that more than likely just isn’t there.  It’s exhausting!

 

 

 

The Exception Or The Rule?

This weekend, my husband and I were invited to speak to a group of transplant clinic nurses as part of a panel on the Paired Exchange kidney donation program.  We were there to shed light on our experience with a fairly new program so the caregivers would have a better understanding and would be able to guide their patients and potential donors with their decision.  Of course, we have nothing but praise for the program, the team, and all of the people involved so we were happy to take part.

Our panel consisted of my husband and myself, our donor, and two other donors we hadn’t previously met.   We each told our story and answered a few questions about our experiences and the reasons behind our decisions.  The audience showered us with praise and thanked us for what we did “because not many people would”.  With this, I have to disagree.  We are not the exception, we are the rule.

OK, maybe everyone wouldn’t hand over a vital organ, but I do believe with every fiber of my being that most people are good.  Most people are caring.  Most people are generous and kind.  Most people are willing to help others.  Given the opportunity, most people will go out of their way to reach a hand out to a fellow human being in need.

I’m not sure I’ve always recognized this.  We think of children as naïve, innocent and trusting and expect that to change with age.  We see people becoming more jaded and cynical and downright grumpy.  Disappointments and pain can do that to a person and I think that’s normal.  But perhaps I am the Benjamin Buttons of emotional growth because I am becoming more trusting and Pollyanna with each passing year.

In my youth, I complained plenty.  I waited for the other shoe to drop and I saw my glass as half empty.  Now, as a happy, openly loving half-full grown up, I see that my younger self was only jaded on the surface.  Because while that girl declared that her glass was half empty, in her heart she trusted that she HAD a glass and that there was something in it. 

When I look at my life in review, I can’t recall a single time of need that didn’t include another human being helping me.  During family road trips, if we ended up on the side of the road (often), someone pulled over to help us.  When I rode a skateboard into a friend’s fishtank and ran towards home with badly bleeding knees, it was a neighborhood teen boy (and aren’t they supposed to be the most selfish?) who dropped his precious motorcycle on the concrete to scoop me up and carry me the rest of the way.   Any time I have ever been lost, someone has found me.  No matter how dire my situation, I have never been alone.  I have never been truly stranded or left to suffer because someone has always been there to reach out a hand.  Often that hand was attached to the arm of a stranger.

That, I think, is the rule.  People are kind, people are loving, people *want* to do the right thing and will if given the opportunity.  I haven’t rewritten my history.  Those bad days happened.  But I see them with refreshed eyes.  I no longer focus on the cloud so I’m able to see the sun peeking out behind it.  For every bad thing that has happened, a human being stepped in to make it better or easier.

When we turn on the news, how many of us hang on the terrible event instead of the rays of sunshine behind it?  This is earth and human beings are flawed.  People will continue to do horrible things.  People will continue to be caught up in some of those horrible things. That’s reality.   But MORE people will continue to do beautiful things.  MORE people will continue to reach out and offer help where they can.  When there is news footage of some tragedy, all attention is on the one screwed-up person wreaking havoc.  Why do we forget to see the hundreds of people who are doing the right thing in the background?  That one horrible thing is the EXCEPTION.  All those people doing good in the background is the RULE. 

Recently, our attention has been turned to the exception.  I’d encourage everyone to look beyond that and see the every day examples of the rule at play all around us.  Instead of measuring the contents of your glass, be grateful to have a glass and trust that it will be filled.  Expect people to do the right thing and trust that they will.  Look away from the tragedy and turn the focus to the humanity.  Isn’t that why we’re all here in the first place? 

Dear Fisher Price...

I was looking through my computer for a file and stumbled across this letter I sent to Fisher Price a few years back.  Reposting it here because it makes me laugh – and who doesn’t need that?

Dear Fisher Price:

I was a Fisher Price child.  I had a whole world of Little People to play with, to imagine with, and when I was done playing, to strew about for unsuspecting bare feet to discover during a 2 am kitchen run. 

Now, as a mother, I have my own Fisher Price kid who enjoys playing with her new and improved Little People world.  As happens in life, it’s now my turn to fall prey to the dark side of the Little People.   Thank you for that.

As a loyal Fisher Price customer, I feel it is my duty to alert you to a niche market that you have somehow missed.  We  searched high and low in the plumbing departments of Home Depot, Lowes, and Ace Hardware and were shocked to learn that there is no such thing as a Fisher Price Little People Rescue Kit for use on toilets!  There are heavy duty plungers, there are expensive snakes and augers.  There are new wax rings for when you give up and remove the toilet from its base.  How has Fisher Priced overlooked this?

Attached is an email that I sent out to my friends as a public service announcement.  Please – I beg of you – get your research team on this immediately.  Parents around the world are counting on you.  And so is that poor little sheep in the bottom of the porcelain drain pipe.

Yours truly,

Terri
--------------------------------------------

To:  All parents

From: Terri
Subject:  Free advice

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life: The new "improved" Fisher Price Little People are much larger than their old school ancestors and, while this may be a good thing for teeny little hands, it's not such a great thing for plumbing.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 2: An entire Fisher Price farm can be shoved, one by one, into the curved chute in the toilet base that is intended to process things other than the Water Closet Menagerie.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 3: When your husband is finished taking care of business and attempts to complete the process by pulling down the shiny lever, and you hear "Are you @*#&$^% kidding me?!?!!" instead of the expected "Whooosh!", it's best to run for old towels now and save the laughing for later.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 4: Home Depot and Lowes carry a $25 tool called a plumbing auger. Don't waste your money. Buy the $6 wax seal, remove the toilet, free the menagerie, and re-seat the toilet.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 5: Bucket of bleach water, followed by soap and water rinse, and 2 cycles through the dishwasher will bring WC Menagerie back to health.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 6: Wait a week. Why is your little imp walking so purposefully and so quietly down the hall? With a little horse in her hand? Yeah. Might wanna check on that. And warn the old man that the sheep and the chicken are still missing.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 7: Remember that $25 tool? And the wax seal? Forget that. Buy the $3 cheap piece of plastic that looks like it couldn't do anything. It's called a drain clearer and is meant for snagging hair out of sink drains. Buy that. Because it will free a sheep and a chicken in seconds.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 8: Remember that toilet lock you bought 6 months ago and that your husband has had sitting on the back of his toilet since the first Great Flood? You might want to remind him to actually use it.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 9: It is perfectly acceptable to laugh at your husband over all this because it all happened on his watch and you've told him a billion times to shut the bathroom door because you know your imp is fascinated with the big porcelain bowl of water.

Free advice to anyone with small children in their life part 10: Thank your mischievous little imp, because all that time sitting on the bathroom floor staring at the base of the toilet will make your spousal unit realize that indeed the linoleum IS pretty much shot and ugly and he will concede that it is time to pick out new flooring and call the guy.

Free advice To Fisher Price: You really should market your own cheap piece of plastic with grabby things on the side and sell it as a handy dandy Fisher Price Little People Getter Outer Tool.

-------------------------------------

Admittedly, I sent this to the FP office because it amused me and I thought, perhaps, it would amuse some secretary in the corporate office and she would laugh and carry on with her day.  A few days later, I found a form letter from FP in my mailbox letting me know that they don’t accept unsolicited idea submissions but if such a product happened to appear on store shelves, the idea was all theirs and I had no rights to it.

I have yet to see any results from my suggestion, which leads me to believe that FP may have some financial connection to the plumbing industry. Things that make you go “hmmm”.

By the way, we never did find that poor chicken.
 

I'll Have The Bacon

I don’t like tofu.  This is not news to a lot of people who know me, but it’s a fact.  It’s not real food, it makes no sense to me and I just flat out do not like it.  I will tolerate it if it’s already there in something delicious but I just don’t see the point.  If pad thai or soup or whatever it is I’m eating is already wonderful on it’s own, why toss a handful of kitchen sponges in there?  Tofu has no flavor of its own.  It has no soul.  It has no personality.  I have never heard anyone say “You know what would make this better?  Tofu!”  Never. 

This is not the case with bacon.  I know, I know.  Bacon is at its peak right now.  It’s cool.  It’s trendy.  It has its own Twitter account.  Bearded hipsters all around the world are singing bacon’s praises and wearing ironic t-shirts professing their devotion to it.  I love that.  I love bacon.  Always have, always will.  Even when it’s no longer fashionable, bacon and I will be together.  Forever.

Have you noticed that there are no hipster t-shirts dedicated to tofu?  Yeah, me too.  Because tofu just isn’t cool.  Sure, it serves a purpose.  It delivers protein and nutrition to the human body but that’s about all it does.  Tofu will never elicit any sort of emotional response from anyone.  Ever.  Even the hardest core vegetarian who may try to convince you that you just haven’t had the right tofu, or had tofu that was properly prepared does not truly believe that argument himself. 

Consider the sources.  When we think in terms of prosperity, we say things like “Living high on the hog”, or “if we’re going to do this, we’re going whole hog” and we “bring home the bacon”.  Bacon is a valuable piece of a whole food source.  It brings protein, of course, but it also brings flavor.  It brings personality.  Nothing else in the world tastes like bacon and it shares that gift with any other food it’s combined with.  Even its “waste”  (though one can hardly call bacon grease a waste!) lends flair to nearly anything it touches.  Just the aroma of bacon sizzling on the stove is enough to awaken even the sleepiest household. 

Meanwhile, tofu begins with a soybean.  I like soybeans.  They have character and are just fine as they are.  But then they are crushed, squeezed, watered down and squeezed some more until they are shaped into a bland square block of rubbery/spongy substance that has no flavor of its own.  No one brags about bringing home the tofu and tofu isn’t going to wake anyone (unless you drop it on their head, but I wouldn’t recommend that).

I’m talking about food, yes, but I’m also talking about so much more.  My very best friends are Bacon.  The people I choose to be in my life are Bacon.  They come to the table with flavor.  They are all seasoned differently – some are smoked and some are honey cured, some are coated with spicy pepper and some are even Canadian – but they all bring their own charm to the dish and share their essence with every other ingredient they meet.

I have certainly had relationships with Tofu, and have confused them with the real thing.  Tofu friends usually show up as part of a group and fit right in.  Then one day you realize that you are alone with Tofu and you can’t understand why.  Or perhaps Tofu is not present and you don’t even notice until someone mentions the name and you see that you didn’t even miss them.  They took on the personality of the rest of the dish but had no flavor of their own.  Tofu people are not friends.  They may be perfectly nice acquaintances, but they are seat fillers who bring nothing to the party.  Bacon people are not only friends, but they are the first people you call when you need a bit of comfort food, or just a boost of seasoning in your day.

If that old adage that you are what you eat is true, then I’ll have the bacon, please.

 

Be The Duck

Many years ago, possibly even in my teens, I stumbled across a collection of inspirational quotes and the one stuck with me enough to scribble it down was this:  Always Behave Like A Duck.  Stay Calm and Unruffled On The Surface And Paddle Like Hell Underneath.  I don’t know why that one in particular hit me, but it’s been in my wallet or in my jewelry box for ages.  It may be slightly tattered and yellowed with age (much like myself), but it’s there and it pops up every now and again but mostly just stays tucked away in the filing cabinet of my mind.  The other day, while feeding the geese at the river with my children, the file drawer sprang open and I was reminded of the quote once again. 

We had a lot of old bread with us because this was the primary reason for our trip to that particular park.  It was a gorgeous day but when we approached the landing, there were only 4 birds waiting for us – a pair of geese and a pair of ducks.  We tossed the first bits of bread and the two ducks moved away to a quiet little cove downstream while the geese flapped their wings, shouted and made frenzied dives for the food.  This, of course, drew attention and suddenly several other geese made a mad dash to our landing. 

Nevermind that it was their own actions that attracted the new guests, Goose #1 and Goose #2 were not at all happy with these party crashers and began to attack the new arrivals.  Meanwhile, the two quiet ducks were casually picking up all the bread that floated to their peaceful area while the geese were too busy fighting to pick it up.  Amid all the splashing and nipping, every goose managed to get a bit of bread but I can’t imagine that they enjoyed it since each piece represented something they were entitled to and that should be kept from all the newcomers.  Mine, mine mine!!! 

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in the mind of a goose, but it seems that the fighting eventually became a game and that they were having fun.  Rowdy, frantic, chaotic activity just for the hell of it.  Fighting just to fight.  The more commotion that the geese created, the further down the river the two ducks moved.  Just quietly looked at one another and swam away.  No splash.  No noise.  Just movement away from the pandemonium. 

I recalled the quote at that moment and remembered why I liked it all along.  The geese and the ducks were from the same place.  They had the same opportunity for bread.  The geese screamed and shouted and demanded attention while proclaiming that all of the bread must be theirs!  The ducks wanted no part of that drama, moved away and patiently awaited the bread that they trusted would come down river to them.  When they had enough, they left the extra for the next birds that came along. 

We encounter Geese every day.  The guy leaning on his horn because you don’t turn right on red fast enough to please him is a Goose.  The coworker who alerts the media when they did something slightly beyond their job description is a Goose.  The woman in line at the grocery store who is so exasperated after having to wait more than a minute is a Goose.  I have a friend who has always referred to the snippy grumbling women in her office as The Geese.  That always made me laugh, but now I know what she was talking about.  Geese are territorial, mean and aggressive.  They scream and they bite.  They often don’t even remember why they are so angry in the first place.  They fight and bicker just for the sport of it.  The Geese are all around us.   

Now, how many Ducks do you know?  I feel fortunate to have many Ducks in my life.  These are the people who do the right thing just because it’s the right thing, not because they expect accolades.  Ducks hold open doors and let people merge in traffic.  Ducks buy sour lemonade from a kid trying to earn money for bubblegum and declare it the best lemonade ever.  Ducks don’t grumble when things don’t go their way, they find a new way.  Ducks work hard and don’t complain.  Ducks have troubles like anyone else, but they focus on the blessings, not the stressings and that’s how they keep moving forward. 

In other words, Ducks remain calm and unruffled on the surface while they are paddling like hell underneath. 

So that tattered yellow paper will remain in my jewelry box for a while longer and I’m going to do my best to be the Duck and on the days when that’s not so easy, I hope to at least recognize the Duck who is probably helping me out and save the best bread for them. 

Adventures In Kidneyland

April is National Donate Life Month so I thought I’d use this week’s post to talk about organ donation.   It wasn’t so long ago that the idea of organ donation was nothing more than a little checked box on my driver’s license form and kidneys were beans used in chili or, occasionally, organs stolen after a wild night in Tijuana (according to urban legends, anyway). 

Man, has that changed.  The last several years meant constant, everyday, unrelenting thought about something the size of my fist that was wreaking havoc in my life.  Anyone who knows me even a little has heard or even seen first-hand about my family’s Adventures In Kidneyland, but for those who don’t know or those who’d like to know more, I can tell you all about it – from the perspective of both the needy recipient and from that of the donor. 

The fact is that 1 in 10 people have some sort of kidney disease.  Kidneys run our machines and we don’t even realize it.  Hearts and brains get all the glory, but the kidneys are the blue-collar work force that keeps the production line moving.  If one guy slacks off, you may not notice.  Another follows, and another and another until someone upstairs eventually sees it.  Kidney disease can be a slow, barely noticeable progression before you finally recognize that you don’t feel good.  This was the case with us. 

Early in our marriage, my husband was diagnosed with Focal Glomularsclerosis, or FSGS.  This is a largely genetic condition and he had markers for it all of his life.  The doctor told us there wasn’t much to do for it and only time would tell how things played out.  He could never have an issue, or he could need dialysis and transplant one day.  We were obviously concerned but decided not to worry about it until it was something to worry about.  He was otherwise healthy and active and we were just beginning our life together and planning our future family. 

Fast forward a few years, I was 7 months pregnant with our second child and had a 3 year old at home.  My husband was feeling very run down and tired.  He had frequent leg cramps.  His blood pressure was rising.  Every complaint had a seemingly legitimate cause:  his schedule as a musician is irregular, get new shoes, lose some weight, eat better, exercise more, get a good night’s sleep, etc.  When none of those things worked, he went back to the doctor and we got the Really Big Answer.  The FSGS that had been behaving for so many years reared its ugly head.  He was absolutely going to have to begin dialysis and he was going to need a kidney transplant.  

Remember, a new life was on her way to us, so we moved quickly.  We researched dialysis to learn all we could and decided that given his lifestyle (late nights, erratic schedule, young children) Peritoneal Dialysis, or PD, was the best treatment option since it could be done at home or on the road rather than several hours a day, several times a week, trapped in a clinic as with traditional hemodialysis.  He had surgery to implant a tube port into his abdomen and another to fuse veins in his arm to create a fistula (one big supervein) should he ever need the hemo option.  While he healed, we drastically changed his diet in attempt to hold off dialysis as long as possible. 

Our second beautiful daughter was born and our life marched on.  We began dialysis.  We adapted our home to ensure things were as sterile, organized and comfortable as possible for the treatment that needed to be done several times a day.  We found our groove, but the cloud was always present.  Notice I say “WE” did treatment, “WE” made adaptations, etc.  That’s the fact.  My husband had kidney disease.  But so did I.  So did our children.  My husband was on dialysis.  So was I.  So were our children.  That’s just the way it is.  Dialysis means not being able to leave your house without a great deal of planning.  It means literally being tethered for set periods of time and it means there is no such thing as spontaneous play with your kids.   It means discomfort, sometimes pain, and a lot of work just to get through the day.

We knew our goal was a new kidney.  We did everything we could to work towards that end but it’s a long, sloooooow process.  There are so many rungs on the ladder to get to that point.  Some things are mandated by insurance companies, some by your medical team, some by finances, and some just by fate.  We had a climb ahead of us.  One big step was to meet a financial goal before we’d even be considered for transplant.  I should note:  this financial requirement is not the case for everyone.  Our insurance and financial situation dictated this.  Fortunately, my husband is well regarded and our family is well loved so our music community came together to get us where we needed to be quickly.  Then we had some medical hurdles to attack.  We did that and after 3 long years of waiting, we were approved for the transplant list. 

Again, friends and family surrounded us with love and several people made the call to potentially donate a kidney.  There is no way to properly say “Thank you” when someone offers you a piece of their human body.  Alas, there was no match.  I knew that I was not a match because we had different blood types.  I was becoming very frustrated.  I don’t sit and wait very well. 

During our years of learning about kidney donation, I was aware of the paired exchange program that would enable a donor and recipient who didn’t match to pair with another unmatched donor and recipient so everyone could get what they needed.  We didn’t discuss this much because it wasn’t an ideal scenario for both a mom and a dad with 2 small children to go into major surgery at the same time and to require long recovery at the same time.  So I put the idea on the back burner.  Again, I don’t wait very well.  So in a moment of frustration about not being able to just fix everything, I called the donor coordinator and said I was in.  I did the preliminary blood and urine tests and that was that. 

Around New Year’s Eve 2011, I declared that we WERE going to get a fresh start and 2012 would be The Year Of The Kidney!!!  (Dammit!)  The first week of January, my phone rang and I was told to come in for further testing because there was a possible match in the works.  I spent a day being poked, prodded, scanned (happily, I should add) and evaluated by a psychiatrist to ensure that I am relatively sane, knew what I was doing, was not being coerced, and didn’t have a superman complex.  Then I was told that we were to be part of a six person exchange and that it was all going to happen there in our hospital and it was going to happen fast!   

I can’t even express the sheer joy and relief that filled my heart at the same time that a whirlwind of activity hit our home.  A phone and email frenzy contacted family, reassured concerned loved ones, and arranged the help we would need to manage the children and driving and heavy lifting we would both need assistance with post-transplant.

Sadly, one pair in our group was forced to drop out because of an unforeseen health setback, but we were still set to go!  On February 3^rd, 2012 my husband went in to surgery early in the morning and received the healthy left kidney of an unknown altruistic donor.  The only thing we knew about her was that she was moved to donate and she was a match for my husband.  Several hours later, my husband was waking up in his room looking better than he had in years.  That new kidney began working immediately and the change was remarkable.  Kidney disease is a slow progression.  I couldn’t have told you that his color was off or his eyes were not clear before, but immediately after receiving this amazing gift, his skin was rosy, his eyes were as bright and clear as a newborn baby.  He said his limbs felt light and he felt GOOD right from the start. 

We were able to meet our donor as soon as she felt well enough to get out of bed.  She is an angel.  I’m not saying this because she gave her kidney to a stranger.  I’m saying it because we’ve gotten to know her and would be pleased to call her Friend under any circumstances.  Under these circumstances, we also call her Family and she will always be a part of our hearts and our life.  Because of my husband’s career and friends, we got news coverage and were treated like rock stars.  The fact is, our DONOR was the rock star. 

Two weeks later, it was my turn to pay it forward.  I knew that when I woke up, I would not feel as good as my husband did.  I knew it was going to be rough.  Donors have the worst end of the stick in terms of recovery, but I had no trepidation.  In just 2 weeks time, I saw the incredible change in our life because of one person being willing to step forward and I wanted nothing more than to share that feeling with someone else.  I knew nothing about my recipient but I knew this was right and I knew that I was loved and protected. 

The night before my surgery, my mother and I lay in the hospital hotel room and were surrounded by the love of the angels and spirits of those who were holding me in the light for this task.  I recognized some of the faces as loved ones on the other side, but there were strangers there as well.  After I met my recipient, a lovely lady with young grandchildren who were no doubt happy to have their grandmother back, I recognized some of those spirits as belonging to her and her family.  My father stood next to me while I was being put under anesthesia and he was there tugging my toe (that’s what he does) when I woke up. 

I’m not going to pretend it was easy.  It hurt like hell and I recovered slowly.  It was weeks before I could sneeze without fear (no easy feat in a Georgia springtime).  It took some time for my body to adapt to the changes, but it eventually did.   I have a well earned scar and won't be wearing a bikini (not that I was likely to anyway), but I am well.  My husband is well.  My family is WELL!!!

You read stories about life saving transplants every day.  Your hear about the doctors and medical advances.  You hear about the recipients and how they’re doing.  You think “That’s great!” and go on about your day because if you’re like me, you think the donor was someone who checked that box on their license and tragically died to enable that recipient to live.  Many people don’t even realize that living donation is possible.  It’s not only possible, but it gets easier and better every single day.  And while I didn’t go into this with the idea that I needed to save the world, it definitely gave new meaning to my life and I’d do it all over again. 

If you’ve ever considered making a difference in someone’s life, maybe you’ll consider our story.  There was nothing selfless about my act.  I bartered my kidney in exchange for a kidney.  I wanted my husband back.  I wanted my children to have a healthy father for the first time in their lives.  I was very specific about what I was willing to do to get what *I* wanted and I got it. 

Our donor was truly selfless and Altruistic in her gift.  She had no agenda other than to help *someone* to have a better life.  In exchange, I hope she gets all of the love and good rewards that such a fine person deserves.  I’ll do my part in the love department.

I’ve been a recipient and I’ve been a donor.  I will continue to be an advocate for organ donation for the rest of my life, not just for the month of April.

 

 

 

 

 

Together

I saw an African Proverb yesterday that really spoke to me:

“If you want to go fast, go alone.  If you want to go far, go together.”

Good advice for anyone, really, that we’re meant to help one another through life as much as and as often as we can.   And after a nice family holiday dinner, it was just the thing to take me back to the beginning. 

Most people who know me know that my family is large.  I’m the youngest of 9 children in 11 years.  Not that shocking or Duggar-esque, just the way things were in a Midwest Catholic family at the time. I wouldn’t have it any other way.  People who know me may also know that my father was not present in the household during my childhood so when people meet my mother, often the first thing they ask her is “How did you manage to do it ALL BY YOURSELF!?!”  She will smile and joke that she barely remembers it or that she was on autopilot or some such thing, but the truth is this:  She didn’t do it herself. 

She had an army of loving support staff.  Her parents, her sisters and brothers (she was one of 7 herself), and an entire community of friends were there to help with the heavy lifting, to hold a hand, to catch us when we stumbled, to guide our way down the path, or to just offer a hug or a laugh at the appropriate times.  My mother raised us, but so did Grandma and Grandpa, Aunts Fran, Ruth and Kathy and Uncles Joe, Paul and Bill.  My extended family raised us, but so did Mrs. Isenhart, Mrs. Davis, and Mrs. Hill – along with whichever neighborhood or church lady who spied us straying from the path and sent us back on the way.  Knowing that we were always being watched over enabled my mother to do what she needed to do to take care of us without worry. 

Looking back with adult eyes, I realize what incredible freedom we had to just be kids and figure out who we are in our own ways.  We played hard.  We explored and took risks.  We went places that maybe kids shouldn’t be.  We saw things that maybe kids shouldn’t see.  Granted, the world was a bit different then and I probably wouldn’t let my own kids do some of the things we did, but I’m glad we had those experiences.  We grew up to be pretty fabulous people, if I do say so myself (and I will) and even though we felt untethered and independent, the reality is that someone was always, always there for us.  There has never been a time in my life – young or not so young – when I felt Unsafe, Uncared for, Unsupported, Unrespected, Unvisible, or (most important of all) Unloved.  (And yeah, I know some of those are not actual words, but you get my point.) 

I wish every child could know what that feels like.  I hope that my own children will look back on their own lives the same way.  

At home, we kids understood that we, as a family, were all in this together.  When Mom wasn’t available to keep things rolling, we worked together.  We fed each other and we tended boo-boos for one another as needed.  We helped with homework and projects and washed and folded laundry together.  We cheered victories such as a kick-ass drum solo, the latest two story backyard clubhouse, the best ever batch of cookies or the longest and loudest fart (there were six boys after all).  We weren’t perfect.  Brothers and sisters need to let off steam and we certainly bickered and aggravated one another, but we also policed one another and kept each other in line.  You can only get away with being a jerk for so long when a big brother or big sister is close by.  And just like the watchful ladies of the neighborhood, if one of us was about to do something stupid, a sibling would step in to (sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally) bonk us on the head and tell us to cut it out.  It usually worked. 

I often refer to our family unit as a “Box of Puppies” because that’s kind of what it was like.  Off chasing our own tails or wrestling or fighting over kibble, but at the end of the day, nestled back down in our box to snuggle and just love one another while we dreamt about someday catching that squirrel. 

We puppies are all grown up now, some with kids of our own and we are scattered across the country so we don’t see one another as often as we wish we could, but we are still Together.  We still cheer each other’s victories and lend a hand when and where we can.  When I said I was donating a kidney for my husband, my big brothers worried about me but trusted my word that I knew what I was doing.  My sister came to help us with our kids while we recovered.  My mother did the same, as did my husband’s mother.  Our community of family and friends surrounded us with love and support and showed up at our door with delicious food.  Everyone came Together for us and we were free to do what we needed to do for our family. 

Now, before anyone thinks I’m taking any credit away from my mother for the way we turned out, remember that there’s a reason we wild Albert kids knew we should work together.  We saw examples of it every day.  My mother was always taking a spare kid in under her wing if she saw a need.  Whether the kid needed a meal or a hug or just an ear, she welcomed them.  When we moved halfway across the country, she allowed a couple of wayward teen friends to join us because they needed it.  When we had a houseful of rambunctious kids in Baltimore, she opened our home to a young couple and their infant until they were able get their feet on solid ground.  When she and I were scraping by in particularly lean time, she still managed to feed strangers on her path.  Some people take in stray animals.  She takes in human beings in need of a little TLC.  She still does,  probably always will and no one will ever stop her. 

I get frustrated when I see people putting themselves before others when a little help would be such an easy thing to give.  I’m not talking about bringing strangers into your home or giving away your last can of tuna, I’m talking about the smallest kind acts.  Let someone merge in traffic.  Smile at your cashier.  Ask about their day for a change.  Hold a door open.  Anything to let another human being know that you see them, you care about their well being, and that you’ve got their back when they need it.  We human beings, just like my Box of Puppies, are pack animals and we are meant to be all in this together.  If we remember that, we can go far.  Together.