Confession 33: The Authority of Doctors?

Living in one of the richest countries in the world, I realize that there is much I take for granted. One of those things is access quality healthcare. I don't know why it is, but I find myself continually questioning the authority of the doctors I go to for treatment. This isn't true across the board. I loved my family care practitioner in Kansas City and trusted her judgment in almost all things.

Yet, in my first pregnancy I canceled my first scheduled induction because I thought it was a dumb thing to have to do and I wanted a natural childbirth. (She had a lot to say about that, by the way!) And recently, I've completely ignored picking up a prescription another doctor sent in for me because I think I can manage things better on my own. This sounds dumb, I know, but my experience with doctors throughout this pregnancy is that they're really kind of a pain. Although I like my ob, I can't stand the clinic he works with. They don't take care of anything "in-house". I've been sent all over the place for various routine tests and procedures, and when I recently tested positive for gestational diabetes, I was sent to an entirely different doctor who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. This is the doctor who phoned in a prescription for me to boost my insulin levels after checking my sugar levels four times a day for less than a week showed that my sugar after lunch has been a little high. The same thing occurred in my last pregnancy, but instead of putting me on medication, I worked with my nutritionist to lower the sugars naturally. And, we did. So, I think it can be done again. I've tweaked my snack time and added some extra protein at lunch, which is seeming to help. I don't want to risk the health of the baby, but I also don't want to rush into any sort of medicinal treatment that can be avoided.

I think my overall frustration is that I feel like my doctor's office, instead of treating me, is just trying to cover their butts. And I'm tired of being told where to go, what to do, and when to do it without any sort of input or thoughts on my part. I don't feel like I'm part of the process for my own treatment, and I have a real problem with that. Although I appreciate all of the advances made in medicine, and all of the things doctors are capable of doing, I want to have some say in it as well. My family care doctor in Kansas City was excellent in overall patient care. She took the time to get to know me, to know how I felt about medicine. I always felt like I had a say in my treatment, for the most part. What she really did best was to take time. She always sat and talked, and would stay as long as I wanted or needed her to stay, for both myself and my son whom she treated as well.

I know I should be grateful to live in a society where I have access to good healthcare, and to have the insurance to cover that healthcare, I just don't want to get lost in the treatment process.

So, that's my rant, and I feel better for having given it.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Confession 32: A Matter of Salt

At my ob/gyn visit yesterday, I asked my doctor about the possibility of taking Zoloft again to help manage some overly active emotional activity. I explained to him that I'd been feeling extremely frustrated, overwhelmed, and a bit anxious over some various things. He told me that new studies are showing a potential risk to unborn children from anti-depressants, and that doctors are more hesitant now to prescribe them to expectant mothers. I was, actually, having done some of my own research on the matter, fine with that. Although there are some cases where it can't be avoided and women with severe depression should definitely stay on their medication, I don't really fall into either of those categories. So, I'm going to work on controlling my temper, cry whenever I want, and try not to worry about all of the bad things that could happen to my son which I can't control anyway. (This last one, I think, stems from the fact that I'm realizing our time with just Garrett is ending.)

One of the more interesting parts of the conversation with my ob/gyn was when he explained to me all that is physiologically going on with my body right now. Apparently, a part of the emotional overload which comes during many pregnancies is really an issue of salt. Pregnant women retain salt more than those who aren't. The retention of that salt puts pressure on the various organs of your body, including the brain. And, those pressure points from the salt tend to really push against the emotional control center of the brain, making one (me) a little nutty. That, combined with the increased levels of estrogen in your system (especially during a second pregnancy when the hormones build much quicker than the first) are enough to send anyone over the edge at times. So, he told me to lessen my salt intake, increase my fluids, and maybe try some vitamin B. He also told me to keep him posted on how I was feeling.

This whole discussion got me thinking about Lot's wife, you know, the pillar of salt. I know there's no direct correlation here, but there's something to the fact that in her inability to let go emotionally she was turned into salt, and that salt can have such an impact on the emotional sensibilities of (at least) pregnant women. I always kind of thought Lot's wife got a raw deal, I mean, change is hard. But if we keep looking to the past, we can never move forward. If we've got too much salt on the brain, we can't look beyond ourselves to see what God has in store. So, what's the point? I don't know... maybe Lot's wife should have had a big glass of water before setting off into the desert. In any case, it's an interesting theory, and one that demonstrates the continually fascinating aspects of the human body.

Blessings and Peace,

** A little disclaimer-- although I can be somewhat flippant about my own emotional roller coasters, I really believe that anti-depressants are a wonderful invention and do great things for people who truly suffer from anxiety disorders and depression, which, I know for a fact, are very real.

Little Signs and Wonders

Sometimes I think that many of my most ardent prayers fall on deaf ears. For instance, when I was up last night/morning at 4:15 A.M. with a 20 month old who was fighting off sleep, I fervently prayed for calmness and patience to withstand the ordeal, and not to plop him on the floor, alone in the dark, and go back to bed myself. Instead of finding a calm within a storm, I found tears-- lots of them, that I shed for about an hour while my son FINALLY went back to sleep, although, not in time for me to get some extra rest too. And, I must confess, my fury didn't give way completely either, for after I put my son back in his bed, I preceded to slam the bathroom door to our bedroom as hard as I possibly could to wake my still sleeping husband and threw one of the cats (literally) out of the bathroom when he was whining for his breakfast.

I've really been struggling emotionally through this pregnancy, and it's starting to get on my nerves. When I was pregnant with Garrett, I was the calmest I'd been in my entire life, I think. Even my sister commented on how collected and together I was while pregnant. This time around, the opposite is true. I'm moody, tempermental, angry, and now, weepy. I snap at my husband and my son, going so far as to throw one of my son's books across the room when he decided he wanted to do that instead of go to bed last night. With the anger and snappishness of course come huge loads of guilt and self-loathing which leads back to the weepy-ness. However, I've found in the past few days that just when I think I've reached my limit and can't take anymore, God shows himself in small, unexpected ways.

The first was a conversation I had with my best friend who is now expecting their third child. She told me that she experienced much of what I was describing while pregnant with their second child. Her blood pressure was always up, she was constantly snapping at her husband, and she got extremely furious with their son at least once a day. She assured me that she had talked to other mothers who had a similar experience, and that I was not alone in this hormonal crisis.

The second little ray of hope was a conversation I had today with a colleague who has four children, the youngest of whom is 21 months. She too had been up through the night with her toddler, although her experience included skidding barefoot through dog pee and being told by her husband that she was, essentially, being crabby. She very easily could relate to what I've been feeling, and since she has four healthy, well-adjusted children, I figure it will all be o.k.

I know, in the end, that this too shall pass. And I thank God constantly for our son, even in the midst of my anger and frustration he causes. I'm also very grateful today to know that God is still listening to my hormonal rantings and ravings, and that, although I might feel alone at times, is still letting me know he's there.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

The Trouble with "T&A"

I had a student in class last week ask me toward the beginning of the hour if he could ask me a question. I looked at him carefully. Although he seemed sincere enough, this is a student who will look for any excuse to get out of working. And-- since his friend was whispering to him, "Don't ask! I think I know what it means-- don't ask!"-- I told him that I wasn't going to answer anything until he got his work finished for the day.

Toward the end of the hour, when there were a couple of minutes left, he asked me again if he could pose his question. Against my better judgment, I said, "Sure-go ahead." So, here it is...

"Well, someone in our class last hour told another kid that his mom had won a T&A contest. What does that mean?"

I immediately wanted to start banging my head against my desk. I suddenly had 15 pairs of ears and eyes tuned to my every word, something that just doesn't happen throughout the course of the day. My problem was, despite the obvious, that he was completely sincere in his question. He honestly had no idea what the phrase "T&A" meant and thought that I could tell him. Three thoughts went through my mind. My first thought was, "Can I get fired for answering this question?" Followed by, "If I don't answer this question, how big a deal will they make of it?" (There's a similar experience here involving the phrase "S&M" and a computer lab which I was drawing from.) And, finally, "How much integrity will I lose if I avoid this issue all together?"

So, with a moment of careful consideration, I formulated my answer...

"Well, 'T&A' is a really not nice way to refer to a woman's top and bottom parts. And it's an extremely rude thing to say."

There was a general murmuring of "ohhhh..." across the classroom, followed by a few, "I still don't get it"'s. Yet, overall, the topic was quickly forgotten and the students haven't brought it up since. I still wondered if I had done the right thing. Did I give them more information han they needed to know? Did I help to pollute their already too sullied minds? There's such a fine line in working with teenagers. I've always believed that as an adult working with teens, you need to be honest. I've found that it's a credibility issue for teens, and if they think you're just trying to spin something, or hide something from them, then you lose your ability to interact and work with them. On the other hand, if you try and be too much like them, go into BFF mode, you lose your ability to really teach and minister to them. You have to earn their trust, yet be the responsible adult at the same time.

In the end, I feel good about my answer. I don't know that this conversation would have taken place in many other classrooms, but that's o.k. And, of course, I will be taking fewer questions from the peanut gallery!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Counting Blessings

Looking back at my blog page, I can't believe it's been four months since I last posted! Where does time go? Actually, I know exactly where it goes. Work, family, sleep. But, it's all good really. I'm about five and a half months along in my pregnancy, and things seem to be going really well. We had an ultrasound last month and got a really cool 3-D picture of Baby Dos's face. It's incredible what technology can do. So far, this one isn't as active as Garrett was, which could be a very good thing.

Garrett is 20 months old now, and may be entering into his rebellious stage. (I refrain from using the term "terrible two's" because he's not really terrible, just frustrating.) He's been testing Mommy and Daddy to no end the past few weeks. Many common phrases heard around our house lately are: "Don't you use that spoon as a weapon!", "Let go of the dog's tail!", "Don't pull the dinosaur's head off!", "Where are your pants?", "Sit down-- on your bottom!". Obviously, my master's degree in education is being put to great use! Garrett is proving to be his mother's son. He is willful and stubborn, and nothing seems to deter him much when there's something he's intent on doing. It's very tempting sometimes to just walk away and let him climb onto the table to chase the cat, but I suppose there's no lesson learned in that. Eating and going to sleep are constant battles in our house. Garrett has determined that the only table foods he's going to eat are oatmeal, yogurt, applesauce, crackers, chips and french fries. Oh, and the occasional tub of ravioli. Except, of course, when he's at the babysitters, for whom I think he would eat a five-course meal.

I was recently lamenting all of these things to a church member we were visiting, when she reminded me how blessed we were to have these toddler trials and tribulations. Her grandson, who is a little over a year now, just finished treatments for cancer and is now in remission. I started thinking about all of the mother's out there whose children aren't eating well because of sickness or lack of food. Of mother's who dread bedtime, not because it's a fight to get their child to bed, but because there's a fear that they won't wake in the morning. And I realized, in that moment, how wonderful it is to have a child who can chase the cats around the house, who can bring me the same book 300 times in a row to read, who can yank a spoon out of my hand and fling food all over the kitchen-- a child I can hold in the middle of the night when he wakes up and gently rock back to sleep, a child who wakes up singing happily to himself in the morning (at least for a few minutes) and can look forward to a carefree day.

I didn't get my son a gift for Valentine's Day, mostly because we have no money and he doesn't notice anyway. (He also got a balloon from the ladies at the local flower shop which he likes better than most of the toys he has.) But I was thinking, although Valentine's Day has passed, about making a small donation to St. Jude's Children's Hospital, or giving a mosquito net to Nothing But Nets. Some small token that could potentially make a difference for another child, and allow another mother to experience the everyday frustrations and blessings that should come with a 20 month old.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Confession 28: Connections

I'm sitting here at my desk at school, papers piled high on each side, with 19 minutes left of my daily 47 minute plan period. My initial thought was to tear into the book projects I collected almost three weeks ago now, but instead I find myself perusing through my favorite blogs, checking in with people I know and have known over the years. I forget how important connections can be. Not connections as in the, "How can knowing this person get me something or someplace I want" sense of the word, but connections as in remembering that there are people out there you really care about whose lives are moving forward at the same warp speed as yours and if you don't keep up you're going to completely miss them. (Yes, I know, it's a run-on sentence.) It's not that I don't want to stay connected, I just don't always feel like I have the energy to do it. On a typical day, I'm up around 5:45, out the door by 6:45, home by 4:30, putting Garrett to bed around 8:30 and crashing myself by 10:00. It's hard to make time for connections. However, I think the connections and relationships we have with others are what keeps us going. They support and sustain us, keep us grounded and help us grow. For many people in my generation, our friends have become our community, and a key to a successful community is communication. Therefore, I'm going to try and do better about making connections. To drop a quick line or make a quick call just to say, "Hey, what's up? How's it going? Anything new? I miss you."

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Confession 27: SOG (Save Our Girls)

I've been thinking recently, that we as a society need to start some sort of national Save Our Girls campaign. The trials and tribulations of teenage girls has been documented for eons, from Sophocles to Shakespeare to Plath to Brashares. Teenage girls have always had it rough, but it seems that things are getting worse. I think the first glimpses came with the book Reviving Ophelia, published several years ago now. Mary Phipher (I think) showed through case studies of teenage girls she had counseled that our girls were floundering under the weight of low self-esteem, peer pressure and societal expectations. More recently, the movie Thirteen (co-scripted by a thirteen year old girl) told the story of two thirteen year old girls gone completely wild. And last year, a book entitled, The Notebook (?)was published by four high school friends who recounted, with full disclosure, their exploits with alcohol and sex throughout the previous years, as well as their struggle to find self-worth and self-esteem.

This past week, I've had two students come to me and tell me they were pregnant. I had one student come to me and tell me that she was dating an older guy who she knew was cheating on her and who also refused to use protection during sex but she didn't want to break up with him because he was "really hot" and everyone thought they made a great couple. Something has obviously gone terribly wrong.

Of course, there have always been girls who find themselves in these situations, but I don't think it's been as across the board as it is now, or as widespread. The girls interviewed by Mary Phipher were all middle-upper class white girls. The girls who published The Notebook were honor students bound for Ivy League schools. So, what's going on?

I have a couple of theories, all of which may have no bearing whatsoever. First, I think our hyper-sexualized, whatever makes you feel good society forces kids to grow up too fast. Second, I think our kids have less guidance in how to maneuver through society. It's natural for teenagers to want to rebel against their parents, but who else is there to give them advice and to help them through? Third, where are the role models for our girls? Who do they have to really look up to and aspire to? Who's there to tell them it's o.k. to be who they are, and that they don't have to conform to anyone else's standards. I think now, more than ever, our girls need mentors. They need adult women in their lives who will get to know them, who will care about them, who will nurture and guide them through the turbulent time of adolescence.

So, I'm sending out an S.O.G. I'm encouraging all of you women out there who read this to find a way to connect with the teenage girls you come into contact with. Volunteer with a local mentoring program, volunteer with your church's youth group, volunteer to help coach a local softball or volleyball program. Be a cheer leading or dance team sponsor. Take some time to check in with your neighbor's kids. Make plans to hang out more with your nieces or little sisters. Just take some time. You don't have to be a fount of wisdom spouting out advice and platitudes every time your mouth opens. You just have to be available, and to listen, and to let your actions speak louder than any words you could use.

It's time to try and save our girls. If we don't, who will?

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

P.S. As a mother of a boy, I don't want to give the impression that our boys don't need us too, they do. I just haven't quite figured all of that out yet:)