Walker

When the doorbell rang I thought, Oh no! He did not walk! It was like I already knew.
I was just getting my flip flops on to see how after school care was going. I had his party invitations to pass out to his new friends. I held hope in my hand that he had gotten over the morning's anxiety at before school care and gone to the same gym after school as he was supposed to.
For a week I had walked him to school and stood outside the door waiting for eye contact and his slow sigh of relief as he saw me and his sweaty hand pressed into my palm. It was a treasure to be able to take him to school and pick him up without the pressures of rushing to my own job and just as crazily rushing home to him and his brother. The anxiety of stranger danger was not swelling in my chest yet. They were safe with me. The memories of summer still fresh.
As I opened the door there was his sweaty little face, looking guilty and nervous. I saw it all clearly before he opened his mouth to confess. He got in line with the walkers and left the building but I was not there. I was not there. He looked and looked and walked a little then a little more and he got scared. Afrai, of course, to admit he should not have left. Afraid, maybe, I'd left him. And he cried and cried. And I cried. My mind filled with the what could have gone wrongs. He walked alone for several blocks. I would not have allowed him to walk that far. The phone rang as I regained my voice, hoarse from the possibilities of tragedy settling there. The hysteria I was keeping at bay. It had been 20 minutes since school let out and after school care had taken attendance. To his elementary school he was missing. The woman I knew and loved, who had taken care of my children for years was calling to tell me Jeremy was missing.
No he is right here I told her and could only shake my head. My voice lost in the fear, in the guilt in the what ifs. He went to bed to cry. I held him and told him we would try again tomorrow.
Hopefully tomorrow he is handled tenderly so that he trusts his own decisions and goes to after school care without feeling bad for scaring the hell out of everyone.

I will be outside the door in case he forgets.

Threads (revised)

It was a kind of reunion
A going away

Unraveling some unknown distance
Coming closer
To who I was
Or who I might be

Narrowing the space caused
A search for the threads of resemblance
Delivering some hint of remembrance

Winding a thread not held tightly
A connection nonetheless
A tenuous heritage

Threads so thin, nearing invisible
Yet strong as the fishing line
Cast out with a hope and a whoop
A surrender to the possibilities
To be reeled in

A re-creation of who we all are today
What we believe in
What makes up the now

Laughter bookmarked the most important part
Families we've created
Dog-ears left in the pages
To be revisited, relished

A kind of reunion
A grand gathering

Having covered an unknown distance
Coming closer
To who we are
Or who we can become

ON MY LIST

I am making a list of doctors who suck! That's right you know them. The best part is that then I have to pay for the services or lack thereof. I have of course not mentioned names but before you make a new appointment looking for help, email me and I will save you time and money.

1. The dermatologist who showed me photos on her IPhone of a man on her exam table, naked I might add, hairy and very overweight with a HOLE in his ass cheek where she was removing a huge growth. This of course was shared with me to make me feel better about having a softball sized growth removed from my back in that same office. I still wonder how she thought this would persuade me from having it in the very clean, private, general anesthesia, camera free (or at least I think) operating room with a surgeon. She also had pics of the growth that was removed. I am currently shuddering and throwing up in my mouth!

2. My internist's partner who asked if I could please wait until Tuesday( from Friday night) for my regular doctor to get back in the office before going to the hospital to have my gall bladder removed even though I failed the test at the hospital and they wanted to admit me.

3. The nurses at the hospital that forgot about me in the waiting room when I had food poisoning until they re-triaged me and found I could not give a urine sample because I was so dehydrated which = an IV and back to the waiting room for 7 hours total!

4. The orthopedic surgeon who talked to his partner for 25 of the 65 minutes I was waiting for him while in pain of course, just outside the exam room about the hot receptionist they interviewed. After gracing me with his presence (10 minutes) he said when the pain was too much to drive myself to his office and to physical therapy we would discuss more treatment but I was otherwise doing well. Doing well was requiring 4 vicodin a day just to get up. I was unable to wash or dry my own hair. My right hand was constant pins and needles. But his receptionist was hot!

5. The second orthopedic surgeon who came highly recommended and did an xray at his office (another 2 hour wait while in pain) and asked if I had nipple rings??? Ah... nice.

6. The plastic surgeon who stuffed my mouth with gauze to "stop that screaming already" as he did reconstructive surgery on me in the emergency room with too little morphine. A wonderful nurse did save me and unstuffed my mouth, told him off and gave me pain meds.

7. The physician who told me she would make the decisions about what I needed and that she was the doctor. For the two months I was her patient I had a mammogram, a stress test and then refused the CAT scan for migraines I'd had for years. She insisted I was having a stroke and would not be responsible if I "stroked out" when she advised me to go to the hospital. She also made me wait over two hours for a physical but ran out of time so only did a history and then had me come back in one week. On my receipt she listed asthma and charged me twice for an exam. Insurance questioned it as did I and the office manager insisted she diagnosed me with exam one week and the next week did a more "thorough" exam.

8. The neurosurgeon who was deemed "arrogant" by an online reviewer turned out to be a BITCH who would not recommend any treatment even after I waited 1 month for the appointment and 2 hours for her to come into the exam room because I did not have a current MRI. It seems she has exchanged her empathy for some expertise that she did not share with me. Somewhere she has lost touch with why she is practicing medicine and I would love to write to her to tell her that she took away a lot the day I met her with so much hope and excitement, after all she is supposed to be an expert in her field. I returned to my car a different person, less hopeful, more bitter and so heatbroken to be starting over with the calls to insurance and doctors and a new consultation and less trust.

I was told to bring any films or info I had. The last one was 2007 but she said it was too old even though the symptoms were the same for ten years. She also said my exam (3 minutes of turning neck, pulling hands, reflexes) was great and although I SAY I have pain I appear fine and my neurologic symptoms are only mine since she cant see anything without an MRI.

I told her I cant do anything...no running, no jumping.. she asked how this effects my life. Ok I know I am not running any marathons but when it hurts to move quickly there is a problem. what a racket. A consultation fee for nothing?

After telling her I did not know I needed a new MRI she said, well you could go down to the hospital tonight for one (I had now been in the office over two hours and needed to drive 45 mins to get my kids) . When I tried to explain I could not go that night and would have gladly had one for the last month waiting for the appointment she said she was doing the best she could but was certain I was told to get a new MRI before my appt. I said I was not. She walked me, very teacher like, to the manager of the receptionists and made me tell her what I'd said (really!) The receptionist said there was a script and if they did not tell me I was to have one before I came she was sorry.

So I cried like an ass! I cried and said what a waste of time and how frustrating to wait a month and two hours for ten minutes and nothing. I left with no prescription for MRI or help of any kind. She was certain to give me a copy of my paperwork which only stated my history and that no treatment was done at this time because no MRI was done.

Mommy and Me (narrative nonfiction)

I held the Park District brochure tightly, scanning the index for Mommy and me classes that would interest, educate and calm my rambunctious just three year old Jeremy. As a teacher I embraced this opportunity to teach him social skills in a community of other three and four year olds. I was sure these classes would be my cure to his high tantrums and high energy gross motor destruction. Jeremy simply needed an outlet and this sports class was it.
Jeremy was active even when in utero. He was constantly kicking and moving and trying to be born too soon. Then six weeks after trying to stop his arrival we needed to rush it a little due to complications of gestational diabetes. After twelve hours of a pitocin drip meant to bring on contractions in an unnatural and terrifically painful way, the doctor had to run into the room with his gown barely covering his arms as Jeremy was born squirming and screaming. I marveled at this activity so newly born. His lung capacity was enormous as his skinny legs straightened and flailed. He rocked from side to side in his isolette so much I thought he would flop out like a fish from the safety of its tank, unaware of the dangers of freedom. He would not be contained.
Standing at the nursery glass marveling at all the tiny little bundles with only their faces exposed from their tight little papooses meant to soothe by wrapping their arms and legs tightly in a blanket, I saw my bundle. He was not contained by a blanket. Baby Serio seemed to have burst from it. The receiving blanket was under him and his ruddy crimson legs were again straight up in the air as he rocked his pelvis left to right hitting the sides of the isolette.
At just barely one Jeremy had not slowed down one bit but was just as active and excitable. He would run and try to jump over every crack in the sidewalk and his arms were held stiff in a toddler Frankenstein stance as a gutteral “GOOO” was uttered to anyone within sight; as if to say “Bring it on!” He would try to tackle us until he was in a giggling ball on the floor.
In public he would cup his hand in a wave as though he could catch a greeting from passersby like he clutched the kisses I blew to him. So delighted by his ability to communicate he would throw his head back and squeal with both hands in the air, offering sticky baby hellos to the constant grinning audience above him.
By two, his ability to entertain made the world a good crowd. Wherever we went he would ham it up and get the attention of everyone by goofing off with made up songs and dances. And grin they did at the laughing chubby toddler so happy to greet and play with anyone. The fine haired brown-eyed boy who would rather run and straighten his ankles to his tip-toes in a kind of half jump than walk by my side.
He had been deemed a “spirited child”, a typical second son to his quiet and patient brother, John, who egged on his antics and applauded his guffaws. I often wondered if Jeremy was John’s alter ego. What would our family be without him?
As a teacher the prospect of having “that kid” was daunting and almost a challenge to my education in child development. Why couldn’t I help to mold his behavior? While it was amusing and charming at times it was also obnoxious. How to choose?
By age three, park district Mommy and Me classes seemed the perfect opportunity to get him in line. A little tykes sports class fit him perfectly since the arts and crafts had not worked out well. At our first arts and crafts class we were to make puppets. Craft sticks that did look a lot like Popsicle sticks were on the plates with glue. When Jeremy knocked all the tissue paper to the floor and I was out of view picking it all up, he ate all the glue off of the plate and sticks. He then refused to leave the play area to join the song and then would not leave the kitchen to do the second craft. So many transitions in an hour long class!
Undaunted, we arrived at the sports class late because he’d insisted on taking the very long staircase one stair at a time. I struggled with him to remove his shoes before he entered the mat area to play. Free of his shoes and me, Jeremy ran to the play area to dive into the ball pit head first. He jumped out, stood on the edge and yelled, “CANNON FALL!” The fathers near the pit laughed until it was obvious he’d landed on one of their sons.
His teacher came with his sticker nametag and introduced herself. She was trained in early childhood development but this was her first class. She attempted to speak to Jeremy but he would not leave the maze and slide to acknowledge her. Strike one.
The lights were flickered to indicate a change in the schedule and we were to meet on the rug. Jeremy saw the sticker in my hand and began screaming before it neared his chest. I lifted his arms, tickled his pits and stuck it firmly on his back.
The fifteen three and four year olds on the rug were to follow their teacher in a series of stretches to get their bodies ready to exercise. Hmmm. Jeremy refused to stand and simply repeated loudly that he could not do it. His teacher would not be swayed and smiled brightly over him explaining, a little too loudly and with much enunciation, that they needed to stretch to get their muscles ready to work.
She stood on one leg and asked the class to pull their left foot of one leg up behind them to stretch their thighs. Hmmm. Two step directions and balancing on one leg to stretch three and four year old thighs, this would be interesting.
Jeremy stood at this and yelled, “Don’t do that!”
She asked with great concern raising her voice, “Why not?”
He answered simply, “You will pull your leg off!”
She was not amused. She gave me a look, furrowing her brow and spoke calmly,
“Jer-e-my , now you know that can’t happen.”
I thought, “No, he does not know that will not happen. He does not know that he is really not Obi Wan Kenobi. He doesn’t know that he can sleep without the light on and that he will eventually pee in the toilet more than once.
The other children who were much more obedient were not losing limbs. They were truly trying to follow her directions and falling slowly to the mats as they lost their balance. A complicated stretch when you are three and used to keeping two feet on the floor. The stretch became an amusing toddler domino.
Jeremy continued to refuse to do much asked of him. He instituted reverse psychology. Play on the rug you say? Okay, I will play in the kitchen. Sit at the table? Okay, I will slide. After each session I would leave exhausted and disheartened that he was not learning the manners and cooperation I’d hoped for.
The last straw came on Baseball Night. There were twelve students in class, most of them boys. The rules of baseball were reviewed and cones were set up for bases. I tried not to roll my eyes as I watched the teacher give directions to the kids on how to hit and run the bases. There was only one tee, but three bats. Bats in the hands of mostly boys told to wait patiently for their turn was going to be brutal. I pulled Jeremy toward the end of the line to get a good view of the impending may lay. Each child had a turn to practice batting off of the tee while the other two held their bats while waiting. Moms and Dads constantly reminded those not batting to hold their bats down. The teacher would then yell, ”Run to first, run!” Each child ran straight out the door. The first two were funny then it just became ridiculous and clear that her directions were too old for them. As Jeremy’s turn to hold a bat and just wait neared, I began to sweat.
“Ok, Jerm, we’re just going to practice holding the bat while your friends hit the ball and run out the door. Ok? Are you listening honey?” I asked kneeling beside him. “Look at Mommy.” I said while he stared at the plastic bat. “Look at Mommy. Jeremy…Jeremy!”
“Whaaat?” he shouted swinging the bat dangerously close to my head.
Jeremy’s turn came and he hit the tee so hard the plastic cap sailed across the room with the ball.
“Run. Run the bases!” his teacher shouted.
He rounded first and veered right straight to the play area and into the ball pit. “Cannonfall!”
On the schedule for next week was volleyball. Hmmm.
We never went back.

The Path

Shared Path

Their faces framed
In silver metal windows
Carried to us by
A bus shorter than most
Arrival greeted by a crowd
To assist
Smile
Squeeze a hand
Pat a head
Push a chair
A welcoming so grand
To a group
So small
Eager, anxious
Still known to bouts of fear
Tantrums,
Howling
Holding ones ears
To combat the sounds within
A path is somehow paved with people
Bodies of safety in a world
Too large
Too loud
Too crowded
Made suddenly smaller
More manageable
By a path of bodies
A place is carved on the path
For individuals
Plans made just for them
For what they need
Days are busy
Adjusted and smoothed
A life made right
Celebrated
Dismissal
Brings the same group
To smile
To hug
and
To let go

Bunny Hop!

Seven tunnels were found in our backyard. The grass grew covering them but still the mystery continued. I knew bunnies make nests in tunnels as do skunks but these were perfect circles and very deep. The rains came and the grass covered them completely and they flooded. We forgot about our tunnel mystery until today. Weeding in the yard I thought I'd uncovered a large spider nest of dead grass matted against our house behind a rose bush. My next grab to move the dead grass with my gloved hand revealed baby bunnies which in my defense looked like mice and one was in my hand! Several others ran over my feet and into my neighbors yard. I ran out of the gate and into my side yard screaming. My husband and I returned to find three bunnies about six inches long hiding behind our fence posts and one in my neighbors yard. I felt horribly guilty. We tried to persuade them to go back to the now destroyed nest. They flattened their tiny ears and bodies against the long grass and did not budge. They even went to sleep! I would have gladly kept them but I have a terrier who was at the window salivating. My neighbor's dog stood at her back door panting to get out and eat a bunny. We all used cardboard and boxes to catch and return them to their nest. We learned bunnies scream! A MEEP...MEEP came out loud and clear as we looked for the mother bunny to attack us. After returning three one tiny bunny kept escaping. We returned him three times and now I cannot bear to check the nest. I know we have crows and stray cats waiting for tiny bunnies. I will not weed again!

Johnny

I have spent my life forgetting him
leaving him
a fading childhood memory
a shadow of comfort captured in a warm towel
tucked, gently under my arms

My footed pajamas padded after him
a cold, tiled floor
a window fogged with condensation,
toddler indignation

Pre-adolescence called him
turning his back to me

Wishing cannot create memories
cannot recreate what three years could not hold
or more than infancy will surrender

Somewhere I am a sister trying to hold a brother
who hardly heard her speak