tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58954404533355521172024-03-18T02:12:20.893-04:00calvin's storyFrom motherhood to justice.Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.comBlogger2240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-56812040265464327662024-03-10T16:40:00.003-04:002024-03-10T21:15:47.006-04:00sunday update<p>Sorry it has been so long since I've written, but in this case no news is (mostly) good news. Calvin is still up to his usual antics—drooling, biting every surface possible, putting his hands in my face, grabbing me, at times dropping down in stubborn refusal. Good news is he has gone almost eight weeks without any seizures. Since starting a drug called Xcopri over two years ago, Calvin has had several long seizure-free stints, one of which approached four months. In that time we've been able to reduce his only other epilepsy medication. He is still very restless during the day, and I am weighing whether to put him on an ADHD drug called Intuniv, which his neurologist recommended. But, despite his restlessness, for months he has been super sweet, loving, compliant and smiley, and it is hella fun to bring him to the grocery store every day and to take him on long relaxing car rides which we both relish.<br /></p><p>Sadly, I accidentally shut Calvin's pinkie finger in the car door and broke it at the very tip a couple of weeks ago. We got his hand x-rayed and saw the orthopedic surgeon who told me that my instinct not to splint Calvin's finger to the adjacent finger was a good one since Calvin clenches his fists constantly. Hearing that relieved me. When he gets hurt I feel physically sick, like when he got his hip
(femur) broken at school two years ago because of a couple of complacent
and neglectful aides, and when he suffered ungodly pain from
gallstones. Poor Calvin has to endure so much. </p><p>But going longer between seizures is something huge to celebrate. It's not only good for Calvin's brain but it means that he doesn't miss nearly as much school, which is good for him and for me (he's got a new teacher and new aides.) I've been spending my time when he's in school running, a sport I began in earnest just over two years ago. I've enjoyed some small and fun successes—5k, 10k, 10-mile, half marathon—and met some lovely people most of whom have become friends. For the past several months I've been training for the New York City Half Marathon, which is a week from today! I am running as a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society in honor of my father and so many others, and my goal is to raise $15,000 by next Sunday. I am very close to achieving that goal. If you'd like to donate to my campaign, now is the time and here is the link:</p><p><a href="https://secure.acsevents.org/site/STR?fr_id=107942&pg=personal&px=59415756&fbclid=IwAR290O6lgFUYarnIuf8e2imKq1Ae1mMiGgJfn_s4OfpChy3P-SDZ-6P3uVg"><i>https://secure.acsevents.org/site/STR?fr_id=107942&pg=personal&px=59415756&fbclid=IwAR290O6lgFUYarnIuf8e2imKq1Ae1mMiGgJfn_s4OfpChy3P-SDZ-6P3uVg</i></a></p><p>Right now, Michael is on a two-break from teaching. In late May he begins a year's sabbatical, during which he will be attending a couple of artist residencies and working toward publishing his fourth photo book. We continue to enjoy his amazing dinners, most all of them recipes from the New York Times. I'm still making my famous salad every single night. We've hosted a few small dinner parties and have been guests at a few, too. Gathering with friends is a good distraction from caring so hypervigilantly for Calvin. And, Mary, Calvin's former school aide and buddy, has been helping us take care of him a little, as well as Caroline who is another good aide we recently found.</p><p>Suffice to say I feel very grateful these days that some things have figuratively calmed down with Calvin, who has just under two years left at the high school. In the meantime we have to figure out what the hell we are going to do with him after he "graduates" since most programs do not fund one-on-one care, which is essential to Calvin's safety.<br /></p><p>So that's it in a nutshell. Thank you all for your love, interest, concern. I'd love to hear from you.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkelZcXd7aQFCPnsEFavykDk0DNBFhU81MceU-rHRhAapqTq93HYWWOKt3GWj3G5qynhSTQ4npDYnzqCMBDXR64dN2BdC3Ro-FJfKXABNV576sLyGrbBKxht2S1zsNxrI7Gje2Y59aaGIMKTJlczbp6XN9cuSMcixfnDAR1feSWzPXl_qbNUJdj0hyphenhyphenSo/s4032/IMG_3896.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkelZcXd7aQFCPnsEFavykDk0DNBFhU81MceU-rHRhAapqTq93HYWWOKt3GWj3G5qynhSTQ4npDYnzqCMBDXR64dN2BdC3Ro-FJfKXABNV576sLyGrbBKxht2S1zsNxrI7Gje2Y59aaGIMKTJlczbp6XN9cuSMcixfnDAR1feSWzPXl_qbNUJdj0hyphenhyphenSo/w480-h640/IMG_3896.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-61389761085437894942024-02-07T12:33:00.002-05:002024-02-07T12:33:18.653-05:00twenty<p>I have heard parents say that one of the happiest days of their life was when their child was born. Not so for me and my husband, Michael.</p><p>The day Calvin was born and the two weeks leading up to his birth were filled with much fear, anxiety and sorrow, the twisted emotions of both hope and a sense of peril which we still sometimes feel.</p><p>At thirty-two weeks gestation, a fetal sonogram had revealed a significant absence of the white matter in Calvin's brain. In the wake of that finding was a trip to Boston hospitals for back-to-back appointments with radiologists, obstetricians and neonatologists, more sonograms, blood draws, a fetal MRI, and a midnight IVIG (intravenous immunoglobulin) for me.</p><p>A plan was made to deliver Calvin at Boston's Children's Hospital via cesarean section at thirty-five weeks to increase his chances of being able to breath on his own. A neurosurgeon and donor platelets would be available in case Calvin suffered hemorrhages in his brain and needed a shunt.</p><p>But Calvin began making his way into the world on his own a week earlier during an ice storm in Maine. Medevac helicopters had been grounded so we had no way of getting to Boston where specialists knew every detail of his case and were ready for him to come.</p><p>From our town's Midcoast Hospital I was transferred to Maine Medical Center, and since there were no matching donor platelets available, I underwent a forty-five minute pheresis—while having mild contractions—to extract my platelets in case Calvin needed them to stop a brain bleed. The pheresis left me with too few platelets to get an epidural without the risk of bleeding into my spine, so I had to go under general anesthesia. Since I would be unconscious, the surgeon would not allow Michael into the operating room, so, most regrettably, neither of us saw Calvin being born.</p><p>Calvin spent a week in the neonatal intensive care unit, the first sixteen hours of which he was on a respirator before being put on a C-PAP. He spent another two and a half weeks in the Maine Med continuing care nursery while I stayed restless nights at the nearby Ronald McDonald house and Michael commuted daily to and from work since at the time the college offered no parental leave for fathers. When Calvin was stable enough, we transferred to Midcoast Hospital where Calvin and I boarded in the labor and delivery ward for another three and a half weeks before bringing Calvin home for the first time.</p><p>The last twenty years have been a roller coaster which has only recently felt as if it might be slowing down and leveling out a bit. It has been a stream of doctors and nurses and phlebotomists and surgeons and therapists and needles and intubations and bruises and broken bones and surgeries and pneumonias and seizures on top of seizures on top of seizures and drugs after drug after drug and side effects ad nauseam. It has been full of grief and loss and worry and shrieks and tears and laughter and some joy.</p><p>And though Calvin has been ridiculously difficult to raise for all the reasons I've stated, and though we suffer daily the loss of what we thought parenthood might promise, it is in great part because of Calvin that we live an intensely rich life; we feel the myriad of human emotions—the joys, the sorrows, the regrets, the hopes—more profoundly than we might have, we believe. Because of Calvin, we have met hundreds of extraordinary people—doctors, nurses, therapists, educators, aides, mothers, fathers, strangers. Calvin has helped me to understand that this mundane thing I do, which is to feed him, bathe him, clothe him, change his diapers, wipe his butt, nurse him, is the most important thing in the world: to take care of another human being. And though I regularly fail, he inspires me to try to do it with grace and patience. He allows me to forgive myself when I falter. He loves me unconditionally. He is pure of heart without a mean or resentful bone in his body. And although I don't believe for a nanosecond that everything happens for a reason (I cannot believe in any divine or universal design or being that would make or allow a child like him to suffer so badly) he has given me great purpose and I hope he inspires empathy in others.<br /></p><p>And so, although I would always wish for Calvin to be healthy, to be free from suffering, free from seizures, drugs and their heinous side-effects, be able to speak, read, write, sing, run, play, I can wholeheartedly say that my Calvin is the best person I know, and that I am deeply grateful to be his mother and to celebrate his birth even though it was so hard on me and Michael.<br /></p><p>Happy birthday, baby. What a crazy twenty-year roller coaster ride it has been.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLhqQBAltHTOrAH3jj3xPlCP-jvX04kvztus8D6onfoQ9L9JamUyHfOdRSM4qrg6m2I2ppa5bCQ8NpktjUQSJBQbQRYsE5XmiHTFkkgVqmG_COSL0GB0JpZRvQIgxPAXLC_jWkj0ePAcOUMBVvNqt7wOyFdg8QcUGvQ4BgOJiZ_J1Qew3hrcxyyjFOXs/s648/20040207-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="648" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLhqQBAltHTOrAH3jj3xPlCP-jvX04kvztus8D6onfoQ9L9JamUyHfOdRSM4qrg6m2I2ppa5bCQ8NpktjUQSJBQbQRYsE5XmiHTFkkgVqmG_COSL0GB0JpZRvQIgxPAXLC_jWkj0ePAcOUMBVvNqt7wOyFdg8QcUGvQ4BgOJiZ_J1Qew3hrcxyyjFOXs/w640-h480/20040207-1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-84379908139155260702024-01-22T20:49:00.005-05:002024-01-23T13:45:30.612-05:00love at the grocery store<p>Most days I take Calvin to the grocery store. It's one of the few places he seems to tolerate and perhaps even enjoy. He smiles on the way in and on the way out and a little in-between. He stares at the florescent bulbs above the produce case. He pats any crinkly plastic wrapping. Though he can't steer it, he pushes the cart but sometimes lets go and stands in place for no apparent reason. Despite my attempts to thwart his efforts, he too often licks the glass doors in the dairy section. He tries to bite the metal shelving. Then he gives me copious hugs in the checkout aisle.</p><p>On most trips to the grocer we have some lovely encounters with friends, employees, and strangers. Sometimes, children will stare at Calvin in wonder. Often, adults will avert their gaze when they see us coming. Usually, elderly people smile as we amble by. On more than one occasion people have tried to give us cash, probably because they feel it's the only way they can help a mother with such a severely disabled child.<br /></p><p>Today was an extra-special day at the grocery store. After I pulled into the handicap parking space, grabbed a couple of reusable bags and a small cart, I saw an acquaintance. We said our hellos and our nice-to-see-yous as I wrangled Calvin out of the back seat. My friend and I caught up on various goings-on. I told him that we go grocery shopping almost every day, and how pushing the cart seems to make it easier for Calvin to walk, mentioning that the spring before last Calvin broke the femoral head off of his femur—in essence broke his hip—at school. I described how Calvin's one-on-one aides neglected to assist him as he walked around the room and attempted to sit in a chair, which he ultimately missed, causing him to fall and break his hip. My friend was clearly alarmed and upset to hear this and to understand that it's possible and even likely that Calvin suffers chronic subclinical pain from the injury and the three screws in his hip. Then, I asked my friend how his business is doing, knowing the hardship he faces keeping it afloat amid staff shortages and other stresses. There seemed to be a tacit understanding of each other's struggles, a feeling which, at least for me, felt good to share.<br /></p><p>Once in the store, as my friend and I parted ways, he said, "You are beautiful." I replied, "You are too!" as my eyes began to brim with tears of gratitude.</p><p>Calvin and I continued on and made our way through the produce department as he pushed the cart while I steered from beside the front end. As we rounded the corner from the bakery to the cold cuts, I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was still holding on. Lo and behold, he was still walking but his pants had fallen down around his ankles! Just then a man perhaps a bit older than I approached from behind. Slightly embarrassed though still amused, I said, "Oops!" as I pulled Calvin's pants back up and tied them as quickly as I could.</p><p>The man then said to me with a very slight slur, "I had a stroke three months ago and I still have double vision sometimes."</p><p>I asked, then, if he had seen Calvin's pants down. He said he had, adding with a grin as if to lessen my embarrassment, "It's America!" I laughed good and replied smiling, "Yes, it sure is!" We exchanged some niceties then went about our business.</p><p>Soon after, I saw the man in the dairy section. As we stood near the yogurt, Calvin licking the glass door, he told me more about the stroke he had had. He described how his beagle had saved his life by alerting him in the middle of the night that something was wrong, though the man had felt no pain. He said something to the effect that we all have our battles. He mentioned God and how everything happens for a reason, and I told him I didn't believe that, but that I <i>do </i>believe we can find purpose and meaning in life's unfortunate dealings, adding, "that is just as magical!"</p><p>The nice man asked if I was married, saying with a blush that grocery stores are about the only good places to meet women. I said I was, but assured him it was okay that he had asked, adding that none of us gets anything we want in life unless we ask for it. I gave him my card with a photo of me and Calvin on one side and my blog address and email on the back. He gave us blessings, and I asked that he say hello to us the next time he sees us in the grocery store. I hope he will.</p><p>And as Calvin and I left the store, random folks smiling at us as they walked by, I turned to look at Calvin, and there he was, still holding onto the cart with one of his cute goofy smiles for all to see. And it was beautiful, and magical, and I fell in love again.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qRSQ3AyTDKQjZ7SBlli5asZML7w6X_WFTilUNzHAL3mtqQEhTIEwby5lFx9zhqKdB4OXHxEGhfJKclqFFC6eMDDeMYWDaGdsMhKpj2JOytaKOLvu_RWLwEt8tSpazFPVT7MYcbZ7dDvZn8kPYrNqh_iFkhcm6Eb6LDOexridKho5LhCA_Ifqn67OFc4/s3179/IMG_2854.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3179" data-original-width="2660" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qRSQ3AyTDKQjZ7SBlli5asZML7w6X_WFTilUNzHAL3mtqQEhTIEwby5lFx9zhqKdB4OXHxEGhfJKclqFFC6eMDDeMYWDaGdsMhKpj2JOytaKOLvu_RWLwEt8tSpazFPVT7MYcbZ7dDvZn8kPYrNqh_iFkhcm6Eb6LDOexridKho5LhCA_Ifqn67OFc4/w536-h640/IMG_2854.jpeg" width="536" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-48518345734321188382024-01-02T13:31:00.000-05:002024-01-02T13:31:15.473-05:00precious notes from friends<p><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm
writing from Italy, today the sky was crystalline blue, the sun was
warm, autumn leaves astonishing. I can’t do anything to avoid your
suffering but I'm sharing today's sky with you.</i><br />
<br />
—Near Milano, Italy<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This
feeling of paralysis comes over me every time I read your blog. I first
came across it after my sister met you somewhere. I'd been curious about
Calvin for a long time; I often look in on your husband's photo blog
and had seen the photos taken at some big city medical facility and then
I got to see Calvin in real life at his school.<br /><br />Reading it
overwhelms me and grinds my thoughts to a halt. The only thing that
penetrates my stupor is a sort of vague feeling that I need to be less
impatient with my own kids, or that I'm not doing something right with
them ... or wasting my opportunity with them. It's very unsettling. I
make it worse by reading several posts in a row.<br /><br />I mean this as a reflection on me, not as a criticism of your writing.<br /><br />I
recall watching Calvin's bus driver kiss him on the top of the head
after she'd turned him over to one of the school aids at drop-off time.
It made me feel good that that particular woman had the job.<br /> </i><br />
—Brunswick, ME<br />
<br />
<br />
</p><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>I've become increasingly amazed by whatever it is that goes on
between a mom and her child—an instinct, a bond. I was totally unaware
of it when I was a kid. As a matter of fact, in recent years whenever I
talk to my mom (now 95) I begin by apologizing for all the crap I
pulled as a kid. I didn't really start to notice until my son got sick
and I saw it in my wife.</i></div>
<br />
—Santa Monica, CA<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Living
every day as if it were your last or the last day of someone you love
is a completely exhausting way to move through the world. And yet it is,
it seems, the only way.</i><br />
<br />
—Santa Fe, NM<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The
condition of imagining the place and perspective of the one who is
seemingly just beyond the place of ordinary understanding... just beyond
the reach of my love and spiritual communion, the one who knows that
she loves me but hasn't the foggiest clue who I am... is perhaps the
greatest of all existential challenges. Spinoza and Camus have nothing
to offer us here by way of wisdom. I have less than nothing to offer by
way of wisdom... nothing that I would offer as advice but to tell you
that the soul of the one afflicted is never afflicted. The thing that is
true about any of us is true of all of us. From the most gifted to the
most challenged: we are here...</i><br />
<br />
—New York, NY<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And
there is a kind of arrogance, a very particular kind, that comes with
the possession of good health...a superstitious arrogance...that regular
types can only see and appreciate when they exit, for a spell, that
lucky realm. </i><br />
<br />
—Roswell, NM<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /> </i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Christy, Christy, Christy, I wish I could put my arms around you and give you a big long hug.</i><br />
<br />
—Sammamish, WA<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /> </i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I
realized that some children are born sick and some die - there's no way
around it, it's part of life. Even more than healthy kids, sick kids
need very special caring and love—and why shouldn't we be parents of one
of them?? Why should we be exempt? Why should another family have to
bear the burden and not mine?</i><br />
<br />
—Darien, CT<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Happy New Year back to you....<br />from an errant friend....<br />from one caught in the web of limited time....<br />from one who selfishly gives to his kids & family....<br />who then gives to those intertwined therein in an expanding circle...<br />who takes his time when he can, too oft on the edges, which are becoming too thin....<br /><br />but a glimpse of wonder,<br />a moment of peace,<br />the taste of calm,<br />too passing & transient to hold--<br />but lasting & strengthening for those edges<br />which I hope will hold,<br />for my family's sake,<br />or my friends.<br /><br />You pass my mind more oft than my fingers linger here,<br />and with the passing, a smile & a blessing sent....<br />for you, and Calvin, and the family you hold dear.</i><br />
<br />
—Silverdale, WA<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9SF_qf8DUXs/TwBbF_7PegI/AAAAAAAABjY/56RsqAJJzB0/s1600/IMG_7313.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9SF_qf8DUXs/TwBbF_7PegI/AAAAAAAABjY/56RsqAJJzB0/w640-h480/IMG_7313.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-24201660174076955062023-12-19T10:47:00.002-05:002023-12-19T10:47:56.683-05:00hurricane force<span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x x4zkp8e x676frb x1nxh6w3 x1sibtaa xo1l8bm xi81zsa x1yc453h" dir="auto"><span id=":r9t:"><div class="x6s0dn4 x3nfvp2 xl56j7k"><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x1n2onr6"><span class="xzpqnlu x179tack x10l6tqk"></span></span></span>When running I almost never think about Calvin. It's my worry-free, angst-free, stress-free, un-calvin-centric time, and it's good and healthy and fun for me.</div><div class="x6s0dn4 x3nfvp2 xl56j7k"> </div></span></span><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r9u:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But on yesterday's 8.5-miler, as it rained like hell, and gusts up to 50 mph lifted and pushed and tossed me, I thought of Calvin and of how he does the very same thing to me. And I thought of this gorgeous poem written by a mother of a child not unlike mine, and of this time in Florida thirteen and a half years ago when Calvin was six and a half and when we could more easily take him places because he was not impossibly restless. And I thought about how the beachwind and the surfsounds and the sea and the heat and/or some unknowable suffering—and most likely an oncoming seizure—was upsetting him and, as always, it killed me to see it, to feel it, while simultaneously experiencing the luxuriousness, power and love of this particular kind of messy motherhood.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If nothing else, Calvin has, does, and will change me. He makes me feel alive, and feel joy and sorrow and so many other human emotions deeply, and that is some kind of amazing gift to be grateful for.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gentle Spirit</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">by Jan King </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></i></div></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="text-align: center;"><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">A gentle spirit has come into my life</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">To make me see things I did not want to see,</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">To make me feel things I did not want to feel,</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">To teach me things I did not want to learn.</span></i></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">This gentle spirit has hurricane force</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">That picks me up, turns me this way and that,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">And puts me down softly in a new place,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Always a new place.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">I cannot return to the safe warmth I once knew,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is gone forever.</span></i></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because of this fragile, gentle spirit,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Joy and sorrow have become intertwined</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">In a fiber of life that few can comprehend.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Because of this sweet, gentle spirit,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">I can appreciate what is often assumed.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJ_cgW8hF3yiAq9Fk6IJ-9_mhJi4e7m8shwkOS-PfgtN4WSnH5AnHAK6rKKydObsSXUfYvkmyUwKeMe3dtfM-k_zCenYuQyPA6rDIsXel-tIf9k3PAp59WNZzhfgqyYp2wMtSR4GNqyHAOfUWh4PmVld0HvmAamtZJCZ1jfIVeaKj-qsNrYU-ilTNXxA/s3000/795F70D0-70A0-4C30-89BE-B08A17F7F339_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2912" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJ_cgW8hF3yiAq9Fk6IJ-9_mhJi4e7m8shwkOS-PfgtN4WSnH5AnHAK6rKKydObsSXUfYvkmyUwKeMe3dtfM-k_zCenYuQyPA6rDIsXel-tIf9k3PAp59WNZzhfgqyYp2wMtSR4GNqyHAOfUWh4PmVld0HvmAamtZJCZ1jfIVeaKj-qsNrYU-ilTNXxA/w389-h400/795F70D0-70A0-4C30-89BE-B08A17F7F339_1_201_a.jpeg" width="389" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOz29fZWvdDJDeuPszzhFUEGdvUYkYhKQBJ9kPuouqc3oAP_RJzCa4vsCN1PDfTMavF72J3XdJCVxpAKRi-zG52uK_8uhXB-JKhPudw3mCyldAho7eCgM_LqGOGYGtYPo4N1EfG1aQf-uVsijEqdGREORxaPJSyE_fZgVkD8AjmCTR0CGOrAp5FZcesEk/s4000/A3E95560-94A2-4050-92DF-60F8C56EA669.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOz29fZWvdDJDeuPszzhFUEGdvUYkYhKQBJ9kPuouqc3oAP_RJzCa4vsCN1PDfTMavF72J3XdJCVxpAKRi-zG52uK_8uhXB-JKhPudw3mCyldAho7eCgM_LqGOGYGtYPo4N1EfG1aQf-uVsijEqdGREORxaPJSyE_fZgVkD8AjmCTR0CGOrAp5FZcesEk/w400-h300/A3E95560-94A2-4050-92DF-60F8C56EA669.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hCOR8g92JVaiFM4-3k2jfEq0sD5sEiBtHIs6DjO0DkhKvJfEg2IayA36u9gQzYxGJf_4EN2JCNkpIbbopDnr_Rel1zARsKN-N0WMJqKMJE3ReTNhtxT6B5ZkUMt1ZpVUkFVRUw3Yx4axtTrKkTfDYj3kqe7NaYGMD4O6LMpTHnO2GG-ppmlXjnN5zNY/s4000/AC98A90A-651F-45AB-B8FB-F5FD48ADEFB1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hCOR8g92JVaiFM4-3k2jfEq0sD5sEiBtHIs6DjO0DkhKvJfEg2IayA36u9gQzYxGJf_4EN2JCNkpIbbopDnr_Rel1zARsKN-N0WMJqKMJE3ReTNhtxT6B5ZkUMt1ZpVUkFVRUw3Yx4axtTrKkTfDYj3kqe7NaYGMD4O6LMpTHnO2GG-ppmlXjnN5zNY/w400-h300/AC98A90A-651F-45AB-B8FB-F5FD48ADEFB1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></i></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-7575660824667969782023-11-16T13:45:00.000-05:002023-11-16T13:45:52.050-05:00on running<p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">A little less than two years ago I began running in earnest for the first time in my life. My dear friend, Olympic gold-medalist and world-class marathoner, Joanie Benoit Samuelson, </span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">knowing that I had once been
a division I swimmer</span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">, had been asking me for years,
"When are you going to get back into the pool?" and, "You know, swimmers make good runners." </span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">I had long lost interest in swimming for fitness, in doing lap after boring lap despite how good my body felt moving swiftly through the water. But I was desperate to feel like my former
athletic self. More so, I pined for an escape, a respite—</span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">even if only fleetingly</span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">—from the responsibilities of taking care of my autistic, disabled,
chronically ill child, Calvin. I yearned for something to
occupy my mind besides the worry, anxiety, frustration and
disappointment that loom too large caring for someone like him. I needed something that was wholly mine. </span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">For the first fifteen months of the pandemic—before Covid vaccines were developed—we didn't send Calvin to school, didn't take our usual outings to the grocery store, and had given up our in-home nursing help. To pass the time, Calvin and I went for daily drives on the nearby backroads taking in the beautiful scenery and listening to music. On our drives I often imagined pulling over, getting out of the car and running into the vast meadows just to lose myself. It was during our drives that I spotted an ambitious and wicked-quick <a href="https://www.calvinsstory.com/search?q=the+runner" target="_blank">runner</a> who glided for miles and miles even in the harshest weather. I wondered what compelled him to run so far, wondered if he, like me, felt driven to run <span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>from</i></span> some sadness, burden or worry, <i><span style="font-family: georgia;">toward</span></i> some kind of reward, or perhaps a little of both.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">A year later, Joanie
gave me a pair of fancy running shoes in exchange for an ice cream cake I had made for her husband's birthday. That was the moment I knew I had
to commit to training for her world-renowned Beach to Beacon 10k, which she founded in 1998 and in which she had urged me to participate. It would be my first road race ever, and one that would get
me hooked on the sport and on competing again.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Since that first race in August of last year, I've competed in four 10ks, three
5ks, one ten-miler, and a half
marathon, which was in early October. I've enjoyed some small successes. Mostly, though, running has done for me what I hoped it would. I feel like my old
self again in many ways—more light and lithe and spry. I'm healthier and happier. My capacity to endure my son's troubles has, perhaps, expanded. </span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">I think—hope—I'm a better person, friend, wife, mom. </span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">I've befriended some sweet and amazing people whose generosity, expert advice and encouragement has
been essential to my accomplishments.<br /></span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Getting out
on the trails and roads, especially at my beloved Pennellville with its big sky, open fields, and expansive views across the water has been cathartic. I love to
feel the sun and rain and wind—and sometimes snowflakes—on my face.</span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><br /></span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">The one downside, however, is that I've been writing a lot less.</span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"> Notably, though, when running, I almost never think of Calvin (and therefore I don't feel at all
stressed or anxious.) I hear only the sound of my breathing and my feet striking the ground, the swish of my jacket, the song and chirp of birds and crickets, the babbling of brooks. I smell the sweetness of fresh-cut grass, clover, rose rugosa, smoke from a wood stove. I smile and wave
at passing runners, bicyclists, truckers. I drink in whatever Maine has to offer on any given day throughout the year. I lose myself. In short, I finally have a time and place where I feel
free.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Last week I signed up for the New York City Half Marathon in March with the hope of running with 24,000 other athletes over the Brooklyn Bridge, up Seventh Avenue and into Central Park (thanks to John Blood for that recommendation). I qualified for the event, but I missed the cutoff date for the guaranteed timed entry, so I'm hoping to be chosen in the random lottery which is at the end of this month. Cross your fingers, knock on wood.<br /></span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">I'll be forever grateful to the many lovely people who have brought me to this sublime place called running: my father, our family's original athlete who ran a 4:28 mile at the Naval Academy in 1948; my husband, Michael, who has been running four or five fast 5ks every week for nearly a decade; Joanie Benoit Samuelson, for urging me on for so many years; Rob Ashby, marathoner extraordinaire, who unwittingly inspired me to go the distance, and so many others since who have inspired, supported and encouraged me to keep on trucking. Thank you.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPIZaKbVL7h8JIxAfiPqBTSzCK_pZ99elswLQ_vUOSwn7qb95WomilGT8N0-5GdYm7AqmVecm3P8iWvw9GbceL9WUvgy-YsQtShLGGm0EE9E5VqGQ-bD3dJih9ndefb6AgUdb8KhE8_T9vEhODoEQz80AZzB-nEi8UEt5haKQ1MMqPZSc7DVE43e082I/s2939/CF609D73-7949-4E3E-BC89-45F12CA204E8_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2939" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPIZaKbVL7h8JIxAfiPqBTSzCK_pZ99elswLQ_vUOSwn7qb95WomilGT8N0-5GdYm7AqmVecm3P8iWvw9GbceL9WUvgy-YsQtShLGGm0EE9E5VqGQ-bD3dJih9ndefb6AgUdb8KhE8_T9vEhODoEQz80AZzB-nEi8UEt5haKQ1MMqPZSc7DVE43e082I/w640-h480/CF609D73-7949-4E3E-BC89-45F12CA204E8_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></a></div><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-45175912039456118072023-11-03T08:24:00.002-04:002023-11-03T13:50:01.061-04:00recent dealings<span style="color: #999999; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">a sick child. a string of painful restless nights for him. rude awakenings. too much missed school. the surgery to remove our dog smellie's melanoma. too many tiffs requiring apologies and forgiveness. a mass shooting in a nearby tight-knit community—eighteen people dead. the shooter's car and body found a mere mile from michael's studio. conversations about gun violence and gun safety measures. conversations about suicide and its reasons. softly schooling myopic, well-meaning people who think suicide is somehow a selfish act rather than from unimaginable suffering. steadfastly countering other people's ignorant comments on the topic. too many sleepless nights. another uncomfortable, contentious IEP. smugness. the feeling that others are disingenuous. mistrust. calvin's grand mal after five and a half weeks of seizure-freedom.<br /></span></span><p><span style="color: #999999; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and then, this poem reappears:<br /></span></span></p><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Peace of Wild Things</span></i></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When despair for the world grows in me</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">and I wake in the night at the least sound</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I go and lie down where the wood drake</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I come into the peace of wild things</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">who do not tax their lives with forethought</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">of grief. I come into the presence of still water.</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And I feel above me the day-blind stars</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">waiting with their light. For a time</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.</span></i></div><div dir="auto"><i style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></i></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">—</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wendell Berry</span></i></span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></i></span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1XSPoow6TPoAvYvqLSwjaRZDxmmge7R4oSYjcaf-bOLKfyyFLSND7k_B-YCQGsW2gpDi-nfKkI3tF2aD2Y6NpmgQAzNjWRprzrGz-BtQ05johFDOKcmhJ53v9MyjCUrBwgvogyQi9IYD8hrD1rGXm8StBQnGjvAOHoCEfxmGkTypT8gNsHe4fWfRetg/s8009/B8FEEE4E-D1D3-4CEF-8EC9-9FB6F7323F98_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3759" data-original-width="8009" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1XSPoow6TPoAvYvqLSwjaRZDxmmge7R4oSYjcaf-bOLKfyyFLSND7k_B-YCQGsW2gpDi-nfKkI3tF2aD2Y6NpmgQAzNjWRprzrGz-BtQ05johFDOKcmhJ53v9MyjCUrBwgvogyQi9IYD8hrD1rGXm8StBQnGjvAOHoCEfxmGkTypT8gNsHe4fWfRetg/w640-h300/B8FEEE4E-D1D3-4CEF-8EC9-9FB6F7323F98_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></a></div></span></i></span></span></span></div></div></span></span></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-31133596693672370592023-10-16T11:05:00.002-04:002023-10-16T11:05:17.175-04:00dear friend<p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5);">now i will be strong for you. i can. you will stay in my thoughts and you will shine. i know. focus on the little things. the smell of your coffee, the feeling of the sun on your face. the wind in your hair. the quiet of a back road. the taste of clover and salt in the air. the warmth of a loved one's hand. the feeling and sound of the ground under your feet ... tarmac ... carpet ... tile ... wood ... rubber ... linoleum ... sand .... grass. the happy din of knives and forks on a plate. the rich taste of dark chocolate. the sound of bees and birds and brooks—even the memory of them. the color of the sky at dawn. at noon. at dusk. in the middle of the night. the patter of rain on a metal roof. the beauty of wilting flowers. the happy creases in the corners of smiling eyes. the long embrace of a friend. the light caress of shower water as it trickles down your back. the smoothness of soap in your hand. the buzz of a crowd. linger on these little things and let them move you. let them make you weep. they can be a joy in and of themselves. let the other big stuff take a backseat, if only for a moment. know you will remain in my thoughts. </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5);">know i will listen and be there for you. </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">as you have been for me. because, despite my own burdens (everyone has them) i have an infinite reserve of strength for you.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5);"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivo_2dvCRUQurtx-PbdgXL3Q-AnHkAWR9Bw_pWHeOXa9cSPeq7SC0u-qXmDbunb7nxA1WHugXFbymaMVxYD3yh_XXexYJQkEzUuJ1FUUsW7XgFF_h8fy70F8ankb9kCYBfKrLmPYU2P8A4KxliQXC-8zpVIRFz2w1Pmxko092_myougEr8RCMCUVp1/s1600/30FC123E-7C84-4B97-89F7-4E7651E9E842_1_201_a.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1600" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivo_2dvCRUQurtx-PbdgXL3Q-AnHkAWR9Bw_pWHeOXa9cSPeq7SC0u-qXmDbunb7nxA1WHugXFbymaMVxYD3yh_XXexYJQkEzUuJ1FUUsW7XgFF_h8fy70F8ankb9kCYBfKrLmPYU2P8A4KxliQXC-8zpVIRFz2w1Pmxko092_myougEr8RCMCUVp1/w640-h448/30FC123E-7C84-4B97-89F7-4E7651E9E842_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-21618592819455575262023-10-06T13:04:00.000-04:002023-10-06T13:04:04.865-04:00sixty<p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">Despite
the fact that nineteen and a half years of stress, sleep deprivation, and frustration from raising Calvin has likely shaved a few
years off of my life, in my mind, spirit, and most parts of my body I
still feel thirty-six. Regardless, I woke up this morning entering my sixtieth year
of life, and though the wee hours of my birthday began with a restless Calvin
suffering from some sort of pain, from my perspective—one in which I try to practice gratitude, even for the mundane—life still looks
decently rosy.<br /><br />That fact is a testament that we humans are
resilient as shit, most of us able to handle the nasty curveballs hurled
our way at different times in our life. I don't believe in the
notion that everything happens for a reason and/or that God doesn't give us more than we can handle (I don't
believe in that kind of god, anyway) because I have seen pain and anguish push people I love over the brink. However, I do believe there is a
lot of good most of us can glean from bad things that happen to us. We can find
the generous pluses, for instance, amid the scores of miserable minuses
that a disabled child brings in the form of loss, guilt, despair, anger,
resentment, heartache, suffering, pain, sorrow, hopelessness, envy,
frustration, doubt. My sweet Calvin has brought me joy, love, patience,
empathy and the rare chance to witness a life that, if it weren't for
his physical pain, is as close to nirvana as any human might hope to
get.<br /><br />I have learned from Calvin how trivial material desires can
be, how petty some quarrels are, and I am getting better at
understanding how little it matters that he can't run on a cross-country team, can't speak two languages—much less one—can't excel in math
and science, can't work a computer, can't even trick-or-treat. Daily, I
hear stories of children—and their parents—who deal with seizures or
hunger or pain or disease far more heinous than Calvin's circumstance. And I feel so grateful that Calvin is simply warm and dry and safe and mostly happy
and living with a forever-evolving sixty-year-old mom who feels twenty-plus
years younger, and still feels up to taking on the world.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXstNZYA_m5sYEo1JKcPsRlR-SK_dt6bZ1Hwsub1lD13vEwU-bElqATCCJ12pM0hRiCNQ3rsZhdYdvtElp4biAG9zYk1PVLbA5433qklriaVs1PGsRZVnnh3os9W0_oMGWcS5hi4fP33LWiuFfmSJcJFD3rFrPSBbl46c8gy8VoHQCkX4Q5XM8vV67z8/s2548/C70F46D5-1073-4388-A6A3-618568E0EA56_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="2548" data-original-width="2228" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXstNZYA_m5sYEo1JKcPsRlR-SK_dt6bZ1Hwsub1lD13vEwU-bElqATCCJ12pM0hRiCNQ3rsZhdYdvtElp4biAG9zYk1PVLbA5433qklriaVs1PGsRZVnnh3os9W0_oMGWcS5hi4fP33LWiuFfmSJcJFD3rFrPSBbl46c8gy8VoHQCkX4Q5XM8vV67z8/w350-h400/C70F46D5-1073-4388-A6A3-618568E0EA56_1_201_a.heic" width="350" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-40293444459944379152023-09-22T13:23:00.004-04:002023-09-22T13:23:52.510-04:00rough patchA fortnight ago, Calvin completed nineteen weeks—three and a half months—without having any seizures. It was an all-time record. It's not hard to remember a time not that long ago when nineteen days would have been a record, and even nine days seizure-free was considered pretty good. <p>Sadly, the next day Calvin suffered back-to-back grand mals amid a low-grade fever. Four days later he tested positive for Covid despite not having any significant respiratory symptoms. It might sound strange to you, but I was actually relieved to know that he had Covid, which meant at least there was a knowable trigger for his grand mals as opposed to them just happening out of the blue. It will be interesting to see if he can go another months-long stint after he recovers. If history is any indicator, he may not.</p><p>And so, this past Monday was Calvin's tenth day at home resting, and during that time my patience thinned more than I'd like to admit. Calvin remains restless as ever, likely because of the drugs he has used in the past and/or the ones he is taking now. He still bites surfaces incessantly, and has begun to lean over and beaver away at the molding on the walls to either side of where his jumper hangs, he's that tall. He puts his fingers in his mouth and drools as much as ever, and puts his hands on my face constantly, so it is a miracle that I haven't gotten Covid from him. He has had terrible trouble falling asleep, and instead bangs on the wall or kicks the inside panel of his safety bed sometimes for hours despite being laid back down often. It drives me and Michael up the wall as it is impossible to ignore. We aren't sure why Calvin is tossing and turning as much as he has been since the Covid. It might be <i>because</i> of the Covid, but we can't be certain.<br /></p><p>It's blogs like these that cause me to consider scrapping it all together. I've become weary of writing the same damn thing over and over for almost thirteen years. Nothing seems to really change. I imagine a lot of you are tired of reading about the tedium, too. I'm not sure I'm learning anything new by exploring the same topics ad nauseam. Moreover, I want to feel less of the things that make me worry and mad and anxious. And it's hard not to believe that putting this stuff down in words isn't doubling the insult to me and my readers.</p><p>Sigh. <br /></p><p>On a couple of non-Calvin-centric notes, I've continued running and have been training for my first half marathon on October 1st. I love the way running makes me feel free, alive, and unencumbered. I'm also assistant coaching a parks and rec kindergarten through sixth grade co-ed cross-country team like I did in the spring, and it is so much damn fun.</p><p>Calvin is back at school and no longer has to wear a mask. He's begun eating better again, and last night was slightly more restful than of recent. Here's to hoping this recent rough patch is soon over. Cross your fingers and knock on wood.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgpDx4Sa_JNT9514vZR7bgp1zPDOjvQg5TTItrw8r3F-rlWV2wSSJSYkHAAPaV0OeieKz2GcfMZWkamOtzzRyyWzkaUAWlUY_qZ8Kqw-5kvBv5DHYu3X9tFmwzBBV25tFRb0O0AIb736ddBTxGPDhqYoDrfqdijD729zcMOls8t_o1Ux_Z7Ki7reSY6XY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3549" data-original-width="2982" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgpDx4Sa_JNT9514vZR7bgp1zPDOjvQg5TTItrw8r3F-rlWV2wSSJSYkHAAPaV0OeieKz2GcfMZWkamOtzzRyyWzkaUAWlUY_qZ8Kqw-5kvBv5DHYu3X9tFmwzBBV25tFRb0O0AIb736ddBTxGPDhqYoDrfqdijD729zcMOls8t_o1Ux_Z7Ki7reSY6XY=w539-h640" width="539" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-89462619890092171112023-09-11T15:33:00.001-04:002023-09-11T15:33:55.105-04:00get ready to cry<p>Long ago, my brother Scott forwarded an email to me. On first glance, it
appeared to have been one of those chain emails that I loathe receiving,
the ones that, at the end, tell you that you must forward it to others
and something good will happen to you. But it was not one of those.
Rather, it was a list of incidents relating people's humanity, empathy,
gratitude and grace, and what made it even nicer for me was its absence
of any mention of God; it was simply an account of the amazing creatures
we can be if we are open, loving and mindful of others.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Scott, for knowing that this was something I'd appreciate,
even though I'm often cynical and despondent, and for sending it on.<br />
<br />
Here it is for the rest of you. Enjoy:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I'm working
on for my Psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her
own words, she said, "Success is when you look back at your life and the
memories make you smile."<br /> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
I asked my mentor - a very successful business man in his 70s- what his
top 3 tips are for success. He smiled and said, "Read something no one
else is reading, think something no one else is thinking, and do
something no one else is doing."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
after a 72 hour shift at the fire station, a woman ran up to me at the
grocery store and gave me a hug. When I tensed up, she realized I didn't
recognize her. She let go with tears of joy in her eyes and the most
sincere smile and said, "On 9-11-2001, you carried me out of the World
Trade Center."<br /> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
after I watched my dog get run over by a car, I sat on the side of the
road holding him and crying. And just before he died, he licked the
tears off my face.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today
at 7AM, I woke up feeling ill, but decided I needed the money, so I
went into work. At 3PM I got laid off. On my drive home I got a flat
tire. When I went into the trunk for the spare, it was flat too. A man
in a BMW pulled over, gave me a ride, we chatted, and then he offered me
a job. I start tomorrow.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
as my father, three brothers, and two sisters stood around my mother's
hospital bed, my mother uttered her last coherent words before she died.
She simply said, "I feel so loved right now. We should have gotten
together like this more often."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
I kissed my dad on the forehead as he passed away in a small hospital
bed. About 5 seconds after he passed, I realized it was the first time I
had given him a kiss since I was a little boy.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
in the cutest voice, my 8-year-old daughter asked me to start
recycling. I chuckled and asked, "Why?" She replied, "So you can help me
save the planet." I chuckled again and asked, "And why do you want to
save the planet?" " Because that's where I keep all my stuff," she
said.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today, when I witnessed a 27-year-old breast cancer patient laughing hysterically at her<br />2-year-old daughter's antics, I suddenly realized that I need to stop complaining about my life and start celebrating it again.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
a boy in a wheelchair saw me desperately struggling on crutches with my
broken leg and offered to carry my backpack and books for me. He helped
me all the way across campus to my class and as he was leaving he said,
"I hope you feel better soon."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Today,
I was traveling in Kenya and I met a refugee from Zimbabwe. He said he
hadn't eaten anything in over 3 days and looked extremely skinny and
unhealthy. Then my friend offered him the rest of the sandwich he was
eating. The first thing the man said was, "We can share it.</i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>"</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-yuTKe55K3IQ3AfD5UtWYl-5ZdtOyxC_4YBwkiRJRhSml-N7DD8FzR3XE-F37zxQU15Qmg-lO5RzInvKn0wgcj6bO3ScLdeVUgfCPXOFGuUs5MDBx9ICIHy76ViMgB8wv-ZsKejVlXD8xDljeiYkcOotMSTCZEumEYTdChZvbW878H6jQjORtacSUSk/s2050/17826157-879C-4974-B2EE-01C83F95931B.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="2050" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-yuTKe55K3IQ3AfD5UtWYl-5ZdtOyxC_4YBwkiRJRhSml-N7DD8FzR3XE-F37zxQU15Qmg-lO5RzInvKn0wgcj6bO3ScLdeVUgfCPXOFGuUs5MDBx9ICIHy76ViMgB8wv-ZsKejVlXD8xDljeiYkcOotMSTCZEumEYTdChZvbW878H6jQjORtacSUSk/w640-h442/17826157-879C-4974-B2EE-01C83F95931B.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://www.owerko.com/" target="_blank">photo by Lyle Owerko–Gamma</a></i></td></tr></tbody></table></i></span></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-19532518314299395012023-08-31T12:08:00.005-04:002023-08-31T12:10:04.327-04:00what matters<p>While grasping Calvin's wrist, we limped along the narrow road toward the water. Every few seconds I wiped drool from his chin with the corner of the bandana tied around his neck. He grimaced as the wind whipped his hair and the sun beat his face. A couple hundred yards further, when we reached the tip of Simpson's Point, I plopped him down at the top of the decrepit cement boat launch. It was a stunning day, and the mild waters of high tide had attracted the usual crowd of sunbathers, swimmers and waders.</p><p>We sat for a spell and visited with a few friends before a Parks and Recreation employee approached and instructed me to move my car because the back bumper extended inches beyond a no-parking sign. I hadn't noticed my error when parking, nor had I noticed it when I had wrangled Calvin out of the car, making sure neither of us would careen into the ditch at the shoulder. And though I was peeved that we had to leave our perch prematurely, I was grateful that we'd had a few minutes to soak up the sun before our day's "adventure" was cut short. On the way back to the car, the employee again approached and said he'd been wrong, that my car wasn't over the mark. By then, however, having made Calvin walk all way the back to the car, I decided it was best just to leave than to make him do it all again.<br /></p><p>All summer, and especially on weekends, I've been lamenting my imprisonment with Calvin (Michael usually works several hours on Saturdays and Sundays, too, and Mary usually can't help on weekends.) Though Calvin has not had a seizure in over four months, lately, he seems restless as ever, and less interested in spending time in his beloved jumper, which means more of our time is spent walking in endless loops around the house and yard, and driving loops around the back roads in the car. </p><p>I had been mourning my loss again—the loss of not having had a healthy child. If things hadn't gone so wrong nineteen years ago, on a day like Sunday Calvin likely would have been off on his own, hanging out with friends, traveling the world, going for bike rides and runs, to the beach, to the park, on a boat ride, paddling, water skiing, fishing, skateboarding, hiking. Who knows?! And I'd be enjoying the day to myself, or with Michael even, perhaps in the garden or at the shore with a book in my lap, or simply walking a long stretch of beach without a little ball and chain weighing me down.</p><p>Later on, I took Calvin to the grocery store. We go there virtually every day. He likes to push the cart—it seems to make it easier for him to walk—while I steer it from the front. Even before entering the store, he gets a big grin on his face which only widens when he gets to cruising down the aisles, and especially when we head to the meat department which is his favorite. He loves to stand holding onto the low edge of the case and stare up at the florescent lights. It's near impossible to pry him away, and we end up making several stops at various spots along the case between getting other groceries.</p><p>Often, fellow shoppers smile at us. Some will tell me what a good mother I am, or remark on the love I show Calvin as we embrace in the middle of the produce department or in the check-out lane. On a few occasions, strangers have even given us cash, which I try my best to refuse.<br /></p><p>When we exited the store, Calvin still had his big goofy smile on his face. It made me think about how happy it makes Calvin just to hang out in the familiar grocery store with its colors and lights and shiny, crinkly packaging. It made me think of how happy it makes me to see him like that. It made me realize that I don't have to be in some exotic place for days, or climbing some mountain, or visiting a new city to feel true happiness. Rather, what matters is the simple, easy, mundane moment—whether rounding a bend in the car and looking back to see Calvin contentedly chewing on his macrame rabbit, his shoe or big toe, or five minutes with our butts parked at Simpson's Point, or a half hour in the grocery store standing mid-aisle—with my sweet, smiley, loving kid in my arms.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicFzDFqqbzdCntQKYMWa9wFNcSnh9RSy-JwjJuHc5Wmv250HEP5c_b1cYQSdYfhtgF-erP6UdROXd3s6LZoMqJGptZt4SiNH_xWV5FyKuXvfl_V3l8qpgA-ZcEkVqNy1322KHANVyWmZuweY8DYtD9U1EyWx8xkksCiP381iXm-FehrszXElwZLUVJ5bQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicFzDFqqbzdCntQKYMWa9wFNcSnh9RSy-JwjJuHc5Wmv250HEP5c_b1cYQSdYfhtgF-erP6UdROXd3s6LZoMqJGptZt4SiNH_xWV5FyKuXvfl_V3l8qpgA-ZcEkVqNy1322KHANVyWmZuweY8DYtD9U1EyWx8xkksCiP381iXm-FehrszXElwZLUVJ5bQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9rHCPkhFoG8zoPP0W3FVPf92k2g3o0475SrPcK0dt2bdFe70-skgUe7DJO0N-22PA8vu4z8By3SPAq_LzSgwqu0dLPhKjCObylrM3nuowOpiM8NEJSL2uSIgqfzMG4K4vK53Z-he19rkxJjh9dLFmOj9IrJp5fA0tPmhRq6UjnqZIywMpCdAQSrtE-MI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3738" data-original-width="6196" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9rHCPkhFoG8zoPP0W3FVPf92k2g3o0475SrPcK0dt2bdFe70-skgUe7DJO0N-22PA8vu4z8By3SPAq_LzSgwqu0dLPhKjCObylrM3nuowOpiM8NEJSL2uSIgqfzMG4K4vK53Z-he19rkxJjh9dLFmOj9IrJp5fA0tPmhRq6UjnqZIywMpCdAQSrtE-MI=w400-h241" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3447" data-original-width="2784" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKCvR_kK2Y7m9MHXXZGfdG8iBPUSexqzZji4Gyty3PgiXxAvnHYqNtLXhE-lgiJFrmAVCpWQ8MncbiqQJjbbbkB7PZ2vBLvSpu9kjIewLSQtESQDW9IE0MzUCQKNewixgUcS6pmLwS4bYFdfMviRZGFEIreOw9OwPip13ETZvRS7i_xo7oJ8EaJmlQRJI=w323-h400" width="323" /></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-21285385114564250972023-08-04T14:05:00.003-04:002023-08-04T14:08:44.179-04:00setting records<p>In July, this kid set a new personal record by going three months without having any seizures! No doubt Calvin is benefiting from one of his two new-ish drugs, Xcopri, (the other being Briviact.) It does seem that having fewer seizures has helped him feel better overall; he is having fewer manic outbursts, wakes up content and goes to bed smiling when we hug and kiss him.<br /></p><p>Amid fewer seizures, and therefore less anxiety and worry for us, we've been taking him to a few more places. On average, he has been more compliant about walking. We are seeing him smile more often—not just at bedtime—which warms my heart. Here he is walking at one of our favorite haunts, Simpson's Point, which we have visited by car probably thousands of times, particularly during the pandemic when Calvin did not go to school for fifteen months and was unable to access remote learning (because he is incapable.)</p><p>Now Calvin's brief and abbreviated summer school is already over, and so he is left with zero services for the entire month of August. That means we will be taking more car rides and walks and trips to the grocer. He's pretty game for it all, at least more than ever.</p><p>Thanks for all your love and support. Sorry I'm not writing as much these days. For now, suffice to say we're all doing well!<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiLNEwClLZeM8tbpUt8ds-s3CLyz-_aAiOCsI-3NiMsdwo0r1M9Kd7sUQ3qyNMwpGx4zGrdyQ04uHVSBqHQEPpG_-OIQzbExg7ojz1DEAL9JpzZAefnL8Xnl0t1fCUH9iM-SpuM5UgmQfyj6n-g1NcdUJqltPABVTRdv6IehRYOO7O6ScSJCO9oA2Cyg/s4032/D8C2D2F6-9FC6-4AA8-86A7-148CD2CEA226.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiLNEwClLZeM8tbpUt8ds-s3CLyz-_aAiOCsI-3NiMsdwo0r1M9Kd7sUQ3qyNMwpGx4zGrdyQ04uHVSBqHQEPpG_-OIQzbExg7ojz1DEAL9JpzZAefnL8Xnl0t1fCUH9iM-SpuM5UgmQfyj6n-g1NcdUJqltPABVTRdv6IehRYOO7O6ScSJCO9oA2Cyg/w480-h640/D8C2D2F6-9FC6-4AA8-86A7-148CD2CEA226.heic" width="480" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-7621436897418219482023-06-27T11:56:00.002-04:002023-06-27T11:56:29.152-04:00good news<p>my days are still taken one at a time. days are long. time is short. sleep is thankfully less elusive than it used to be. and i have some good news ...<br /></p><p>one of calvin's new drugs, xcopri, is helping him sleep better. it has also helped him to go sixty days without any seizures on the heels of a forty-eight-day seizure-free stint. xcopri has also allowed us to completely wean calvin off of the homemade thca cannabis oil i have been making and giving him for nearly ten years! i'm so grateful i was able to provide it for him for so long because it seemed to help his seizure control, but what a relief not to have to source the cannabis flower, buy it, get a liquor license to purchase and ship the 190-proof organic alcohol i use for extraction, make the oil, measure it and administer it!<br /></p><p>calvin is on track to have just a fraction of the forty-two grand mal seizures he had last year. If he continues to be seizure-free on his current xcopri dose of 200 mgs, he will end the year with only seven grand mals and one focal seizure! That may be the fewest seizures he's had since first being diagnosed when he was two years old.<br /></p><p>as calvin enjoys better sleep and longer stretches between seizures, he seems to be happier. he smiles more when we hug and kiss him. he seems slightly more compliant when we take him places. at school, they are having him wear a compression vest, which they say calms him. i'm grateful for every bit of this and so pleased i can share it with you!</p><p>besides all this good calvin-related news, my personal joy has been coming from near-daily running, taking photos, baking, and a bit of gardening. i would like to post to my blog and work on my memoir more, but i am trying not to "should" myself. i am simply hoping to find joy and some sense of freedom from calvin-related worries.</p><p>so, forgive me if you don't hear from me much these days. i'll try to keep checking in, and i'll try to write something that is more than simply an occassional news update.</p><p>be well, friends. xoxo</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj25yiFiH5HUyB6NjoKiqE84GKlIVwQ9jON4MBjr6ocuSdL-RlSBicpjQ5L042QaXvkC2SZyLge2rrvtMKLSryq5AndpZL8uTilpqGsyq8bm7uVtg73AJczICXi9wkSrG_jhXe0QREYlmv7G8X8nb-IxIcPka2cByAKZn_rxeH74VMOEv2Jfe22qlI0vI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj25yiFiH5HUyB6NjoKiqE84GKlIVwQ9jON4MBjr6ocuSdL-RlSBicpjQ5L042QaXvkC2SZyLge2rrvtMKLSryq5AndpZL8uTilpqGsyq8bm7uVtg73AJczICXi9wkSrG_jhXe0QREYlmv7G8X8nb-IxIcPka2cByAKZn_rxeH74VMOEv2Jfe22qlI0vI=w640-h482" width="640" /></a></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-7669210095671333442023-06-09T14:40:00.003-04:002023-06-09T14:41:13.902-04:00maddiA week ago today, I dropped off my beloved niece, Madison, at the airport after a week of fun with her while Michael was in Wyoming for two and a half weeks at an artist's residency. On the drive home, I kept thinking about images like these in which she is demonstrating her life-long (Calvin's life) love for my son, her little cousin.<div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While she was here, I felt like I was on a mini vacation. We did things that I rarely do. We got take-away Thai and Indian food, lobster rolls at a working dock, and went for a long walk on the beach. We sat outside around a fire a few times, and enjoyed just shooting the shit and getting reacquainted. <br /></div></div><p></p><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r1rg:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Ever since Madison was a little girl, she has been interested in and has had a fondness for Calvin. She really does love her little cousin. The week she was here, I found out that Madison is also an AMAZING caregiver. I've seen exactly no one besides me and Michael love and take such good care of Calvin. She needed very little training or reminding of even the smallest detail. Her love for him is so authentic, and she expresses it in so many ways and tells him often throughout the day.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It heartens me to know that, should anything happen to me and Michael, Madison will become Calvin's guardian. I wept on the car ride home thinking of that, because Calvin is the sweetest soul I know, and I want the very best for him when we are gone, should he survive us. We have found exactly that in Maddi.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And so, in the wake of this last week, my love and gratitude for her has welled up and spilled over. And, better yet, she might be coming back in August!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Love you Maddi. You make the world a better place.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPiJjPPK7XOpsf8VG--LSeFEQP17oUkDQrV9jy5NVq6pOM3Nl-tZYfPtIkjThK70Tw2jl_0bp7c4uRvYjFArtzq9CMuk7pJxzU81_hacNR4E7PydP1C4SJLV10h-QYS_Oj9tFiT5QXuzDd-fjWuhYsWrbvJoySDwq7AHE1H-sPp2pPhyVYMSbbrwU0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPiJjPPK7XOpsf8VG--LSeFEQP17oUkDQrV9jy5NVq6pOM3Nl-tZYfPtIkjThK70Tw2jl_0bp7c4uRvYjFArtzq9CMuk7pJxzU81_hacNR4E7PydP1C4SJLV10h-QYS_Oj9tFiT5QXuzDd-fjWuhYsWrbvJoySDwq7AHE1H-sPp2pPhyVYMSbbrwU0" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCz4RLILetSWZbBp666fPMEeFwQjNx8pJqKnI5dUtxfpO_5-UsCqCqLNjT9seeshAYKzL2ZK7lYdnpDhX9koRrrxulPsRl9JbTlcpQ1sr6DPZbwaBZqRqkvDvmlKM-nUj0gs25C-qoRqmUrLgyGJKi2vN8akXnsnVtGWk-0HRFClRdiNOGa5Kec_B5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCz4RLILetSWZbBp666fPMEeFwQjNx8pJqKnI5dUtxfpO_5-UsCqCqLNjT9seeshAYKzL2ZK7lYdnpDhX9koRrrxulPsRl9JbTlcpQ1sr6DPZbwaBZqRqkvDvmlKM-nUj0gs25C-qoRqmUrLgyGJKi2vN8akXnsnVtGWk-0HRFClRdiNOGa5Kec_B5" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOMz7vh2eYcGTJwd2AdgYWBvb_hWsf2gDoTFaKaQtPSyZwW_DaCDHQEuY7KWdFeasxMSPtDUvU2ByXup6Lr6DkdVWX5zvIUgwqtSx3i5_dcToTyrOjGoPU7MYdv2g6bmJQidNtwfQLbwhQFo4umoAFFecaoW3oqkUalnPM-auiuxYHyZbuBIP_zJNs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOMz7vh2eYcGTJwd2AdgYWBvb_hWsf2gDoTFaKaQtPSyZwW_DaCDHQEuY7KWdFeasxMSPtDUvU2ByXup6Lr6DkdVWX5zvIUgwqtSx3i5_dcToTyrOjGoPU7MYdv2g6bmJQidNtwfQLbwhQFo4umoAFFecaoW3oqkUalnPM-auiuxYHyZbuBIP_zJNs" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZmoQiVQQ_S2pIoRoFYjhLMGc2ovylxYZipnqrRSGrdp-Q9VPUgoAapWoOB34JJmJCGvDHae-scq0aDis5JmNDql88ztvUWKfFPSRtuPetOpyLdx-gr1SzYQUt-37K8f0eJqIg_tRuAeqMByJAwH0hxi428Nr4pnYqdnAR9HN4zMdJQtB6VL0D7Bd8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZmoQiVQQ_S2pIoRoFYjhLMGc2ovylxYZipnqrRSGrdp-Q9VPUgoAapWoOB34JJmJCGvDHae-scq0aDis5JmNDql88ztvUWKfFPSRtuPetOpyLdx-gr1SzYQUt-37K8f0eJqIg_tRuAeqMByJAwH0hxi428Nr4pnYqdnAR9HN4zMdJQtB6VL0D7Bd8" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJKoiiUieyh-htjJ89P7R4Ld6MUhK3k2LFvwWrUYZFMS3FHN1FB9ud3nVO5wAhwp3x8eVGVfhu9X_A965MAy5XtaYCVnafJsmmbxELRnlEc1qc7e-uM-kgDXMuU_B2JFPKbTiVnLheB0INEaHoBTS4YxJH3eIfwYPu_t9YPXr0VbfJalU_UKSaSaRF"><img alt="" data-original-height="3392" data-original-width="2886" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJKoiiUieyh-htjJ89P7R4Ld6MUhK3k2LFvwWrUYZFMS3FHN1FB9ud3nVO5wAhwp3x8eVGVfhu9X_A965MAy5XtaYCVnafJsmmbxELRnlEc1qc7e-uM-kgDXMuU_B2JFPKbTiVnLheB0INEaHoBTS4YxJH3eIfwYPu_t9YPXr0VbfJalU_UKSaSaRF=w340-h400" width="340" /></a></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-84967291916060710832023-05-22T12:16:00.001-04:002023-05-22T12:16:47.485-04:00huck finn<p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">From 2012 </span><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>We
had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on
our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made
or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they
happened; I judged it would have took too long to make so many. Jim said
the moon could ‘a’ laid them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I
didn’t say nothing against it, because I’ve seen a frog lay most as
many, so of course it could be done.<br /><br />—Mark Twain's Huck, from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</i></span><br /><br />In
recent years I’ve been taken with reading and rereading the classics
... Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great
Gatsby, Nabokov’s Lolita, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. I love them all. This time through
Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, though, I am looking at the
characters’ exploits from a much different perspective than when I was a
youth.<br /><br />The other day, after an entire day of wonderfully
backbreaking gardening, I washed off my dirt-smudged face, pulled on
some cowboy boots, donned my leather jacket and took off on a ride. She
started right up with the kind of meaty, gravely purr I’ve quickly come
to love. In some ways, driving my motorcycle feels liberating, like
riding a responsive, obedient horse, bringing her to a gallop with the
flick of a wrist—zero to fifty in no time flat.<br /><br />Cool air rushed
up my sleeves as I meandered down Mere Point past impressive granite
shelves sprayed with heather and flox, trees caked with lichen, and some
apricot-colored buds dotting a pine canopy. The air smelled fresh but
of nothing else. Near the end of the road the sky opened up as did the
land, and I could see across a clear-cut parcel to the water. At the
boat launch I cut the engine and sat quietly gazing across the inlet.<br /><br />Once
the residual buzz of the motor gave way, my senses drown in the sounds
of chirping birds, waves lapping the shore, and the sun on my face. At
the end of a long pier, two lovers embraced as if they were alone in the
world. The pier, with its weathered wooden slats, reminded me of the
raft that Huck Finn and Jim floated down the Mississippi river. I
thought about how their fantastic journey was as much about forging
their companionship as it was about their physical adventure.<br /><br />I
studied the lovers—her pale arms contrasting with his black hair and
shirt, their legs disappearing over the side of the pier, perhaps
barefoot as I imagined Huck and Jim to be, dipping their toes into the
water like I'd done before. The lovers remained as I shut my eyes and
imagined Huck and Jim floating, tossing twigs into muddy water, fishing
for their breakfast, building campfires, telling tales, getting to know
each other's realities which were so very different and yet so perfectly
matched, not unlike some fathers and sons.<br /><br />I reminisced about
some of my escapades as a young person and the curious friendships I’ve
formed over the years. Then I considered, as I’m known to do, that my
boy Calvin will never enjoy the luxury of getting into the minds and
thoughts of other folks. And then a stream of consciousness overcame me .
. .<br /><br />he’ll never fish from a pier with his dad or build a
campfire or sleep by himself under the stars or embrace a lover or tell a
story or ride a motorcycle or captain a raft or talk with a friend
about the origin of stars or read a book or write a word or cook a meal
over hot coals and a flame or swim like a fish in a river or catch a
firefly or gallop a horse or forge a friendship like Huck and Jim or the
lovers or most anyone in the world or write a work like Samuel Clemens
might have thought of doing when he was Calvin’s age.<br /><br />Then I
started up the engine and continued my own little escape up the road not
far from the water's edge and under the invisible stars.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYWok6As0kt0SDDJ13Kz4sro9YO9X0DUUu0tuZEx1Loim6FekfZ0aO-TDm4EtSx2ZmQIARRwaNSAs4XaddFYyA_3Nw5R_FBL50l9fo2DEugsxgvVZrsh1E3TS4XXJmYFR1sQv5PxCssgepmdjaGl31Ur4h8YzVYaXO7Q2Xw4zR4Fqwjo2PLyjtmPg/s1067/C3F29CAC-DD1A-47B7-9DBE-95A0641FEA23_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1067" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYWok6As0kt0SDDJ13Kz4sro9YO9X0DUUu0tuZEx1Loim6FekfZ0aO-TDm4EtSx2ZmQIARRwaNSAs4XaddFYyA_3Nw5R_FBL50l9fo2DEugsxgvVZrsh1E3TS4XXJmYFR1sQv5PxCssgepmdjaGl31Ur4h8YzVYaXO7Q2Xw4zR4Fqwjo2PLyjtmPg/w640-h518/C3F29CAC-DD1A-47B7-9DBE-95A0641FEA23_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999;">Thomas Hart Benton, <i>A Social History of the State of Missouri:
Huckleberry Finn</i> (detail of north wall), 1936, Missouri Department of
Natural Resources, Missouri State Museum.. From cover of Gerald Graff and
James Phelan, <i>Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: A Case Study in Critical
Controversy</i> (Boston, Bedford Books, 1995).</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-40731389622676817362023-05-15T12:32:00.000-04:002023-05-15T12:32:11.801-04:00mother's day<span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto">Mother’s Day has often been bittersweet for me—not a day to necessarily celebrate—what with Calvin’s autism, chronic epilepsy and other disabilities, and <a tabindex="-1"></a>my own mother’s slow decay from Alzheimer’s years ago. Yesterday, as usual, I experienced a mix of emotions thinking back to the day when Michael and I learned that our unborn child had something terribly wrong with his brain, that for some unknown reason—despite the healthiest of pregnancies—our baby was missing a significant amount of white matter in his brain. Those days leading up to and including his birth were some of the most difficult days of my life, and remembering them is painful.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">As a child, on Mother’s Day, my siblings and I gave my mom funny cards, some store-bought, some not. My brother Steve once made her a wooden plaque in the shape of a shield sprayed green and gold with the words BEST MOM AWARD. She hung it on the kitchen wall for years. In junior high school shop class, I made Mom a groovy plastic flame-colored envelope opener and a wooden chopping block. On Mother's Day she often got flowers and plants and, later, Mylar balloons. Sometimes I drew her cards with birds and hearts and flowers that said, “I love you Mom.”</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">Every Mother’s Day, I know that none of these kinds of things will be mine.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">But the first sound I heard yesterday morning was Calvin calling, “Uh-uh”—his way of saying “Mama.” I went to him, removed the netted canopy from his bed, unlatched and lowered the safety panel and crawled in with him. A huge smile spread across his face as he began showering me with hugs and kisses.</div></div></span><p>Mother's Day cards and gifts will fade or be thrown out, get packed up into some anonymous cardboard box in the basement or be lost in moves. Flowers will wither, balloons will deflate or sail away, plants will one day die. But these memories I have cuddling with Calvin will last forever, if not always in my mind, then in my heart, in the marrow of my bones, and mean more than any bit of material evidence I could glean from a son on Mother’s Day.</p><p>At least that is what I tell myself. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkglREHCN8DAx3Ws3ScTkr1ws9VGezFEfdt4zlvovY9sWMwMv-WEK0ZNvPqB-bfZHFj2Ca4Hki88omv_01usEg7z7T2yXK-in_alx2aWKkcJDMrEcpPSHS7lM5PU7Oc0EodHwxPJ8pfcRz5WFxXwt_kH2K1sh6_N5lt0Iz1EvCsh9iNReXKzSpK2H/s475/8D73BBB3-44AD-4FBA-96F4-DB3BFEFE1CAE.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="475" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkglREHCN8DAx3Ws3ScTkr1ws9VGezFEfdt4zlvovY9sWMwMv-WEK0ZNvPqB-bfZHFj2Ca4Hki88omv_01usEg7z7T2yXK-in_alx2aWKkcJDMrEcpPSHS7lM5PU7Oc0EodHwxPJ8pfcRz5WFxXwt_kH2K1sh6_N5lt0Iz1EvCsh9iNReXKzSpK2H/w640-h594/8D73BBB3-44AD-4FBA-96F4-DB3BFEFE1CAE.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-54841705594465381462023-04-30T14:46:00.004-04:002023-04-30T14:46:29.380-04:00joy of sport<p>i began swimming competitively at the age of six. in high school, i earned all-american honors as the lead in the washington state champion 400 freestyle relay. later, i was voted most inspirational and, as a senior, team captain. i then went on to compete for the university of washington (NCAA division I) and central washington university (NAIA) where i earned academic all-american honors and was voted team captain the year my team won the national championship.</p><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r17h:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto">i had some <a tabindex="-1"></a>really great coaches along the way, including my big brother, scott, who helped me realize much of my potential at an early age. i wasn't always one of the better swimmers at that level (i trained with and competed against a couple of olympians), but when my heart was in it, and with the right coaching, i did okay, learned a lot about dedication and hard work, and realized how strong i could be.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto">i put myself through college by life guarding, teaching swim lessons and coaching summer league swimming and waterpolo to some incredible, zany, hardworking, talented kids between the ages of four and eighteen. i helped them go from being nearly last in the league of about thirty teams all the way to second place. i am still in touch with some of them, and they are still amazing.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">after college i was chosen second alternate for the USA's northwestern region women's water polo team for the goodwill games.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">though i worked for many years in the apparel industry as a designer, i often describe my coaching as the best, most enjoyable and rewarding job of my life.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">in the last year i've taken up running in earnest and have done well competing in 5K, 10K and 10-mile races. i hope to one day run a half-marathon event.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">well, thursday was my first day as a volunteer assistant coach for the topsham travelers kindergarten through 5th grade cross-country team of about 50 kids. i get to coach thirteen, or so, 5th graders, which thrills me, since i love tweens and teens. they're such rascals.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">since calvin is not capable of participating in sports, this opportunity for me to coach, encourage and inspire children and to see their joy of sport is especially welcome. i get weepy just reading that sentence.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">thursday was a total blast (thanks mary for taking care of calvin)! i had so much fun in the warm spring sun before some gorgeous, leaden clouds moved in and we got totally soaked just as practice was ending. i got to hang out with a few other great women who are also volunteer coaches. i led the entire group of kids in stretches, gave them high-fives, employed my ear-piercing finger-whistle with great effect, encouraged the fast and slower runners, praised them, gave a few tips on pace and form, taught respect and good listening. i wish somehow i could find the time to get a more regular coaching gig. it fills my heart with joy. maybe some day. for now, i'm simply gushing ... and terribly grateful.</div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAkkTWNFmlxrsp9vBkzle9W1pogacrnxsH1aU-vt3HFMERsb9YT8OacCKZQieBV9BCl0QJCltW4CQc9mprhL80PRTMGA9JdOof-tgS3kocpHIMfz3XCKUIa9j03b9YMJNJ1vNyfSc0f9lH5Ybcor1Ymkp_IVKwarcHJT6a-ckRXKnC-MeSCX16nro/s2696/AE7EB7E8-551E-4283-9A7C-F3540BC35F5D_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2696" data-original-width="2320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAkkTWNFmlxrsp9vBkzle9W1pogacrnxsH1aU-vt3HFMERsb9YT8OacCKZQieBV9BCl0QJCltW4CQc9mprhL80PRTMGA9JdOof-tgS3kocpHIMfz3XCKUIa9j03b9YMJNJ1vNyfSc0f9lH5Ybcor1Ymkp_IVKwarcHJT6a-ckRXKnC-MeSCX16nro/w344-h400/AE7EB7E8-551E-4283-9A7C-F3540BC35F5D_1_201_a.heic" width="344" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: georgia;"><i>caught in the downpour!</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span></div></div></div></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-42585413001978071292023-04-21T14:36:00.001-04:002023-04-21T14:36:29.157-04:00catching a breather<p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">run—away, to, from, for something. feel alive. free. breathe. fly. skate. soar. smile. wave. weep. see—oceans, vistas, trees, owls, ochre leaves. smell hay, </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"><a style="cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a></span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">clover, salt, goats, sea. anticipate. hope. vibrate. sting. ache. forget. dream.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">i've been trying to do all the those essential things, to take my own advice so i can do more than merely survive, but so i can thrive amid caring for someone with so many basic and dire needs as my son calvin.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;"><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">but in reality, calvin, his caregiving, his advocacy, have always gotten in the way, which is why i haven't written in a while. i'm</span> really sorry! i</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">'ve been dealing with reams of calvin-related paperwork, a struggle with his school district over the problematic shift and significant cutback of his summer school, his ongoing doctor's appointments, blood draws, and diagnostic imaging meant to follow up on his previously broken hip, his pneumonia, his gallstone(s), and the placement of a stent in his pancreatic duct during an </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangiopancreatography</span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> (ERCP) procedure last month. but i finally found the time to catch a breather and write.</span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #999999; white-space: pre-wrap;">since calvin's ERCP, he has been doing pretty well. he hasn't had waves of that excruciating pain that landed us in the hospital on New Year's Eve, nor has he had a seizure in forty-one days—his second-longest stint in what is probably close to a decade! he seems to mostly be in good spirits, and is sleeping fairly well. he takes moderate doses of two newer anti-seizure drugs, xcopri and briviact, and i have cut his thca cannabis oil dose in half without any problems.</span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #999999; white-space: pre-wrap;">so, too, calvin's receptive communication seems to be improving. his ability to "tell" us what he wants (a bath, juice, to go outside, to get on the bus or go for a car ride) is also better. though it's not easy or fun, i'm focusing more on his profound autism, and looking for ways in which we can work on improving his problematic behaviors to make it easier for everyone to take care of him (i'd like to simplify his treatment).</span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #999999; white-space: pre-wrap;">as for my own personal non-calvin-centric endeavors, i've been running a lot and training for my first ten-mile road race, which is this sunday in portland, maine. i'm hoping for good things. i'm hoping it doesn't rain, though that isn't looking very promising. i'm hoping for a fast time. i'm hoping to see friends and meet new people. running has been a savior and helps make my life feel more okay.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">and so, since i often feel like i need a break, a respite, a </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">lifesaver, i'll hopefully be able to keep running and smiling and waving and weeping and, as often as possible, dip into nature to soak up all it has to offer, forget all the rest, and continue to <span style="background-color: white;">hope, vibrate, sting, ache, forget, dream.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWcT2Ri0Mh4YIgO3FpChNuVo-_fXhm1zniG9dHmItfkTfxDO9JmVZ4bkpIlah9-Jcr1WOFPsOY_cNNVkge0DE_C24X8TVVO-O1xCG9vq_hpSjL7f8-nr97BZW_2wFEhlpzemsgvl0X6j-ip413_awddjvUHkn67ztzK5BB-s_5-jgtIGftvKZwya3/s3088/70CB615E-54B7-411B-A874-6113E28CB5BB.heic" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWcT2Ri0Mh4YIgO3FpChNuVo-_fXhm1zniG9dHmItfkTfxDO9JmVZ4bkpIlah9-Jcr1WOFPsOY_cNNVkge0DE_C24X8TVVO-O1xCG9vq_hpSjL7f8-nr97BZW_2wFEhlpzemsgvl0X6j-ip413_awddjvUHkn67ztzK5BB-s_5-jgtIGftvKZwya3/w480-h640/70CB615E-54B7-411B-A874-6113E28CB5BB.heic" width="480" /></a></span></span></div><p></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-84223534140178305852023-03-11T14:08:00.005-05:002023-03-11T14:08:57.100-05:00weekend update<p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">At 3:30 this morning, Calvin had his first seizure in three weeks. Since beginning the drug, Xcopri, in November of 2021, he has been enjoying "longer" stints, including one seizure-free span of forty-five days. We haven't seen any focal seizures for over a year. So, despite a trip to the emergency room last April when he broke his hip at school, then having to undergo surgery to install three metal screws to fix it, and despite another trip to the emergency room on New Year's Eve for an excruciating case of <span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);">cholelithiasis (</span>gallstones), plus gastroenteritis and aspiration pneumonia, Calvin looks to be heading for his best seizure control in years.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">As far as the gallstones go, Calvin had an e<span style="caret-color: rgb(87, 87, 87);">ndoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) </span>procedure at the hospital on March 1st. After waiting for three hours in a type of holding cell, he again went under general anesthesia. The procedure, which involves the insertion of a scope into his esophagus, went fine, though the physician did not find the gallstone that was allegedly stuck in his common bile duct. Instead, what the doc found was "sludge"—bits of stones and/or fat, perhaps—which he cleared out. He also widened the sphincter where Calvin's common bile duct enters the duodenum, so that future stones can pass more easily into the intestine and are less likely to block the pancreatic duct, which can result in serious, sometimes lethal, consequences.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">So, I guess one could say that the ERCP was successful. Calvin is eating well again and thankfully has not exhibited the kind of pain we saw him experience in December and January.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">So, that's the update, folks, except to add that hopefully Calvin's seizure this morning will turn out to be a one-off.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Thank you for your thoughtfulness and well wishes. As always, they mean the world.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUacsBiPbxfUvZHQvV36qGj5OfEVZ8Eb5iIDXdskuY4-ozKh832KWGla20y2urjdzPVzNdKE-1Lhakqwas-WaIYeGvHZwmqkrfLaSUmcZf6XXamaul3vH1qBoKPaaOYBDFYFWU0kdSJdLGG3ynXbNnxAlUN7A7kRc_YGFK-SVemXf6nMG49QR3q1PM" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3904" data-original-width="5765" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUacsBiPbxfUvZHQvV36qGj5OfEVZ8Eb5iIDXdskuY4-ozKh832KWGla20y2urjdzPVzNdKE-1Lhakqwas-WaIYeGvHZwmqkrfLaSUmcZf6XXamaul3vH1qBoKPaaOYBDFYFWU0kdSJdLGG3ynXbNnxAlUN7A7kRc_YGFK-SVemXf6nMG49QR3q1PM=w640-h434" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #999999; font-family: georgia;">Calvin waiting patiently to be prepped for the ERCP</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-35136089700424133912023-02-28T13:33:00.003-05:002023-02-28T13:33:24.675-05:00hope and trepidation<p><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tomorrow morning, Calvin and I will finally make our way to Maine Medical Center for his e</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);">ndoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (</span></span></span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999;">ERCP)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);"> meant primarily to remove at least one gallstone that is stuck in his common bile duct and which </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999;">probably caused</span><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999;"> the excruciating waves of pain and elevated pancreatic enzyme that landed him in the emergency room on New Year's Eve. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #999999;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);">Calvin</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> has likely needed this procedure for weeks if not months, but it</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> has taken this long to get it on the books because—although every radiologist who read Calvin's CT scans and sonograms reported seeing at least one decent-sized gallstone—one of Calvin's providers wasn't convinced</span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86); color: #999999;">. Eventually, the procedure was scheduled, but then Calvin brought Covid home, and we had to postpone the operation a week.</span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);"><span style="color: #999999;">The ERCP is not technically a surgery. It is an endoscopic procedure during which Calvin must undergo general anesthesia. The gastroenterologist—one of only two in Maine who has the skill to perform this operation—will insert a scope through Calvin's mouth into his esophagus to look for ulcers, etc., then go on to remove the problematic gallstone, perhaps having to widen the common bile duct so it passes more easily.</span></span></p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86);"><span style="color: #999999;">This will be Calvin's fourth time under general anesthesia. In the past, he has faired well, but the risk of dangerous complications is far worse for someone like him who is neurologically compromised and prone to getting pneumonia which, by the way, he was diagnosed with on New Year's Day. The last time Calvin had to have general anesthesia was last April during surgery for the hip he broke at school </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86); color: #999999;">(a clean break at the base of the femoral head)</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(77, 81, 86); color: #999999;"> when his aides let him walk around by himself and attempt to sit in a chair, which he most regrettably though not surprisingly missed (his vision and coordination are not good).</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">It is hard to put into words how gut-wrenching and nerve-racking it feels to watch your sweet, nonverbal, cognitively impaired child be wheeled down a hallway with a bunch of strangers into an even stranger room (operating rooms are cold, chrome, sterile places) without any understanding of what is about to happen or why, and without mom or dad by his side to comfort him. To say the experience is worrisome is an understatement. It is the cause of great trepidation.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">And so, </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">using the gastroenterologist's patient portal,</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"> I wrote to the physician who will be performing the ERCP:</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">"</span>can i stay with calvin until he goes under general anesthesia?"</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">The doc replied within minutes, "yes. you can stay with him."</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">I breathed a sigh of (some) relief.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">With any luck, the procedure will go off without any hitches, Calvin will make it safely out from under the anesthesia without aspirating or suffering from too much irritability, and we'll be home sometime tomorrow late afternoon or early evening. Hopefully, Calvin will get some immediate relief from the prolonged pain and discomfort that this gallstone has likely caused him and, hopefully, he'll be protected, at least for a while, from the dangerous sometimes lethal effects that gallstones can cause.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">Sadly, Michael cannot join us because it has not yet been ten days (hospital protocol) since his Covid diagnosis, and because he'd miss another day of teaching; I urged him into staying behind. Thankfully, one of my besties, Barbara, is going to drive me and Calvin to the hospital in Portland, and another bestie, Matty, will shuttle us back so I can attend to Calvin's needs on the drive home.</span></p><p><span style="color: #999999;">Until then, cross your fingers and toes. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0gkbcdgl1kBHCIGoTY1YHX1dGY2_JqrSPAqyvtYzf7o2Su_pyh6jdwBrichezKaPJXPnu1lPhlf5mEWzBHdhrCA95pMzakOwHfDIzOujw1qqSauW23P902eL0LO2LDE7FUbfoaVmb1ErZ1M4Mp8GW4o8LpHBmLgo6mdRddkG6pAGuAVX7U8Ckwwd/s2492/2884890A-FABA-4E32-AFE3-E25F3ACD3591_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #999999;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1977" data-original-width="2492" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0gkbcdgl1kBHCIGoTY1YHX1dGY2_JqrSPAqyvtYzf7o2Su_pyh6jdwBrichezKaPJXPnu1lPhlf5mEWzBHdhrCA95pMzakOwHfDIzOujw1qqSauW23P902eL0LO2LDE7FUbfoaVmb1ErZ1M4Mp8GW4o8LpHBmLgo6mdRddkG6pAGuAVX7U8Ckwwd/w640-h508/2884890A-FABA-4E32-AFE3-E25F3ACD3591_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #999999; font-family: georgia;">Michael, in white, escorting Calvin as far as allowed before Calvin's hip surgery last April.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-7297595915667461512023-02-14T12:28:00.001-05:002023-02-14T12:28:36.801-05:00reason and being, purpose and meaning<p>I watch as a boy of five or six falls off of his bicycle. Somewhat remarkably, he lands squarely on his hands; his feet quickly follow. Having escaped injury, he rises and claps triumphantly, then begins to do a goofy, self-styled boogie, which is perfectly annoying to me. The caption on the video reads, "This should be your reaction when life challenges you."</p><p>For starters, I'm not a fan of the word, "should." I try not to "should" anyone, including myself. The rest of my cynical response to the video was—like most things—informed by my profoundly disabled, nonverbal, seizure-prone son. Calvin had just come off of a very shitty few weeks which began with back-to-back grand mal seizures, followed by waves of excruciating pain of unknown origin, the likes of which reminded me of Hollywood torture scenes. Ultimately, Calvin landed in the emergency room on New Year's Eve with an agonizing case of viral gastroenteritis and/or a problematic gallstone, which—after reviewing X-rays, a CT scan, and several blood draws taken at ungodly hours—the doctor said had likely caused the aspiration pneumonia in Calvin's left lung. We were released from the ER the following morning, and though I was relieved to be out of there, I didn't feel like dancing a jig; I felt only grateful that it seemed we may have dodged the latest bullet in Calvin's lifelong barrage of them.</p><p>Calvin reminds me daily that not everyone is equipped or inclined to celebrate or give ourselves high fives after life's nasty pitfalls, even if we eventually land on our feet. Sometimes, some of us come away from challenge and hardship feeling confusion, guilt, insecurity, anger, angst, resentment, exasperation, despair. My first reaction to the dancing boy was to acknowledge that not everyone is sailing along in life in the first place, or lucky enough to avoid misfortune such as hunger, war, poverty, displacement, abuse, injustice, depression, the death of a child, or one born to a life of profound physical and cognitive limitations and miseries, like Calvin. Call me a Debbie Downer for criticizing what some might consider a harmless, light-hearted video. I mean, I get the gist, and I'm generally an upbeat optimist who sometimes even welcomes challenge, however, I look at certain subjects through a more serious lens than others.</p><p>The video also reminded me of the countless times people have told me that everything happens for a reason. Though the sentiment is meant to be comforting, I generally respond by disagreeing, then go on to explain my preference for the notion of <span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>gleaning</i></span> great purpose and meaning from life's hardships (a practice which can also be elusive to some) as opposed to there being some mysterious reason baked into every awful thing that happens. If I probe, some folks claim that bad things happen to teach us lessons. I usually respond by telling them I am not worthy of my son's suffering. Others say we can't know the reasons for mishaps and tragedies, but that God has a plan. I'm always left wondering: if there is an omnipotent god with a plan for everything, why does it so often include godawful misery, and how is that not deeply disturbing if not unthinkable? Would an all-powerful god orchestrate every little scrape and bruise I get and/or the immense suffering my son endures? Does God stage and sanction starvation, war, genocide? What kind of god has a reason—and what in God's name could that reason be—for the torture of "his" beloved children at the hands of others, or from excruciating illnesses? And if God <i><span style="font-family: georgia;">isn't</span></i> responsible for orchestrating horrors such as mass shootings, catastrophic fires, floods and earthquakes, then why doesn't "he" rescue us from suffering? Even we puny humans will do virtually anything in our power to save our children from pain. Why doesn't God? And if there is a reason for everything, what does that say about the notion of free will? Lastly, some people say God is testing us, and my immediate response is to ask: for what purpose? To what end? Is God conducting some test of fidelity, and if so, what deep conceit does that reveal? And what would be the point of testing us, knowing we are impossibly fallible beings?</p><p>I've found myself ruminating over the bicycle-boy video and related conversations for weeks, and I'm taken back to my childhood. Despite being raised Catholic, I began doubting the existence of a merciful, omnipotent god when my best friend's two-year-old sister nearly drowned in their nearby swimming pool. I had been outside when I heard the dog barking and the mother discover her baby girl lifeless in the water. I had never heard a grieving human shriek and howl so animalistically. She fished her daughter out of the pool and resuscitated her. The child survived, but was in a coma for at least a week and emerged from it no longer a toddler, having lost every one of her acquired skills. Her recovery, while not utterly complete, took years. I'm surprised her mother survived the ordeal, and I wondered if she felt as if God were punishing her for some petty transgression. It didn't make sense to me that a merciful god would allow any of "his" flock to suffer and grieve so deeply. It all seems so utterly senseless.</p><p>In continuing to ponder the theory that everything happens for a reason, I wondered if maybe that reason is merely that we <i><span style="font-family: georgia;">exist</span></i>. Perhaps it's as plain and simple as that: we exist, and therefore things happen to us. It seems reasonable that all things great and small, as in nature—rain, sunshine, hurricanes, earthquakes, moss growing on trees—just occur without any divine reason. In other words, as the saying goes, shit just happens. It makes sense to me—and frankly is far more comforting than the notion of a god with a secret plan sitting idly by while we are tormented—that our every move <span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>isn't</i></span> governed, decided, judged and orchestrated by a god. And, too, maybe overcoming life's nasty challenges and curveballs isn't always reason for smug celebration, but rather, a time for reflection, gratitude and humility, especially considering so many of our fellow beings, through no fault of their own, live in a world of misery.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDPEeGwkgB023so9xYFWrLy6SlGF7oVaA6YH5re4iQTB2bw8Z-sSjpOt68XT_Ntmf5Ll-K1q2Zmwy9maP3Dgo8TdUd6C1zU1ZwHqe--S9hP0utd0C8rkVz25QDfZIHHIGUk4_nXxUN4nwJ3WdvahCN1ERIxlmaxbeh5XwIpsmlEl5G5OCRpnyjye3/s2956/B41DBAA9-55C6-4EED-888D-16716040367C_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2956" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDPEeGwkgB023so9xYFWrLy6SlGF7oVaA6YH5re4iQTB2bw8Z-sSjpOt68XT_Ntmf5Ll-K1q2Zmwy9maP3Dgo8TdUd6C1zU1ZwHqe--S9hP0utd0C8rkVz25QDfZIHHIGUk4_nXxUN4nwJ3WdvahCN1ERIxlmaxbeh5XwIpsmlEl5G5OCRpnyjye3/w640-h530/B41DBAA9-55C6-4EED-888D-16716040367C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: georgia;"><i>Photo by Michael Kolster, August 2021</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-52518774310069803042023-02-07T08:58:00.002-05:002023-02-07T10:14:46.325-05:00nineteen<p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Nineteen<span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"> years ago today—six weeks before his due date, two weeks after a sonogram revealed an alarming absence of white matter in his brain, and a week before a scheduled cesarean at Boston's Children's Hospital—Calvin came into the world during an emergency cesarean at Portland's Maine Medical Center—in the middle of an ice storm. I guess that's how he rolls.</span></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Seven weeks passed before we brought Calvin home from the <a style="cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a>hospital. At the time, Michael's employer did not offer parental leave (oh, how we could still use some) and, while Calvin was in the neonatal intensive care unit fighting to thrive, the college asked Michael to take on an ill colleague's course of classes in addition to his own. Thankfully, for our sake, he said no.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Every evening after work, Michael made the thirty-mile drive to Portland to be with me and Calvin in the hospital before spending the night with me in the nearby Ronald McDonald House where parents of sick children are provided meals, a comfortable place to sleep and, for some, a private place to grieve.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Halfway through those heart-wrenching and difficult first seven weeks, when Calvin became just strong enough to be transported via ambulance, he and I took up residence in our local hospital's labor and delivery ward. Every night for three and a half weeks, Michael brought me a home-cooked meal, which we ate together at a little round table in the corner of the room while Calvin slept. Our friends, Ta and Jerry, and Michelle brought us meals, too.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">I hear parents remark, often lamentably, about how quickly their children grow up. I get the sentiment; I feel the fleeting passage of years in my life, too. In some ways, yes, Calvin "grew up" in a blink. But his nearly-imperceptible and in most ways halted progress has had a way of slowing time to a crawl; I mean, I'm still changing diapers after nineteen years; that kind of thing can have the affect of stunting time. But the protracted passage of time has led me to be mindful of every moment of the past eighteen years, and to have felt them deeply—beginning with the tragic sonogram, the fear, the feelings of grief and loss, the hopelessness and uncertainty, the joy and surprise, the frustration and resentment of raising a child like him. I've done and been through some difficult things in life, but nothing compares with this marathon. At the same time, I've felt the most extraordinary love for my nonverbal, legally blind, autistic, enigmatic, impossible child who has virtually been joined at the hip with a me for nineteen years. Suffice to say, it's been a wild ride; I'm exhausted and proud.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Last year, instead of celebrating Calvin's transition into manhood, I began his eighteenth birthday by cradling him in my arms like a baby again, my eyes stinging and welling up after four days of seizure-related worries, woes and sleep deprivation. The world looks blurry through watery eyes and wet lashes, and I thought about how much easier it would be to raise him if it weren't for relentless seizures and drug side effects that make him so irritable at time, and impossibly restless. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">This year, the day began as most do more recently, which was with a long and strong embrace from Calvin, including mutual back rubs, as he stood in his pajamas after I helped him out of bed and before I changed his soaking diaper and onesie and got him dressed for school. It has been nine days since his last seizure having avoided one on the full moon, so we have that to celebrate, too.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">At nineteen, my sweet Calvin still cannot utter a word, put on his own socks and shoes, eat </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">independently</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"> with a spoon, follow most instructions, turn a door knob, read a book, choose items at the grocery store, calm his body or be by himself. Still, there are moments of joy with my heartbreak kid, who can both exasperate me and melt me into a mess of motherly love. I guess, in that sense, we're no different than any other mother and child.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOjYLkVqcPiDB-KqKO2-_qqko8hVnfnZnMirOpytp7GOJ2OhHNjY8IUCqSSmLtmNih3ySLP06xC_t9nJ-eFKX6BDuxvknvnawi7m-YREEGP69YxJxbIPcpu1wtRvp3WJ0OFH7mbsLF1okKqguzSTzZLH4qt46l1Bp98UFtni-mb7NA8qfzMLda2Ve/s2802/656AFADA-F6BD-4537-87F7-C1929ECCD79B_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2464" data-original-width="2802" height="562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOjYLkVqcPiDB-KqKO2-_qqko8hVnfnZnMirOpytp7GOJ2OhHNjY8IUCqSSmLtmNih3ySLP06xC_t9nJ-eFKX6BDuxvknvnawi7m-YREEGP69YxJxbIPcpu1wtRvp3WJ0OFH7mbsLF1okKqguzSTzZLH4qt46l1Bp98UFtni-mb7NA8qfzMLda2Ve/w640-h562/656AFADA-F6BD-4537-87F7-C1929ECCD79B_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></a></div></div></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-43678770549436639682023-01-27T15:18:00.009-05:002023-01-27T15:20:49.169-05:00other<p><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">Everywhere I go, I am reminded of how much Calvin is—of how we are—different, “other.” In the cafe or grocer, little children peel off of their mothers’ sides to come and stare—front and center, bug-eyed, sometimes sullenly—at my boy. As a kid, I would’ve responded sarcastically, “take a picture, it lasts longer.” But now, I simply gawk back at them just as curiously as their little, serious faces peer at Calvin. They’re probably thinking, </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.2px;">what’s his problem</i><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">? A kid once asked me that in the neurologist’s waiting room.</span></p><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">At twilight several weeks ago, I stopped at the main intersection in the middle of town. Calvin was in the back seat pulling his usual shenanigans; biting his shoe, poking his eyes, happily flopping his arms to the music like a turkey. I noticed a driver in the SUV next to us ogling Calvin and looking vaguely repulsed. I gazed back at her for what seemed like five minutes before she noticed me, and then, when I caught her glimpse, I smiled. She didn’t smile back, just stared at me seemingly locked inside some paralytic, perplexed state of shock or disgust. Her handsome, oblivious teenage boy sat in the passenger seat with headphones stuck into his ears. Somehow, I felt sorry for her as she drove off.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">Then, there are those who see us and smile. Some watch us fondly from inside the grocery store, Michael pushing a cart while I do damage control holding Calvin’s hands as he teeters drunkenly around displays of fruit and bottles of wine. They watch us bring our booty to the register where the clerk asks if Calvin might like a sticker and I graciously decline knowing he’d just try to eat it. They watch us move hand-in-hand through the wide automatic doors cheering Calvin along as he pigeon-toes across the parking lot cawing like some bird. They watch us load his screeching-drooly-spastic-sac-of-potatoes body into the car, buckle him up and kiss him. These precious few know something. I can see it in their compassionate eyes, hear it in their kind words. They’re the type of people you just want to embrace, or adopt and bring home, set them up in their own room with a warm blanket and a cup of tea. Often, they’re old with leathery wrinkles and moist, red eyes. Some are young and vibrant, oozing sparkling energy like a dewy chrysanthemum or a sunbeam. All of them touch me with their kind gestures that often bring a familiar sting to my eyes and a thickening in my throat. I see the same in Michael’s watery eyes sometimes, and it makes me love him that much more.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">I’ve always felt different from the rest of my own family in most ways. Michael too. You know, the black sheep, the weirdos. And we like it that way. It feels good to see the world in somewhat unconventional ways, to see life through a sort of prism with all its refractory qualities, angles of light and color, shimmering, bending, dark at times. And now, with Calvin, life appears remarkably unlike anything we’ve experienced before. We’ve gone through another metamorphosis, see life through yet another filter, one that if our child were healthy, normal, we might never have known. Each year living with Calvin strips back another layer—like some withered bark or faded, brittle skin—of what we thought we knew but didn’t. Though life is hard, it’s always new and changing—we are changing—and it feels good, right. And in great part due to Calvin, we know and live “other” and embrace it.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999;">There is a beautiful scene in the Terrence Malick film </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tree of Life</i><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="color: #999999;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">, <span style="font-family: inherit;">set in 1950s Texas, where a mother takes her young sons to town. Crossing the street behind her, the boys pass a swaggering drunken man who tips his hat to them. The brothers mimic him laughing, cutting zigzags and bumping into each other as if inebriated themselves. Another stumbling man approaches, his body queerly arched to one side, his arms drawn up to his chest like a squirrel, dragging one foot nearly on its ankle. They stare but do nothing, noting the peculiar but sad circumstance of his disability and, perchance—in their minds—noting the sorrowful state of the drunken man. Lastly, the brothers skirt past a dirty, disheveled man in shackles. Their mother lifts a drink from her thermos to his parched lips. One son asks in a whisper, perhaps to himself, </span></span></span></span><i style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">can it happen to anyone?</span></i><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); color: #999999; font-size: 13.2px;">Yes, it can. I know. It can happen to good people and bad people, to adults and children, to saints and heathens. We can all end up being singled out, gawked at, mimicked and shamed, but by those who sadly, and for whatever reason, don’t have the sublime ability to look through life’s beautiful prism and see—embrace—the poignant beauty that is “other.”</span><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgFNwxuB5KVpwOfL_0E73qzhM7R_0rmCN5MyEtEEY785OW-8Bm87kRmA38UgpraWsZ0Cmd17gicEOakgOBJgNXfE3BfOxh6CcJHGUFgi9h7d2BcsubTCxe_8HrIGAr4WGgv1R_378hrEzNOFvIKJQJMCUpeOU0Wa1a1ESFfHtJOl-YHudZi28890d/s4032/8CE4D0D4-D8A9-42DB-9378-265A12FADD55_1_201_a.heic"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgFNwxuB5KVpwOfL_0E73qzhM7R_0rmCN5MyEtEEY785OW-8Bm87kRmA38UgpraWsZ0Cmd17gicEOakgOBJgNXfE3BfOxh6CcJHGUFgi9h7d2BcsubTCxe_8HrIGAr4WGgv1R_378hrEzNOFvIKJQJMCUpeOU0Wa1a1ESFfHtJOl-YHudZi28890d/w640-h480/8CE4D0D4-D8A9-42DB-9378-265A12FADD55_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></a></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5895440453335552117.post-86306248745745023542023-01-04T20:27:00.001-05:002023-01-04T20:27:45.168-05:00new year's eve<p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">Calvin and I</span></span><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;"> spent New Year's Eve in the ER. It was the first New Year's Eve in decades that I've stayed awake past midnight! Calvin and I both got some sleep, but were interrupted numerous times at ungodly hours for exams, IVs, blood draws, vital signs, a CT scan, an X-ray, and an unsuccessful attempt at getting a urine specimen. Through all of it, my ailing, tired and uncomfortable child was a superstar.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span><span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Earlier that day, we went to see the doctor because Calvin had been experiencing waves of excruciating pain—pain so bad it seemed as if he were being </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">stabbed in the gut repeatedly</span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">. The doctor ordered a blood draw. Later that night</span></span></span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">, s</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">he called to tell us that his pancreatic marker, lipase, was three times what it should be. She advised us to go to the ER immediately for possible complications of acute pancreatitis. The blood draw at the ER, however, showed a normal lipase level, and the CT scan indicated that his pancreas looked fine. The ER doctor noted, however, that there were a handful of gallstones she said we should keep an eye on.</span></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">The CT scan also revealed a case of aspiration pneumonia in the lower part of Calvin's </span></span><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">left lung, </span></span><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">possibly caused by regurgitation stemming from his case of viral gastroenteritis. They sent us home the following morning with a prescription for a two-week course of antibiotics. Still, my gut tells me that his pain may be stemming from the gallstone(s).</span></span></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Despite the exhausting array of tests and interruptions, the care at our local hospital ER was amazing. Those folks work their asses off, only to be abused by rude and unruly patients (one man was screaming at them in the hallway in the middle of the night. My guess is that it was about wearing a mask. I feared he might get violent.) </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">Right now, Calvin is safe and sound in his cozy bed in hid dad's arms with his favorite toys. Since coming home, I've been able to go for daily</span></span><span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> runs. On New Year's </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Day</span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">, despite feeling like hell, I was grateful I could run out at my beloved Pennellville on such a beautiful, misty and balmy morning. </span></span></span></span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">As I ran, I thought about the hell we regularly go through with Calvin—some Hades worse </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">than</span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> others. But in later recounting New Year's Eve to Michael, who had finally left us in the ER around eleven o'clock that night at my urging, I realized how amazing the whole experience was. With tears in my eyes, I related to Michael how the CT-scan technician, Matt, </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">had put the lead vest on me as if he were helping me with my jacket at a dinner party. His concern for me and Calvin was palpable in the grace and gentleness he exhibited.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went on to ponder our fortune at being admitted to the ER by my dear friend, Michelle, who is a nurse and whose daughter, a classmate of Calvin's, is very much like him. She gave me tons of hugs and assured me we were in good hands. Also, upon arriving at the ER, we were greeted by a kind, elderly gentleman. I don't remember his name, but while we waited with our limp and listless boy slumped in his stroller, the man approached to visit with us. He wondered, based on having heard me say our address, if we might be affiliated with nearby Bowdoin College. We told him that Michael teaches photography there.</span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">"My son used to teach there," he replied, then </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); white-space: pre-wrap;">told us his son's name, which didn't sound familiar.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">"He died eighteen years ago ... from cancer," the man said, and as I expressed my sorrow, tears welled up in his eyes.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">He went on to mention his daughter-in-law, who also teaches at the college.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yes, we love her! She has donated many times to epilepsy research on Calvin's behalf!" I told him.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just then, a bed in the ER became available, and so I gave the man a hug goodbye, while wishing we could sit and visit longer.</span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Later, in reviewing</span> the events of New Year's Eve, I realized, despite its myriad stresses, what a rich experience that night had been. I recognized, that while I wasn't touring Manhattan or Rome or Los Angeles or Iceland, I was having a profoundly memorable experience, perhaps more meaningful than if I were at a party with friends or traveling the world. It became clear that the strangers I met that night really meant something to me intimately, even if our encounters were fleeting—and maybe Calvin and I meant something to them.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">Slowly, Calvin is recovering. He's drinking fluids again and taking a bit of food—applesauce, banana, dry toast and, today, nonfat yogurt. His bouts of pain have mostly passed. We will take him to see a general surgeon tomorrow to discuss his gallstone(s) and whether he needs to have his gallbladder removed. I hope not.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">In the meantime, as I spend most of these days nursing Calvin—changing his diarrhea diapers, taking his temperature, giving him meds, offering fluids and food, cradling him in my lap as he sleeps—I'll continue to ruminate on the manner in which we rung in the New Year, which, no doubt, I'm not likely to forget, except, perhaps, when I run.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: #050505;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyYTgj68DQ-Tnn2S2p9vXIU8Consg7gH9HfuqbNYgoqYhuEzk5bChhoQqNWkHZlHVR7zsOFRzVU71MsbHjig3q3LoKWYapnQn9azx8n96p6ZZvBQaFhDrxl5JPw9FtfwlJmh4GUcF98w9hg2engph8l2DUX3VvMEKbIhqrE3t2jOGOcswu3HbuRISY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyYTgj68DQ-Tnn2S2p9vXIU8Consg7gH9HfuqbNYgoqYhuEzk5bChhoQqNWkHZlHVR7zsOFRzVU71MsbHjig3q3LoKWYapnQn9azx8n96p6ZZvBQaFhDrxl5JPw9FtfwlJmh4GUcF98w9hg2engph8l2DUX3VvMEKbIhqrE3t2jOGOcswu3HbuRISY=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div></div></div></div>Christy Shakehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00106761191160700997noreply@blogger.com8