May 2004 Archives

Today, I feel like celebrating. I want to open my 2001 bottle of
Orvieto Classico wine and enjoy it with some really good Italian food
and revel in my memories of our first trip to Italy three years ago.
The drinking of the wine will have to wait until after the baby is
born, but I just feel the need to hear the familiar sound of a cork
being freed from it's bottle of vintage. That popping sound is the
heralding of good tidings and joy and I want to rejoice.

Ever since Doug and I got engaged on December 13, 1997 we've made it a
priority to celebrate all the special moments in our lives with
champagne or wine and we save all of our corks as reminders of happy
times. Every once in a while I look through our collection of corks
and remember all the little things we've celebrated because we've
labeled each cork with a date and occasion to remind us.

It's important to rejoice over happy events because it makes life so
much richer and special for the people you love. When I grew up I was
raised as a Jehovah's Witness and we didn't celebrate anything. It
made for a boring year of days that weren't special and nothing was
ever celebrated. Birthdays, holidays, and special accomplishments
passed by without notice or mention and it made me feel sad. There's
nothing more depressing than seeing everyone having a great time at
Christmas, Easter, Halloween, and on birthdays knowing that you are
forbidden to take part in the fun. It was not the life for me.

Leaving home and moving to live with my Grandparents was the best thing
that ever happened to me because it opened my eyes to a different
existence. At my Grandfather's home there was laughter, abundance of
food and always a reason to celebrate or have a party. I quickly
learned that money and a positive outlook on life made a huge
difference.

Less than an hour after walking off the plane I was sitting in a
restaurant with my Grandfather, his wife Ernestine and their two sons
and they were toasting to my moving to California. No one had ever
toasted to me before, I was astonished, but hopeful for more happy
times. Quietly though, I felt a bit guilty for my newfound good
fortune because I knew that my family in Idaho were not having the same
experience and I felt sad for them because I was going to spend my
first real holiday season with people who knew how to enjoy themselves.

Sometimes it's hard to let go of "family guilt." Family guilt is all
that baggage that you carry around and don't know how to get rid of.
I've done a pretty good job of shedding most of my family guilt, but
some remains without much impact on my life. The remnants serve to
remind me of my upbringing and give me the resolve to make my life as
fulfilling as I can. I often reflect on these remnants and use them as
a guide to be a better person.

So, I feel like celebrating for being happy about being pregnant and
looking forward to a new baby. I feel lucky to have a wonderful
husband who is truly kind, loving and respectful. I feel a great sense
of joy that my prayers were answered and that I was lucky enough to see
the wish fulfilled. I feel like celebrating all of life's special
moments in order to live a lifetime of something wonderful instead of
an existence of nothing special.

A couple of days ago Doug told me that I give out too much advice all
the time and that he finds it annoying. I've been thinking about that
for a while because I don't want to be an obnoxious person that people
dread to be around. So, why do I do it? I guess like most people I
think that I'm being helpful.

When I was growing up there was no one around to show me the way and to
avoid the common pitfalls of life, so for me giving advice is like
being a mentor. The biggest hurdle for me to climb was money
management. I grew up poor and every day was a basic struggle for
survival. I constantly worried about paying the utilities, or whether
there would be enough money for food. My relationship with money was
that I was constantly chasing it and never felt comfortable. My mother
had a different relationship with money and she did an amazing job
raising three kids with what she had and thank goodness for welfare or
we would not have made it after my father left us.

Welfare wasn't so bad, at least we had basic medical coverage and we
could go to the dentist, but the food stamps were a source of shame for
me. Every time we went to the grocery store check out lane and my mom
pulled out her food stamps, the lady at the register would let out a
huge sigh and act disgusted, as if the food stamps came out of her
pocket. She openly discriminated against us because we were poor. She
would actually make comments about the food items that my mother was
purchasing. Asking us if we really needed, Frosted Flakes as opposed
to the cheaper and less tasty Puffed Wheat. My mother actually
internalized those comments and we only got puffed wheat cereal after
that.

This woman was so indignant because collecting food stamps also meant a
little bit more work for her because she had to make annotations in a
special notebook and then give us plastic coins that represented real
change. In those days welfare recipients didn't get any real money
because people automatically assumed that any real money a welfare
recipient got would go to beer, cigarettes and who knows what else.
Welfare people had to be watched closely because there was something
wrong with them. It was terrible. I would watch my mother who was so
meek and timid because she didn't want to cause any trouble for herself
and her children. She was also discriminated against because she spoke
with an accent and people didn't even try to understand her, I was her
interpreter. At eight years old I understood the cruel stares and
remarks that people directed at us and at some point I was determined
not to let it happen to me again.

One day my mother asked me to run to the grocery store to get some
tortillas and she gave me two $1 food stamps. I took the money, but
did want to use it. Instead I took a couple of dollars that I had made
from selling lemonade and ran off to the store.

When I walked into the store I felt the doors opened just for me
because I had real money! Nobody was going to make rude remarks to me
today. I walked past all the candy knowing that it could be mine if I
used the food stamps for the tortillas, but that would not be. Today I
would buy some food with my money.
After placing the tortillas on the counter I put my two dollars next to
it and the cashier made the transaction and gave me back my change
without any comments. Yes! They didn't even notice that I was the
welfare kid. It was such a great feeling that I ran all the way home
with the tortillas under my arm.

Coming through the back gate I had to figure out what to do with the
food stamps because my mother had told me not to be ashamed of using
them, but I was. So I stopped in the garden and put them under a big
rock for safekeeping. Later, I would put them back into my mother's
purse without her being the wiser. My mother was happy to see my
speedy return and I helped her to finish dinner for my sister and baby
brother.

When we ate dinner I felt so proud to have provided the tortillas that
we were eating. For the first time in my life, I understood the
relationship between money and self-worth and knew that someday I would
not be poor anymore.

My mother never knew what I did that day and I've never told her. I
don't think that I can because I would only cry and make her feel bad,
but I've learned so much from being poor that I really do want to help
people avoid some of the heartache I've gone through.

Maybe Doug is right and I shouldn't give out so much advice? Maybe
people do learn more from their experiences by making their own
mistakes, but I also know that families acquire wealth by passing on
financial lessons learned to their children with the hope that they
will build upon the foundation laid by the previous generation.

Maybe my lesson now in life is learning to be quiet and only give
advice when asked? I'm not sure about this because I'm a talker, but
I'm willing to give it a try. Maybe I should be more like someone who
does not speak often, but whose words are valuable? Maybe my gift is
in quietly writing about my lessons learned and letting the reader
decide for themselves? Maybe the answer is yet to be revealed to me?

Yesterday, I called my friend Susan to give her my good news. We
talked for over and hour and laughed about all kinds of things. She
was so happy for me and it was great to feel the validation from a good
friend. It's a wonderful thing to reach out to someone whom you've
known for so long because there is no need to explain how you feel or
think. They just know and it's safe to talk in a free flow manner.
That's how I was yesterday and it felt great. I was so grateful to
have a friend like Susan that it made me laugh to remember how we met
so long ago.

Susan and I met on Thursday, March 31st, 1993 and we've been great
friends ever since, but it didn't exactly start off that way. I read a
poem once about friends who come into our lives for a reason or a
season. Well, Susan became my friend for a reason, we needed each
other when we were having a difficult time as your soldiers in the
Army. The great thing is we bonded like I have with no other friend
and it's been great.

In early March of 1993, I received orders for my first duty assignment
as a 46Q photojournalist to be stationed at Fort Rucker, Alabama. It
was an exciting scary time for me because I was about to be a real
journalist and work on a weekly newspaper while serving as a soldier in
the US Army. The long bus ride from Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana to
Ozark, Alabama was not very comfortable in my class A uniform, but it
served as an outward symbol of my current occupation. It was the first
time that I was out in public alone amongst civilians with my uniform
on. It was a little bit scary because I didn't know how people would
treat me. At each stop, I'd venture into the coffee shop or diner and
get something to eat and the waitresses, would call me "honey" and the
older men would sometimes ask me "what's a nice girl like you doing in
uniform." It was their way of saying welcome to the South.

My Greyhound journey ended in the quiet town of Ozark, Alabama. The
bus driver deposited me and my baggage at another diner who's name
escapes me, but it reminded me of an old saloon with it's raised wooden
porch and glass windows that looked out onto the old main street of
town. I walked through the long diner taking in the old fashioned
soda fountain at the counter and the row of booths opposite it where
locals drank their coffee and ate their pie while tipping their head to
me as I passed them. A pink uniformed waitress at the end of the
counter peered over the cash register and said, "What can I do for you
honey?" I smiled and asked if they had a pay phone. Motioning to the
restroom signs I could see the phone and I heard the register bell
ring, she stopped me and gave me a quarter. "Here you go. Welcome to
Ozark." Stunned by her kindness, I took the coin and proceeded to the
make my call.

A Specialist Davis answered the phone and told me that someone would be
there to pick me up and she didn't know how long it would be. That was
it. I figured they must be pretty busy at the newspaper if that was
all the conversation I was going to get. If there was one thing I
learned during my short time in the Army, it was the art of waiting for
something to happen. So, I sat at the diner counter ordered some pie
and looked out the window for someone to pick me up.

About 45 minutes later a dark blue sedan with government plates
barreled into the parking lot and stopped in front of the restaurant.
As the dust was settling from the dirt parking lot a 5'2" soldier
dressed in BDUs marched up the steps, threw open the door and said,
"Hey, I'm Specialist Bouchard. Get your shit and let's go." I
mentioned my name, grabbed my duffle bag and black bowling bag that my
dad had given me and shuffled to the car.

On the way to Fort Rucker, Specialist Bouchard was complaining about
being on deadline and that nobody wanted to come to pick me up and that
she had to do it. I sat in silence and felt bad for being such a
burden on everyone, but the reception by my co-workers at the paper
wasn't much different than hers. It was obvious they were on deadline
and any distraction took away from getting the paper done. I would
later learn to appreciate the stress of deadline day.

I stood in the middle of the bustling newspaper room with my two bags
and wondered what my life would be like while the other soldiers
introduced themselves to me and sized me up. Meeting a new soldier is
a bit like a dancing. You introduce yourself, make physical contact
with hands and make small talk, all the while wondering what the other
person is thinking. It doesn't last long, but you have to make a
favorable impression.

In the meantime, Specialist Bouchard went to her desk, grabbed her
camera and notepad and ran out the door and I could hear the familiar
sound of gravel flying as she pulled the sedan away from the building
on her way to finish her story.

As I watched the dust settle again in the parking lot, l wondered what
would become of me at the home of Army Aviation. Little did I know
that in the weeks and months to follow, I would become good friends
with Specialist Susan Bouchard and that I would learn that first
impressions are not always what they seem and can be clouded by the
rush of daily life.

This morning I cried again because my day started with hopes and dreams
instead of fear of the unknown. I was relieved and cried tears of joy.
It took me a while to get out of bed because I have to deal with the
usual aches and pains related to my car accident, but I had renewed
hope today because I know great things are coming.

There's a whole different way of looking at the world when you aren't
afraid of something looming over you. It's hard to express the bliss
that I feel. The only thing I can relate it to is the first moment you
feel joy after a long dark period of grief. That first smile, laugh or
noticing that you are whistling a tune is a celebration of stepping out
from the anguish. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. And with
each passing day a little more happiness bubbles to the forefront of
your mind until one day, you realize that you aren't sad or frightened
anymore.

I experienced this many years ago when my grandfather died and for
months following his death I was shrouded in a heavy blanket of grief.
It was all I could do to maintain my composure from minute to minute.
But, something remarkable happened. Every couple of days, I would
receive a card in the mail and someone would tell me that they cared
about me and I would cry, but comforted by the feeling that someone
took the time to tell me. Those reminders of love bolstered my resolve
to move forward.

As the weeks went by the weather got better and one morning I was
walking to work and I noticed that the trees had leaves on them and the
birds were singing. The warmth of the sun caressed my face like a
gentle touch and the wind whispered in my ears. It was Spring and like
nature I was coming out into the light to rejoice in the renewal of
life. Not just in nature, but also in me. I was happy to be alive
again.

Yesterday, Doug & I went to see our OBGYN to get the results from a prenatal risk analysis. I was really nervous because at my previous appointment a different doctor told me that I had a 1:105 chance of having a baby with Down's syndrome. He also told me that if we discovered a fatal chromosomal disorder it would be best to terminate the pregnancy. As soon as I got thenews I called Doug and met him for lunch. I was so scared to share the news with him. I was terrified that after three years of fertility treatment and finally getting pregnant, I would not have a normal baby. Or, be faced with the possibility of not having a baby at all. Fortunately, Doug is a very analytical guy and he noticed that the statistics on the fact sheet that the doctor me were 30 years old. Doug tried to calm me down by telling me that the statistics could not be relied upon because of the age of the study, he would find some better statistics. Later that evening, Doug came home and shared some current statistics that were much more favorable. After he told me what he had learned, I felt a little bit better, but not without worry.

The days following April 29th, I was very sad while preparing for a trip home to visit Doug's family in Michigan for his sister's (MaryAnn) graduation from the University of Michigan. During the long flight my thoughts were preoccupied with how I was going to cope with raising a child that was different. I had terrible anxiety about it and I decided to withhold our news. I did not want to tell anyone in the family that I was pregnant because I was still afraid of a miscarriage and also worried about the outcome of the prenatal tests in the next four weeks. All I could do was pray and hope for the best, take my folic acid and get plenty of sleep.

The trip to Michigan was extremely short. We spent almost as much time traveling there as we were visiting. I don't look forward to these weekend trips because it's too stressful on our bodies. Doug got a horrible cold and then I got it and couldn't take any medication to relieve my symptoms, not to mention the horrible back pain that lasted for about five days due to the cramped quarters on the plane. We are healthy again and happy too.

So, for the past four weeks I've been under a great deal of stress knowing that I would probably have a baby with Down's Syndrome and had to grapple with the idea of a future where my hopes for my child would not be the same as for other parents. But, yesterday our lives changed. When my OBGYN told us that everything looked really good and that an amniocentesis would not be necessary I felt like I could breathe again. I watched as a huge smile spread across Doug's face and all I wanted to do was cry. Doug gave me a big hug and I felt like I could melt right there in my overwhelming sense of relief.

It wasn't until we were in the car leaving the parking lot that I cried. Doug said that he was so happy to know that we were going to have a normal healthy baby and that's when I cried. Just hearing the word, "normal" made all the tears come forward and it was a long awaited release. Finally, I could look forward to being pregnant. I had been asking Doug days before, "When do I start feeling happy about being pregnant? When do I get to experience the joys of motherhood that everyone talks about? "

As I drove home from my appointment, I knew that my journey was beginning and I smiled the whole way home.

Today Doug and I decided to do a little bit of yard work in front of
our house. I basically worked on pulling weeds and working with the
edger. After an hour or so, I had to stop because of the increasing
pain.
At about 5:30 I was in so much pain that I needed to sleep. I slept
for three hours and then I couldn't get to sleep later in the evening.
I'm just miserable and want to cry every time I experience pain. Doug
wanted to go to the movies tonight, but I declined because I knew that
it would be impossible to sit through the movie.

May 16th, 2004

Doug and I went to Lowe's to pick out our new kitchen cabinets and
appliances etc. Standing around for so long really tired me out and
was so painful that all I could do was shuffle around. I move so
slowly, that I worry that I won't be able to perform my duties during
my photo shoots. I feel like my mobility choices are dwindling. If I
have trouble, getting into the car, walking around the house, going
down stairs and I can't run... how will I be able to take care of the
baby? I need some resolution to this pain. When we finished at
Lowe's, Doug had to load up the truck with several boxes of tiles and I
couldn't help him at all. Normally, I would get in there and move
stuff around, but I constantly worry about how painful it's going to
be. I don't know what I'm going to do?