Hello.
Sometimes you just gotta brag.
As I have written previously, I returned to college to get a degree in English. I am going to my old Alma Mater which also happens to be my daughter's college.
I made it a plan, to try to go as long as possible at college, without her finding out I was there. I wanted to be very sensitive to her age and her development and not embarrass her by my presence. No one wants their mom on campus with them...or so I thought.
Monday, I got an email from my daughter saying she read my blog and was amazed to learn I had decided to go back to college for a BA in English. She was encouraging in her note to me and I was glad she wasn't mad. I still wasn't sure she was entirely happy with the idea.
Tuesday, I got to campus and had to rush to pick up some things before class when I looked up and saw my daughter walking towards me. She gave me a big hug, handed me a card, and said, "I'm proud of you."
Okay, so she's totally amazing. Needless to say, the heart-strings were pulled and I learned a lesson.
I knew college would be enlightening!
Have hope,
Donna
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
My Private 9/11
Hello.
September eleventh has been, for the past fifteen years, a day when I silently remember when my son's life and by proxy, my life too, changed forever.
It was just around midnight on September 11, 1992, that I ran to the CT scan room at Albany Medical Center, when I heard the voice over the loudspeaker page name, after name of doctor to get to the CT room where my son lay on that cold table, STAT.
My little guy was six and one-half years old. He was a charmer...very friendly, inquisitive, active and smart. He liked to take things apart and put things back together. He had just learned how to ride his bike without training wheels, was on the T-ball team and was looking forward to first grade. He wasn't a perfect child, but he wasn't a bad kid either.
For six months, I had contacted my doctor, brought Ben in for appointments, asked for special testing at school, inquired again of the doctor's office and finally ended up in an Emergency Room at a local hospital. You see, in my heart, I knew something wasn't right with him. Being a physical therapist (who trained in pediatrics) I observed his gait pattern, listened to his speech and watched his movements. As his mom, I worried about his unexplainable vomiting, occasional headaches and loss of weight. I brought each and every one of my concerns to his physician on numerous occasions and each time, I was turned away with a pleasantry. "You're just an over-concerned mom." "You're just a mom who happens to be a physical therapist too." "There is nothing wrong. Don't worry." But deep inside something was wrong and my credentials didn't move the doctor to investigate further.
So, when seeing my son's eyes cross on that September day, I rushed him to the local ER where I convinced the doctor my son needed a CT scan and had to convince our primary doctor (on the telephone) that a CT scan was necessary too...so much arguing to get a test approved. Finally, the test was ordered and we were sent to the medical center in Albany, NY. A few hours later our brain tumor diagnosis was delivered.
That was my 9/11/1992. That was the day when my whole life (and that of my son) changed. It has been fifteen years and I am still discovering ways my life has (and his) has changed. There were no more birthday parties he was invited to. There were no more soccer mom's on the sideline. There were no more friends to play with on the weekends. There were no more carefree visits with moms on the playground.
There were no drivers permits.
There were no prom dates.
There was no high-school graduation.
There was no drop-off at college.
There are no girlfriends.
There are no fraternity brothers.
There are no dreams of a job and wife and kids and grandkids.
My 9/11/92 gave me other things of which I am grateful. I have met awesome, courageous kids and their families. I have met sensitive, intelligent, diligent and caring doctors and nurses. I have worked with dedicated educators, social workers, vocational trainers and human services people. I have had a chance to experience the highest highs and lowest lows. I have fought a battle of the spiritual and came out on another side with deepest reverence for God.
But mostly what I got from 9/11/1992 was a person, who after facing the most difficult physical, intellectual and spiritual challenges one could face, overcame them to become a happy, kind, hard-working, fun-loving human being.
It's not easy. Everyday is mixed with joy and sadness. But it is what it is, and together my son and I, learn the lessons we are suppose to learn and teach the lessons we are suppose to teach and in the end, we are blessed.
Have hope,
Donna
September eleventh has been, for the past fifteen years, a day when I silently remember when my son's life and by proxy, my life too, changed forever.
It was just around midnight on September 11, 1992, that I ran to the CT scan room at Albany Medical Center, when I heard the voice over the loudspeaker page name, after name of doctor to get to the CT room where my son lay on that cold table, STAT.
My little guy was six and one-half years old. He was a charmer...very friendly, inquisitive, active and smart. He liked to take things apart and put things back together. He had just learned how to ride his bike without training wheels, was on the T-ball team and was looking forward to first grade. He wasn't a perfect child, but he wasn't a bad kid either.
For six months, I had contacted my doctor, brought Ben in for appointments, asked for special testing at school, inquired again of the doctor's office and finally ended up in an Emergency Room at a local hospital. You see, in my heart, I knew something wasn't right with him. Being a physical therapist (who trained in pediatrics) I observed his gait pattern, listened to his speech and watched his movements. As his mom, I worried about his unexplainable vomiting, occasional headaches and loss of weight. I brought each and every one of my concerns to his physician on numerous occasions and each time, I was turned away with a pleasantry. "You're just an over-concerned mom." "You're just a mom who happens to be a physical therapist too." "There is nothing wrong. Don't worry." But deep inside something was wrong and my credentials didn't move the doctor to investigate further.
So, when seeing my son's eyes cross on that September day, I rushed him to the local ER where I convinced the doctor my son needed a CT scan and had to convince our primary doctor (on the telephone) that a CT scan was necessary too...so much arguing to get a test approved. Finally, the test was ordered and we were sent to the medical center in Albany, NY. A few hours later our brain tumor diagnosis was delivered.
That was my 9/11/1992. That was the day when my whole life (and that of my son) changed. It has been fifteen years and I am still discovering ways my life has (and his) has changed. There were no more birthday parties he was invited to. There were no more soccer mom's on the sideline. There were no more friends to play with on the weekends. There were no more carefree visits with moms on the playground.
There were no drivers permits.
There were no prom dates.
There was no high-school graduation.
There was no drop-off at college.
There are no girlfriends.
There are no fraternity brothers.
There are no dreams of a job and wife and kids and grandkids.
My 9/11/92 gave me other things of which I am grateful. I have met awesome, courageous kids and their families. I have met sensitive, intelligent, diligent and caring doctors and nurses. I have worked with dedicated educators, social workers, vocational trainers and human services people. I have had a chance to experience the highest highs and lowest lows. I have fought a battle of the spiritual and came out on another side with deepest reverence for God.
But mostly what I got from 9/11/1992 was a person, who after facing the most difficult physical, intellectual and spiritual challenges one could face, overcame them to become a happy, kind, hard-working, fun-loving human being.
It's not easy. Everyday is mixed with joy and sadness. But it is what it is, and together my son and I, learn the lessons we are suppose to learn and teach the lessons we are suppose to teach and in the end, we are blessed.
Have hope,
Donna
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Fear-Paralyze or Motivate?
Hello.
Oh my. About one month ago, I went to my daughter's college to pay her tuition bill. It is also my alma mater. After paying the bill I asked if there was anyone from the English department available to talk to me. There was, so I went.
The gentleman (younger than I) was very inviting and enthusiastic to talk with me. He knew my daughter and in spite of that (only kidding!!!) he still wanted to talk to me.
Our conversation went something like...
Me: What would I have to do to get a degree in English?
Him: Well, you'd have to take these courses and some gen. ed. classes?
Me: Language? Math?
Him: I'm not sure, probably no language, but maybe a math.
Me: Oh no.
Him: The good news is all of your old credits from your previous degree will be accepted.
Me: So, I won't be starting from scratch.
Him: No.
Me: Do you go easy on over 40 year olds?
Him: (Laugh, laugh.) We like over 40 year olds.
Then he handed me an application, course booklet and English major requirements.
The next day I mailed in my application and figured, I wouldn't get in so quickly because it was three weeks till the semester began.
Well, tomorrow, I go to my second day of college classes heading straight for an English degree.
I am so afraid. I actually have a queasy stomach. I have been trying to assess why I'm afraid. First, I'm afraid my daughter will see me on campus. I am actively hiding from her, because I imagine as a 20 year old, I would NOT want to see my mom walking around her college campus. Second, I'm afraid I won't be able to do all the homework and home work. Third, I'm afraid of the costs. I had to sign some hefty loan papers at a time when things are a bit tight. Fourth, I'm afraid I won't be successful, which to me means actually getting a degree in English. If I flunk out of this, I don't know what I will do in my life. As good a PT that I am, I just do not want to do it forever.
Then I thought a little about my journey thus far. I made it through the rigors of the PT program, the first time I went to college. Then, I walked through my son's cancer diagnosis, treatment and recovery. Then I learned the devastating news of his learning disabilities and became educated on TBI and advocated for him. Then, I divorced my first husband and supported my three kids while still being responsible for my son's continuing medical issues. Then I met a new man and built a new and improved relationship. Then I had a fourth child at 40 years of age. And, I continue to survive raising my older kids.
So, I looked at fear.
Am I afraid of school and all that means? YES.
Was I afraid of each of the obstacles I faced on my journey thus far? YES.
What am I going to do about it?
Well, I can stay home tomorrow and not go to class and pursue English or I can put one foot in front of the other, and face the uncertainties. Since, I believe, I've walked through more scary things in the past, I decided that going to class and facing those challenges will eventually inspire me to new and different life experiences. I am choosing motivation over paralysis.
Would you?
Have hope,
Donna
Oh my. About one month ago, I went to my daughter's college to pay her tuition bill. It is also my alma mater. After paying the bill I asked if there was anyone from the English department available to talk to me. There was, so I went.
The gentleman (younger than I) was very inviting and enthusiastic to talk with me. He knew my daughter and in spite of that (only kidding!!!) he still wanted to talk to me.
Our conversation went something like...
Me: What would I have to do to get a degree in English?
Him: Well, you'd have to take these courses and some gen. ed. classes?
Me: Language? Math?
Him: I'm not sure, probably no language, but maybe a math.
Me: Oh no.
Him: The good news is all of your old credits from your previous degree will be accepted.
Me: So, I won't be starting from scratch.
Him: No.
Me: Do you go easy on over 40 year olds?
Him: (Laugh, laugh.) We like over 40 year olds.
Then he handed me an application, course booklet and English major requirements.
The next day I mailed in my application and figured, I wouldn't get in so quickly because it was three weeks till the semester began.
Well, tomorrow, I go to my second day of college classes heading straight for an English degree.
I am so afraid. I actually have a queasy stomach. I have been trying to assess why I'm afraid. First, I'm afraid my daughter will see me on campus. I am actively hiding from her, because I imagine as a 20 year old, I would NOT want to see my mom walking around her college campus. Second, I'm afraid I won't be able to do all the homework and home work. Third, I'm afraid of the costs. I had to sign some hefty loan papers at a time when things are a bit tight. Fourth, I'm afraid I won't be successful, which to me means actually getting a degree in English. If I flunk out of this, I don't know what I will do in my life. As good a PT that I am, I just do not want to do it forever.
Then I thought a little about my journey thus far. I made it through the rigors of the PT program, the first time I went to college. Then, I walked through my son's cancer diagnosis, treatment and recovery. Then I learned the devastating news of his learning disabilities and became educated on TBI and advocated for him. Then, I divorced my first husband and supported my three kids while still being responsible for my son's continuing medical issues. Then I met a new man and built a new and improved relationship. Then I had a fourth child at 40 years of age. And, I continue to survive raising my older kids.
So, I looked at fear.
Am I afraid of school and all that means? YES.
Was I afraid of each of the obstacles I faced on my journey thus far? YES.
What am I going to do about it?
Well, I can stay home tomorrow and not go to class and pursue English or I can put one foot in front of the other, and face the uncertainties. Since, I believe, I've walked through more scary things in the past, I decided that going to class and facing those challenges will eventually inspire me to new and different life experiences. I am choosing motivation over paralysis.
Would you?
Have hope,
Donna
Sunday, September 2, 2007
September, where did the time fly?
Hello.
Today is September second. The Labor day weekend is here. The official end of summer. It was such a busy summer indeed. We got home from Cape Cod yesterday and I found myself catching up on mail and laundry and heading out to the grocery store. Today, we brought our oldest daughter back to college.
It is always a mixed bag when bringing her back to college. It's yucky lugging the stuff out to the car and then up the three flights to her room. She always gets rooms on the third floor. After the lugging, we help unload a few things and then head out again. It's sad to say good bye but by the time we get to the parking lot, I'm doing the 'happy dance." I love her and think she's great but let's be honest, it's nice to bring them back. Next year, we'll deliver our other daughter and then it'll be just me and the boys at home.
It was a beautiful, sunny and pleasantly warm day today. We worked outside-mowing and weeding-and when we were done sat down to corn on the cob and tomato salad. Yum!
Soon, it'll be busy and we'll have to submit to the school calendar but for the next forty-eight hours, we're enjoying summer.
Have hope,
Donna
Today is September second. The Labor day weekend is here. The official end of summer. It was such a busy summer indeed. We got home from Cape Cod yesterday and I found myself catching up on mail and laundry and heading out to the grocery store. Today, we brought our oldest daughter back to college.
It is always a mixed bag when bringing her back to college. It's yucky lugging the stuff out to the car and then up the three flights to her room. She always gets rooms on the third floor. After the lugging, we help unload a few things and then head out again. It's sad to say good bye but by the time we get to the parking lot, I'm doing the 'happy dance." I love her and think she's great but let's be honest, it's nice to bring them back. Next year, we'll deliver our other daughter and then it'll be just me and the boys at home.
It was a beautiful, sunny and pleasantly warm day today. We worked outside-mowing and weeding-and when we were done sat down to corn on the cob and tomato salad. Yum!
Soon, it'll be busy and we'll have to submit to the school calendar but for the next forty-eight hours, we're enjoying summer.
Have hope,
Donna
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