A glorious sunset

Written in March or April 2015

I met with 2 dear friends yesterday.  One is living with authenticity and bravery in what will likely be the last year of her life.  The other is living with authenticity and bravery in the years she might not have had - a little over a decade go she had a severe illness and came close to death.  Very close.  For one, death this year is pretty certain.  For the other, her story continues.  Both are living in the busyness of young children.

I admire both of these women greatly.  I feel like they have such a great balance and perspective on life, even in the midst of their respective struggles.  They both have a great sense of humour and it's a joy to be near them when they are laughing.  Their joy is infectious.  All 3 of us struggle in one particular domain of life, but it's rare for all of us to be struggling at the same time, so we are able to encourage each other, and reach out for help with a text message at any time of the day.  This is the beauty and joy of living in community.

Once a month, the 3 of us hang out at one of our homes for a few hours.  We talk.  We laugh.  We cry.  We pray.  We encourage each other in our areas of struggle and celebrate the areas of joy and fun.  I cannot remember who came up with the name Loungeroom Ministries, but I think it was Cath.  I like it because it reinforces that when women are sitting around having coffee and chatting and laughing, that is only a small part of what is really going on.  They are building community.  I know I've got on my soapbox about this before so I won't say it all again today. 
Women are ministering to each other in this sort of community.  Cath also had another term for what attracted our group of 3 to each other - she called it the fellowship of suffering.  When a person has been through a traumatic experience, it provides a connection with others who've also been through trauma, even if the details of that trauma are vastly different.
 
I'm so grateful for this community of women that God has brought into my life for a season, a season which I know will change when one of us is promoted to her heavenly home sometime this year.  There's something about the sisterhood that's unlike any other connection.  I'm not sure I can even define it right now.  But I'm confident that some women reading this blog will know exactly what I mean.

Written on May 31st 2015

Yesterday there was a glorious sunset in front of us as we travelled down a local Road.  This immediately made me think of my friend Cath, who is in the sunset of her life here on earth.  She was diagnosed with breast cancer just after her most recent child was born, 3.5 years ago, and is now in hospice.  It’s not just the last couple of weeks in hospice that have been her glorious sunset though, it’s the last 3.5 years of her life, since the diagnosis.  I knew of her at the time of diagnosis, through living in the same community, but had not yet met her.  I was rather distracted at the time.  Her most recent child was born one week after Sophie.  Just yesterday I realized God’s sovereignty in not allowing us to get to know each until the last couple of years, because if I had known her back when Sophie was born, I don’t think I would have coped. A friendship with a woman whose baby was the same age as Sophie.  Her baby was alive, and mine was not.  I would have resisted that friendship very strongly I think.

We began to get to know each other just before her stage IV diagnosis, and the basis of our connection is our faith in God.  A kindred spirit.  A belief that the bible can guide us.  I felt driven to pray for her and encourage her, but as is often the case with “God” things, it was in no way one-sided.  I gained as much as I gave.  I encouraged her, she encouraged me.  She spoke truth and love into my areas of vulnerability in a way that no other person ever has.  A few months ago I introduced her to my other lovely friend Ali.  Ali is also a kindred spirit in the common faith we share.  I was certain that they would connect well, and so they have.  We are able to be completely vulnerable with each other, knowing that we will not be ridiculed or rejected by the others.  It’s a rare gift.  The last time the 3 of us met together was about a month ago, and when I heard that Cath had moved into hospice I wasn’t sure if we would see her again, but she’s invited us to come and hang out with her tomorrow morning.  She told us that she is "ridiculously excited" about us coming to visit tomorrow.  I am so glad to be able to have a goodbye visit.  It’s a wonderful gift that she is giving to us by working us into her schedule with her limited energy and time.  I’ve cleared the schedule for tomorrow so that I can hold space for myself to grieve for the rest of the day if I need to.  I am both scared and excited about the visit.  Scared of saying “the wrong thing”.  Scared of being shocked about her physical appearance (she told us last week that she is not really eating, so I'm wondering if she will be a lot thinner).  Excited at being worthy of granted some of her precious time.  Excited at having one last chance to talk and laugh and cry together before we lose contact for a while.  Until Ali and I also are promoted to glory.

Written on June 7th

The morning that Ali and I spent with Cath was wonderful. We talked, we laughed, we cried, we prayed.  Cath said her Doctor had told her she either had days or weeks left to live.  She replied “Well, which is it, days or weeks?  I need to know!  Because if I knew I still had weeks, I’d plan my time very differently than if I knew I’ve only got a few days.”  He couldn’t be more specific.  I guess there’s so much going on in the body.  He said she would likely die in her sleep, as her body gets more and more tired, one time when she goes to sleep her body will be too tired to wake up again.  I like that idea.  It seems like a peaceful way to die.  Although I think it would make me afraid of going to sleep, if I knew that I might not wake up again.  Her doctor stressed to her and her husband and kids that every time they say goodbye, they need to make it special, in case it’s the last time they speak.

It’s been a week since that visit, and I still text her a prayer most days, and get a reply most days.  We took a photo with each of our phones of the 3 of us together, and it is lovely to have – strange that we have never taken one before.  It's the only photographic memory we have of the 3 of us together.

Promoted to Glory

Cath was promoted to her heavenly home on June 18th.  The last visit, we joked that she would have letters after her name - Catherine xxxxxx, P.T.G.  She liked that.  I feel a certain peace about it because I respect God as being the author of her story, but I miss her desperately at the same time.  This sounds like a contradiction, but it isn't.  These feelings can co-exist.  The bible tells us in 1 Corinthians 15 that Christ has conquered death, and because of that, death has lost its sting, but death still burns.  It's deeply offensive, and I don't believe that indicates any deficiency of my faith.  I think we're meant to find it offensive.  Randy Alcorn, in his book "Heaven", says that when someone dies, we don't actually "lose" them, we simply lose contact for a while.  It's the loss of contact that hurts so much though, isn't it.  It's the loss of contact that is a pretty big source of the offensiveness of death.  I think that the offensiveness of death has other purposes too.  I think it drives us closer to God, and makes us yearn for our eternal home.  Because then we will be back in contact with those loved ones who we have lost contact with for a while.  And we will fully know God, just as He fully knows us know (1 Corinthians 13).   It will be so good.

Cath has written a beautiful blog about her journey and you can find the blog here.

 

Community and whether to go back to work or not

Why is it that being a full time parent is under-valued in our first world society?  This is a topic which puzzles me and some of my full time parent friends, and we feel an obligation to correct the perception that we are not "doing" anything if we are not in paid work.  We are doing a great deal.  The dishes still need to be washed, or the dishwasher loaded.  Clothes still need to be washed. Food still needs to be gathered, and cooked.  Children's teachers need to be consulted about various hiccups in our children's school years.  Chickens and dogs and the garden need to be maintained.

In some of my circles full time parenting is valued and affirmed, but I certainly feel undervalued by some of the other people I come into contact with.  A comment I often hear is "Oh you're lucky that you don't have to work."  Actually it's not luck in my case, it's planning.  My husband and I intentionally bought a small house that we could afford to pay for with one income.  Small kids don't take up much room (even if their paraphernalia takes up lots of room) so it's only become apparent recently that we are starting to be all on top of each other.  Our house is not glamorous, but we don't care.  It's small, but that has advantages too.  When the kids were younger, I could keep tabs on them regardless of where they were in the house.  I still can ("WHY are you still playing on that iPOD!!!)

One friend, who worked briefly as a nurse before marrying young and having 4 children, has only one child left at home, and even that child will soon leave the nest.  She has said many a time that she hasn't "done anything" in her life, and now that her children can care for themselves, she has nothing to do.  This is a prime example of the failure of our society (or, at least, the parts of our society that have surrounded her in the last 30 years) to appreciate, encourage, and value full-time parents.  There is little monetary reward, although we appreciate greatly the family assistance of various forms given by the Australian Federal Government.  I have responded to my friend's claim that she hasn't achieved anything in her life with what I see as the truth - she has raised 4 children who are now balanced and functional adults, who are making their own way in the world.  This is the main part of our job as parents, is to equip our children to survive, and thrive, in the world we live in.  What she has done over 30 years will have a greater positive impact on the world that what many people may achieve in their entire lifetime.  It has value that cannot be easily quantified, especially in the early years of our children's lives.  The work that we are doing in preparing them to be functioning adults cannot be easily measured or appreciated.

My husband and I see great value in what I am doing, but I often feel like I have to justify to people that I don't engage in paid work outside the home.  By saying this I'm not criticizing those parents who chose to work.  Many women will tell you with certainty that the time they spend in the adult world makes them better humans, and better parents when they are with their children.  For some there is a financial imperative to work.

The thing is, why can't it just be a choice, and that's that?  Why do we feel the need to justify ourselves, whether we do paid work or not?  As women, we seem to feel that we have to justify whatever we do.  If we work, especially full time, we heap upon ourselves the guilt of having our children in childcare, or in after school care, or even feel guilty if our generous parents are filling in the after school hours with our children, at no cost to ourselves.

When I meet my girlfriends for coffee, we're not just lazing around drinking coffee and yakking.  We're building and maintaining our community.  It might be hard for our husbands to make sense of (especially those husbands who are "human doings" rather than "human beings") but it's vital.  When there's a crisis or an illness in a family, who do you think picks up that family's children from school, and makes a few meals, and comes over and does a load of washing or cleans their house?  Their community.  A friend has recently had an operation and cannot drive for 6 weeks.  Who is taking her and her small child to and from school every day?  Her community.

It's very challenging to feel like you belong to a school community if you work full time and literally never get to school, you only interact with the before and after school care service.  I really admire parents who both work full time, I don't know how they do it, and keep a foot in their children's school community as well.  If both parents still have living parents who are able and willing to help out with care of their children then that is wonderful, but that is not the case for many families I know.  Some have emigrated from other countries and have no family at hand.

I am likely to get on my soap box again about this, as I feel very strongly about it.  What I do in being a full time parent IS valuable.  It might not earn me any money in the short term, but the rewards will be far into the future.

I am choosing to be a full time parent with my children.  Other women choose to work part time or full time.  Both of these things are choices, and are OK.  There should be no justification.  We need not base our identity on these things.

Sophie's Day 2014

It'll be 3 years next week that Sophie left the world, then was born into the world.  The pattern of this year for me is following the pattern of the previous years, which is that from mid August my distress slowly increases, peaking in the weeks immediately preceding Sophie's birthday, then to find relief when the day itself arrived.  We've made it.  We've survived another year.
Some people join a cause to help give meaning to their child's death.  This may be a specific group that raises awareness and funds for a specific medical condition that caused the death or their loved one, or it may be a more wide reaching group like SANDS or Pregnancy Loss Australia (formerly the Teddy Love Club).  This joining with others helps to make meaning from the death of their child.  I have not done this.  I am not really sure why.  It just hasn't worked for me.  In the early days I did speak to a SANDS counselor a couple of times, and went to a coffee morning, and that was helpful at the time to be able to talk freely, but it was hard work emotionally, being in the same room with 3 other women who'd all experienced the death of a child, and all we talked about was our losses.  I am grateful for that time, but it hasn't filled the gap for me in the long term.  I have leaned heavily on my faith in God.  In the week before Sophie's death and birth, my bible study group was looking at the last few chapters of Job.  There is no question in my mind that I was being prepared that day, for the sorrow to come.  So far, it's never occurred to me to be angry with God for taking Sophie away.  The day Sophie was born, a visiting preacher was at our church, due to preach that Sunday and the next.  He'd been led by God's Spirit to teach from the book of Lamentations, about finding God's rest and peace in the midst of suffering.  Another gift.  God was preparing this speaker to speak words of comfort, as he was prepared Sophie to come home.  I have listened to those sermons many times since (you can find the links to the audio here). and they have provided great comfort to me, and I trust also to my church family.  I have such belief in God's sovereignty, that I've never even allowed myself to thing about what Sophie would be doing if she was still alive, at the age she would be, had she lived, because it was never the plan.  It was never meant to be.  The formal ultrasound we had at the hospital, to confirm what we already knew by then, showed that the cord was wrapped around her neck 8 times.  How can there even be enough cord for that?  At the time I had a strong sense that this was a gift from the Father, a message to me about his sovereignty - "Be in no doubt, Kate.  She was always coming home to Me."  Another gift.  No second guessing myself about whether or not I did something "wrong" during the pregnancy.  As you know from an earlier blog post I wrote, cord entanglement wasn't the cause of her death, she died from an infection that she had for a good part of her short life.  The autopsy report did comment about the extraordinarily long cord, but that wasn't it.
Thankfulness for what I have, rather than what I don't have, has been a revelation to me in the last couple of days.  I started reading a book by Ann Voskamp (find her blog here) called One Thousand Gifts.  A friend dared her to write down 1000 things that she was thankful for.  As she listed the things, she began to realize that what she was writing was a list of evidence that God loves her.  I began my own list a couple of days ago.  I listed people to begin with.  My close family.  Other significant people in my life, some of whom I currently have no contact with, but they have been significant in my life journey.  The first 10 on my list read a bit like an autobiography.  I am grateful in my mind for all these people and things, and grateful verbally when I pray, but something about putting it into words on a page has been incredibly powerful.  It makes it more real somehow.  Gives it more meaning and value.  As I've grieved in the lead-up to Sophie's birthday, deliberately writing down these things has produced a clarity in my mind that I've not had since mid August.  I'm sleeping the whole night through again.  How could I have not known this before?  The secret of being thankful?  An old hymn says "Count your blessings, name them one by one, and it will surprise you what the Lord had done."  In naming these gifts on a page, these pieces of evidence that God loves me, makes the difference between being in despair, and being able to have joy in the midst of grief.  Being deliberately thankful is making the difference.

Mindful mothering mondays

   

http://smalltownsimplicity.blogspot.com.au/2014/09/home-apprenticeship-mindfulmotheringmon.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+LydiaJWill+%28Lydia+J+Will%29

A fellow blogger has started "Mindful Mothering Mondays", encouraging mothers blogging all over the planet to link up on a Monday.  Did our parents' generation blog?  No, they didn't have the technology.  I also think they didn't have as much of a need to connect to other mothers in this way, as they were connected personally with their communities in a way that we are not these days.  It's a bit of a novelty being a stay-at-home-mum in my circle.  When there are still children under 5 in the home, it's not as uncommon, but as soon as the youngest child starts preschool, the question is asked "SO, what are you going to do with yourself now?"   As if the washing does itself, the garden prunes and picks and mulches itself, the chickens feed themselves and clean up after themselves, deliver their own eggs to the kitchen.....I realize even as I am writing this that we all parent differently.  I like being at home with my kids.  I like their company (most of the time!) I like tending the garden, I like having chickens.   The type of garden we have needs maintenance and attention.  I like being involved in my kids' learning, and their lives.   Other parents like to have paid work in order to pay the mortgage on the home they've chosen for their family, or to maintain a balance of parenting and remaining in the adult world.  Let's face it, going to a paid job can be easier than full time parenting, especially of small children.  You have the achievements of your profession, the affirmation of work colleagues and clients, and you get paid.  Real money.  And nobody is clinging to your legs all day complaining about the various needs of their body and soul.  Or running way from you when you are trying to get them to do something they don't want to do.

Lydia's post from today about home apprenticeship reminds me of the great struggle I had in the early days of parenting, where I wished the kids would NOT try to help me do anything around the house.  They made a mess and they took too long.  And they didn't do it right!  I'm not sure how or when I came to give up this perfectionism and allow the kids to be a part of their home and the running of it, but it sure did decrease my stress level when I let go of always having to have things my own way.  Maybe part of it is giving up the ideal of having to be "supermum" with an immaculate house, well dressed and perfectly behaved children, always a tray of cookies baking in the oven, and of course having a full time career as well.  We can't have it all.  There aren't enough hours in the day.  Nowadays our home truly is a shared place - the kids have their stuff on the walls, on the floor, on all the shelving in each room.  It's their home too, not just mine.   The walls are filthy with hand marks, food marks, and who-know-what-else marks.  One day there'll be time to clean all those off, but today isn't it.  Spending time with my kids, and allowing them to feel at home in their home is a higher priority today.  It won't be too many years from now and they'll be wanting to spread their wings and move in increasingly wider circles of independence.

It's so easy for me to feel critical of other people's parenting choices, but I think we all parent the best way that we can with the resources (monetary and emotional) that we have.

Another blog of Lydias (thanks Lydia :)) that I loved recently was one in which she posed the question of whether we only blog about our best moments?   For those of us who believe in God, we are generally not comfortable with complaining to God, or about God.  There seems to be an attitude among many Christians that if we are unsatisfied with our lot in life that there's something the matter with our faith.  We need to pray harder.  Or serve more, and then everything will be OK again.  We're not comfortable with the language of lament.   A quick inventory of the Psalms will reveal that there is a great deal of lament.  I heard a preacher say once that 2/3rds of the New Testament deals with suffering.  It's real, and it's OK.  God can take it.  And I think being honest with God and with each other lends itself to a closer relationship.  A real relationship.  I am grateful for my fellow bloggers, especially on days when I cannot connect with a real person to share my mothering journey with.  Thanks to all of you who are sharing your journeys with me, or simply joining me by reading mine.

The new normal - life after the death of a child

I was prompted to write today’s blog after a text from a friend.  She was texting to let me know that the story of a high profile Australian actress and her husband having a stillborn child this week had reminded her of Sophie, and she wanted me to know that she still thinks about me and Sophie.  She hasn’t forgotten.  It’s been almost 3 years since Sophie Rose was born dead, at full term.  A dear friend who is now in her 80s had a baby who died 60 years ago, and in her own words “I still yearn for that child.”

I don’t know if it’s possible to “get over” it, nor is it reasonable to expect to do so.  The humbling pain of having one of my own children die has transformed me, forever.  However, as I meet new people, sometimes these days when someone asks me how many children I have, I say 2, not 3.  I used to say “2 living and 1 in heaven”.  If the person I’m in conversation with is someone I’m not likely to see again, I definitely don’t introduce Sophie into the conversation.  Even when I meet a parent of a new child at school, who I will see again many times over our children’s schooling, sometimes I don’t mention Sophie.   I guess I’m trying not to define myself as “the one whose baby died”.  There seems little point in opening that emotional box.  In many ways I am at peace with her death, although the triggers for my grief are way less predictable now.  In the early days, when someone I knew was expecting a baby, or had just had a baby, I would force myself to congratulate them and participate in their joy, even though I’d go home and cry buckets afterwards.  I think I did this more for myself than for them, so that I wouldn’t fall into the trap of avoiding them.  After all, it’s impossible to avoid every newborn in my circle of movement, especially when my children are at primary school, and I worked at a kindergarten.

The first time was the most difficult, as might be expected.  Did it get easier with each new baby born?  Not really.  What I didn’t expect was that it was easier to be gracious around people I knew relatively well, than it was to be gracious around acquaintances or strangers with newborns.  I thought it would be more difficult with friends, but it wasn’t.  I guess my friends were sensitive to how I might be feeling, but also were probably careful to show me love, and not to exclude me.  And I told them what I needed.

In the first few months after Sophie’s birth/death, three families at school who were expecting new babies were incredibly loving and compassionate towards me.  All the babies were third children (same as Sophie).  One family invited me over to their home for my own private meeting with their child, away from other people’s eyes, lest I need to cry.  It was such a beautiful thing for them to do for me (I know that you know who you are, S xx).  I didn’t need to cry that day.  But that’s OK too.  Another parent approached me in the school yard the day after his child was born.  On his way towards me he was being slapped heartily on the back by fellow fathers, congratulated by mothers, and I was trying to keep a smile on my face a few metres away and not lose it in front of all those people, who were celebrating the birth of someone else’s child so soon after the death of my own.  When the ruckus had died down, he sat down beside me as we waited for our respective children, and quietly chatted to me, telling me that he and his partner had been thinking about me a lot.  This man deserves a medal (thankyou, C xx). Another mother stopped in the school yard with her new baby, and offered me a cuddle with the sleeping bundle.  It was beautiful, and I appreciated it so much (Thankyou, A xx).  I think it helped others that I let them know what I needed.  People so desperately wanted to help, but didn’t know what to say or do, and were terrified of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing and upsetting me.  When people asked “what can I do” or “how can I help”, I gave a forthright answer – “I’d really appreciate a hug”, or “a cuddle with your baby would be wonderful.”

In the early days I used to get irritated by all the euphemisms people used to avoid the “d” word.  Born sleeping.  Born an Angel.  Lost.  Didn’t make it.  A friend of mine used to say of her child who died “I wish people wouldn’t talk about her being lost - it’s not like I put her in a cupboard and forgot where she was. She’s dead, not lost.”  Now that it’s not the early days anymore, I don’t mind the euphemisms, because I know they serve a purpose – to lessen the pain just a little.  To be gentle.  To be sensitive to the incredible pain residing in another’s heart.

I have moved past the acute phase of grief and into the chronic phase.  The new normal.  The death of Sophie Rose has forever changed the way I view the world.  I try not to sweat the small stuff anymore.  I’m starting to reveal the “real” me to people who I used to pretend with.  People whose approval I was trying to win by showing them only the parts of me which I thought they would find acceptable.  I am trying to live my days in a way that brings meaning to me and my immediate family.  This means that I am doing not doing the highest level of job that my qualifications would permit.  In fact, I am not doing any paid work at the moment, and it feels GREAT.  It’s very counter-culture though, and it’s a struggle every day to give myself “permission” to do what I am doing.  Running the “farm”, as we generously call our vegetable patch and chicken coop.  Being involved in the kids’ school community and their learning.  Doing some blog writing.  Writing is how I make sense of all the thoughts that are going around in my head.  It helps to clarify the thoughts somehow, even if I never go back and re-read what I’ve written.  Writing it down is sometimes enough.

The new normal is not the way I thought I’d be living my life 3 years ago.  But it’s a better fit to who I am as a person.  I love what I am doing now.  I love being at home, being a domestic engineer and farm manager, and co-educator of my children.  It feeds my soul.  Sophie’s death was the crisis that has led me to this point.  Some days I still cry over Sophie.  A lot.  A strategy I read about in a grief book is to set a timer (for say, 30 minutes) and allow myself to cry, scream, punch a pillow, whatever way I need to externalize my sadness/anger/other emotions.  Then when the timer sounds, I pick myself up and get on with another task.  This strategy has taught me a lot.  Before I learned this, if I got upset over Sophie, I would write off the entire day.  Now I have learned that I can grieve for a while, then pick myself up and proceed with the day.  This helps, because it makes me feel less powerless; less helpless, while still honouring the sadness I am feeling, and allowing it to come out.

The new normal is taking shape, and it is good.  It not always neat and tidy or happy, but it’s still good.

Estrogen deficiency and short term memory loss

I've been reading a book from the library called "Perimenopause" by Huston and Lank (2001).  It's comprehensive and written in an easy-to-read, almost conversational style.  Here are some quotes:

"It is generally believed that women live longer than men because of the cardiovascular protection estrogen provides."  This is the cardiovascular protection estrogen provides up to menopause, when the last estrogen and progesterone-producing egg follicle is released from the ovaries.  Haha, it's good to be girly.  Take that, boys!

"Memory and other thought processes depend on adequate estrogen levels.  Estrogen receptors in your brain cells receive estrogen molecules, which then improve the transmission of impulses from one neuron to the next.  In addition, estrogen use increases the actual number of functioning nerve cells.  The more neurons you have, the larger the network of functioning nerve cells, and the better your brain functions.  Estrogen supplements in elderly women have been shown to decrease the incidence of Alzheimer's diseases (AD) by 29% (Yaffe 1998), but in women who already have AD, estrogen does not slow the progression (Mulnard 2000).  Using single photon emission computed tomography (SPECT), it has been demonstrated that estrogen-deficient women have reduced blood circulation to the brain, particularly to the areas responsible for memory.  During hot flashes, such women have even further decreases in cerebral circulation.  In fact, these women had temporary vascular changes during a hot flash typically seen in women with milk to moderate AD (Greene 1998).  Hormone replacement normalized cerebral blood flow.  This suggests that hot flashes over time could contribute to neurodegenerative changes.  Women have brain glucose needs 19% higher than men and are more susceptible to diminished circulation (Baxter 1987).  This may explain the higher incidence of AD in estrogen-deficient women than in men."  Right.   Mental note - as well as being unpleasant, hot flashes are bad for your brain.  Of course I'll probably forget this in 5minutes time.

I've been prompted to read this book by noticing that my memory has deteriorated a little in the last couple of years.  Initially I put this down to grieving, but I'm now willing to blame it on the hormones a little more.  Or decrease in hormones.  There is a lovely graph in the book showing estrogen peaking in women at around age 35, and declining thereafter at a steep and steady rate until the last menstrual period at around 50.  Jeepers, I missed that starting window didn't I.  Where was I at 35?  Oh yes, that's right, my 35th birthday passed in a haze of mastitis and sleep deprivation, with newborn Keith and almost-2-year-old-Nicole.  No wonder I couldn't have cared less about what else may have been going on in my body.  I do remember a particularly exciting day when Keith was a couple of weeks old, when he slept for 4 hours overnight for the first time.  When I got up in the morning (5am) to start the day, I felt like I could run a marathon!  Later than morning, I exclaimed to my father-in-law "I had 4 hours sleep in a row last night - I feel fantastic!"  He shook his head in disbelief.  He couldn't believe I could be excited by having 4 hours sleep, and also expressed something like "I don't know how you women cope with this." Hormones, my friend, hormones.

After being pulled over by the police recently for driving an unregistered car (I'd forgotten to pay it) and being threatened by the retailer we buy gas from that they were going to cut us off (forgot to pay that too), I've realized that relying on memory alone isn't going to cut it anymore.  I've had to set in place systems to make sure these critical things get paid.  And it seems to be working thus far (I just hope I don't lose that diary!)

I went to the shops this morning for a few essentials (hot chocolate powder, sanitary products, iced coffee - yes it's that time of the month again), and when I returned to my car, I couldn't find my keys.  Puzzled, I sat in the driver's seat and pondered my next move.  I hadn't locked the car, you see, as I locked my keys IN the car not so long ago and had to call my husband to drive to rescue me with the spare set.  I sipped my iced coffee (ahhhhhh) and wondered if I should walk home, or mount a bigger search of the vehicle, and the shop I'd just been into.  And then I saw a glint of light reflecting from something next to the steering wheel.  Yes, that's right, I'd left them in the ignition.  In the unlocked car.  Oh good.  Luckily for me the  old Subaru is not on the top 10 list for car thieves.

As much as I complain about these monthly bleeds, I suspect I'll miss them when they are gone, or at least, miss what they represent - my ability to have more children.

Hormones.  Love them or hate them, they're part of who we are as human beings.  Gotta love them.


Yaffe, K.Y. 1998. Serum estrogen levels, cognitive performance, and risk of cognitive decline in older community women.  Journal of the American Geriatric Society 46:918-919
Mulnard, R.A., et al. 2000. Estrogen replacement therapy for treatment of mild to moderate Alzheimer's disease.  Journal of the American Medical Association 283:1007-1015
Greene, R.A., et al. 1998.  Comparison between cerebral blood flow in hypoestrogenic women and patients with Alzheimer's disease - a descriptive study. Neurobiology of Aging 19(4)S180
Baxter, L.R., et al. 1987. Cerebral glucose metabolic rates in normal human females vs normal males. Psychiatry Research 21(3):137-145