Only Shades of Gray...

I guess it's official; I'm old. The heartthrob of the first rock band I ever followed has died.  Davey Jones was "the cute one" of the Monkees, rather like Paul McCartney was of the Beatles.  Personally, I was a fan of Mickey Dolenz, but the cute li'l Brit who played the tambourine was the be-all, end-all to my friends. I remember waiting every Monday night, 7 o'clock, to see what new song would be featured on the Keystone Kops-style program - lots of running around, fast-forward scenes where they were always in some kind of trouble. The very first music videos. And then the following day, it would be the hot topic of discussion among our pre-pubescent crowd of girls.  Not that the music or the program were any great shakes; the made-for-TV group could just barely make it look or sound like they were musicians, and in fact it was always up for debate if they were lip-syncing and faking it or not.

But it's the idea that someone who is not that much older than I am - ten years - keeled over with little warning that caught me off guard. It does make one pause.....of the four of them, he was probably the one with the cleanest lifestyle. And yes, everyone will die eventually, it's the way of things. But when it's someone who's close to being a "contemporary", one stops to consider that there are more years behind than in front.  A bit unsettling. And, like so many music groups, once one member dies, it negates the possibility of any future reunion - The Beatles are the most obvious, but I also think of Peter, Paul, and Mary - not only is Mary gone, but so is their bass player, Dick Kniss. I really like Peter and Paul, but it just wouldn't be the same. Crosby, Stills, and Nash wouldn't have the same panache with only two of the three....regardless of the permutation.

Another little piece of my adolescence....gone.

God Bless the Child......

This morning finds me in a heap of free-flowing anxiety, and usually my best response to that is to write. So here I am.

The weekend has plans that I've been looking forward to for some time; our parish/school auction is tonight, and I am a sucker for charity auctions, much to my husband's dismay.  But this year, I must behave myself - there are enough debts we're trying to clear as it is, without creating more, and there isn't really anything we need. 2012 has been earmarked by me as the "de-clutter" year - I feel like I'm drowning in "stuff". Much of which is our son's, but I digress... The next interesting (to me) task is to have our family room measured for new carpet (see "Debt", above) just to get some idea of what it would really cost.  Far from being a frivolous purchase, this carpet is original to the house, which is 25 years old.  Twenty-two of those years belong to our family, and growing boys are not kind to carpet. Neither are GROWN boys....so, having finally found something I think I could live with, I want to know how much it will be.  I'm pretty sure the answer is Ka-ching, Ka-ching.

A surprise addition to the weekend - still tentative as we speak - is a brief visit from my Bez (PLEASE don't ask me what that means, it's impossible to explain...) Fitz.  She's an 8th grade History teacher from Mukilteo, WA, and wants to attend an event in Vancouver similar to one she'll be guiding her students to next month. Being the classy perfectionist that she is, she wanted a dry-run to get an idea of what she'll be doing when it's her kids' turn.  Have to admire that dedication - especially at $4/gallon, and about 3.5 hours each way.  Don't tell me there aren't awesome teachers in the public education system, I'll give you a fight you'll regret....

None of this is the source of my anxiety.  I know exactly what it is, I just have no idea how to confront it, how to resolve it, or how to change my response to it.  In August, our Andrew will have been back living at home for three solid years.  My rational brain says: he graduated into the midst of the 2nd worst economy in American history; he's busting his butt to change his lot; he's doing all the right things - networking, job coach, informational interviews, volunteering up the ying-yang  - he is a pretty easy person to live with, and his attitude is remarkably upbeat.  My emotional brain says: I want my car back, I want my office back, I want all his crap outta here, and I want my life back.  And I feel SO guilty even as I think that, much less say it out loud, that it literally makes me nauseous.  I know, oh how I know, that so many out there have it so much worse, and I almost pray harder for them than I do for us.  At least we are stable enough to provide him with a safety net, which I know he appreciates, and does not take for granted.  But I truly believed that by the time our youngest was pushing 26 years old, both boys would be suitably launched, and we would be gleeful, giddy empty nesters - perhaps still debt-ridden, which I fully expect to continue until we become fertilizer, but relatively carefree, having returned to the lifestyle of childless newlyweds. Got news for ya - this ain't it.

What is more troubling to me, and God, I wish someone would comment to convince me otherwise, is the nagging conviction that somehow, it's my fault. (Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM Catholic - why do you ask?) As things begin slowly - and I mean at glacial speed - to improve, and more jobs begin to tentatively appear, I can't help but wonder - why can't he seem to find one?  Not even burger flipping?  Home Depot?  Grocery bagger?  What's going on, or going wrong, that prevents him from being hired?  And it always circles back to how we raised our kids. Both Tim and I could aptly be described as "outsiders"; we were certainly NOT in the popular circles growing up; high school - for me, at least - was endured, college was good, but neither of us fit the mold of social butterfly.  Challenge Child #1 took that description to an exponential art form, at least until he discovered himself in high school Drama.  Challenge Child #2 began as the happiest, sunniest, most optimistic little squirt on the planet, but about middle school, clouds began to cast their shadows over his easy-going disposition.  The friends dropped away, the humor became more obscure, the interests more obtuse.  That little guy is still in there somewhere, I'm sure of it, but all the therapy and intervention we could throw at him hasn't allowed him to access that inner swagger that once gave him such a magnetic pull on people. And I wonder if it's the result of our parenting, because we saw in our two the same things we struggled with ourselves, and were helpless to change.

Make no mistake, I love this kid - God, how I love him - and I could easily make a list of the qualities and talents he possesses that put him in a category all his own. His brother, as well. But Big Brother has managed to transform himself from loner to capable adult:  He spent a year in AmeriCorps, he held a professional position for four years before the economy imploded, he's shown that he can handle any crisis thrown at him and land on his feet.  While I have seen glimmers of that with Drew, it's just not there yet, and I fear that I will see his smiling face at the breakfast table when I am 60 years old. That's not a pretty thought.

It's not fair, what life is throwing at him, but as we all know, nobody ever said life would be fair. What I can't seem to get a handle on is how to help him navigate all this crap, and somehow come out on top. And maybe that is the crux of the issue: I can't, and perhaps I shouldn't.  But nothing has ever caused me as much pain as watching my kids in pain - it's the uber-mom in me. I WANNA FIX IT!!!!! So maybe this is as much a journey for me as it is for Drew.  God help us all, and somehow bring resolution to a crapola holy mess. 

Stay tuned.....

On the cusp of a 3-day weekend, the last until Memorial Day.....ugh, that's not a happy proposition...classic Northwest winter weather - grey, fog, mizzly drist. Great for curling up in front of a fire with a great book or a project. Me, I'm headed to the Garden Show after work....I need to see something growing besides my waist and my Visa bill...

More developments on the voice front, not all of which are positive. First of all, keep it in perspective: I do not have a fatal disease, my kids aren't featured on the 6 o'clock news, I have a great marriage. Having issues with my voice does not rate high on the disaster scale.  It's just damnably annoying, and more than a little unnerving. The good news is that the chronic cough of mysterious origin is under tentative control, and a plan is in place should it decide to return. The voice is a bit less definitive. In another week or so, I will begin voice therapy, whatever that entails. All I know is that right now, when I try to sing the way I always have, there are large and embarrassing gaps where sound ought to be. I squeak and croak, and it's not nice to listen to.  So we'll see where that goes.  As a result, I have officially decided to relinquish my role as Saturday music leader at church, and I have withdrawn from the Bravo Chorale. For me, those are profound decisions. But I feel much more relaxed having made them. Maybe without the expectation/obligation of those roles, I can focus more on the reasons why my body has decided to revolt via my voice. ("Your body is revolting...."  "You're not kidding!")  I plan on working in the yard when the weather cooperates, focusing on house projects, and following my heart as much as possible. Even if that is not the answer, it will be fun....

Sounds of Silence

Here we are in the beginning of February, and I'm still struggling with the voice bit. Only now, I'm really getting worried. I like things nice and neat, cut & dried, logical and rational. Even though I know that things are never that way.

On February 1, I had my appointment in the NW Clinic for Voice & Swallowing.  The doc to whom I'd been referred had taken pity on me, and agreed to see me 3 weeks earlier than his scheduler arranged. Great guy, very personable and understanding. First I had to be seen by an intake nurse, a resident, and two other women whose specialties I did not catch. Looked like a dentist's office, which is NEVER a good sign. I've never understood why they have you fill out those detailed pre-visit questionnaires; then ask you the same damn questions every time a new person walks in the room.  Talk about Groundhog Day....

In order to figure anything out, they of course needed to look at my vocal chords (which are, in case you're wondering, very tiny and sin ugly). The first attempt was with a flexible scope with a 97 foot long cord...I wondered if that was so that they had enough length to chase after those who ran screaming out of the room.  And I decided it was worth using my dentist office strategy.  Close your eyes - what you can't see, can't freak you out. They thread this tiny thing through your nose and down your throat - kinda like the movie Fantastic Voyage - and then have you make the sound "Eeeeeeee", so they can watch things vibrate.  Only problem was that by the time they got the camera where they wanted it, it had triggered my tickle/sneeze reflex and I wasn't able to hold the "eeee" long enough. And I proceeded to have a 5 minute coughing fit.

So then they tried the non-flexible scope - doesn't get as clear/deep a picture, but doesn't trigger reflexes as easily. I had to stick out my tongue and they held it, then put this camera scope in my mouth and had me make various sounds/scales/etc.  Which must have been the most god-awful sounds I have ever produced - it reminded me of when Drew was learning the saxophone - kinda like a lovesick moose. We tried that a couple times with varying results. I had a meltdown or two, because I was so tired and frustrated, and I knew I wasn't helping them get the pictures they needed.  But they were very tender and patient, and gave me as much time as I wanted (hint: the one hour appointment turned into 2).  They played back everything so he could see it. Nothing like hearing a discussion of your anatomy narrated by the camera person....

Long answer to short question: No, I do NOT have any growths/nodules/tumors on the chords, as far as they can tell.  That alone dropped my blood pressure twenty points. I do NOT have asthma (we already knew that). My sinuses appear to be fine (thought THAT was interesting). There is also no infection. But the vocal chords ARE very swollen and mucous-y and he doesn't know why. So here's the deal. Starting today, for the next 14 days, I will take 30 mgs of prednisone every morning to try and determine if this is a steroid-responsive or non-steroid-responsive cough.  If it is the former, I will be put on a steroid inhaler (NOT like the one I was on before, which had add'l meds I don't need) for god knows how long. The reasoning is that it is on the cusp of changing from an acute cough to a chronic cough, which are tougher to reverse. If it's the latter, I didn't get a real good response because he's taking one thing at a time.

He did not demand that I go on total voice rest (translation: NOTHING out of your mouth except a sneeze), but he did say that my voice will not improve in enough time to do Bernstein's Mass.  So, I think I am going to resign from the chorale; it's a huge time demand, and as fun as it's been, I don't think going forward it will help resolve this issue.  I"ll go to the concert; nothing will make me miss that, but I"ll be an usher or something. I also think I'm going to back off from Holy Redeemer stuff. They have some newcomers they can tackle to fill in, and I think it's time. I'm not exactly sure what God is telling me, but I don't think it's along the lines of "Go ahead, dear, beat your brains out trying to do everything, maintain impossibly high standards, and see how it works out for ya".  The total terror of possibly losing my voice permanently is enough to make me drop everything. 

Yesterday on the way to work I had a 40 minute coughing fit on the bus...I had plenty of cough drops and kleenex, but forgot a water bottle.....I thought I was gonna get lynched. so from now on, I go nowhere w/o a water bottle. I just want it to stop, and I want to be able to sing again, spontaneously, the way I always have.

Word to the wise: if you have a chance at the extended warranty when you get to 60, TAKE IT!!!