I got a miracle today. An honest-to-God, miracle. Most would say it's not really that big a deal, but for me, it's huge!
I took Eva for a 5 km jog today. It was the first time in a couple of months. We used to go jogging on a more regular basis but with the torrential downpour that whas the entirety of July, my falling off the wagon exercise-wise, and the addition of a bike contraption which allows Eva to run along beside my bicycle without pulling me over (yay!) we haven't been jogging for a while.
Side note: I know I don't exercise my dog enough. But between the bike, jogging, and going to my parents' acreage and running around all day with the dogs, she's still getting quite a bit. And I'm working on getting out with her more often.
I'm gonna go back a bit here. I've had Eva ever since she was about 10 weeks old. She's been a part of my family for over 2 years now. She's been through three different obedience classes and two agility ones. (You wouldn't believe how fast she is when you can keep her focused.) And through all that, she still pulls on-leash. All the time. Now, she doesn't pull nearly as hard as she used to, but she still pulls. Two years, and she still pulls. Argh...
I've used a no-pull harness with her. (She's outgrown it now.) I use a partial choke collar so she can only pull so hard before she has to ease up. Also the sound of the collar clinking helps when I shake the leash before she hits the end, so she can tell better when she's about to hit the pulling point. But she still pulls. I freely admit that if I'd walked her more as a puppy I probably wouldn't have this problem. But I can't go back, so no point dwelling on it.
So today we're going for a jog. She's excited and wants to run, so she's out there at the very end of that leash. And then this weird thing starts happening: every so often, she eases up and drops back just a little, for a few seconds. I am quick to give her a "Good girl, Eva!" of encouragement, because this kind of volunteered behavior should be acknowledged. And she starts doing it more often, and for longer and longer. By the time we get to the cool-down walk at the end, she's walking with a slack leash about half the time. And when she starts pulling, all it takes is for me to say "Easy..." softly for her to slow down and stop pulling.
She still pulls like crazy when she gets excited, but at her more mellow times, she seems to remember that a slack leash is a good thing, and that has me extatic.
So that's my miracle. After two years, multiple classes, and many hours of walking and jogging while on-leash, she gets it. My crazy, high-energy dog can settle down enough to enjoy her walks instead of trying to plow through them Yay!
Love,
-Nan
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
In Stitches
I have recently been initiated into an aspect of parenting I would much rather have forgone, thank you very much.
I'm sure many parents have gone through the process of taking their child to emergency for any number of reasons, and I'm sure many are far, far worse than my son's injury. I am so very sorry you had to go through that.
But this is my story, and the first time your child is injured badly enough to go to the hospital is terrifying, no matter how minor the injury.
Derek's cousin got married a couple of weeks ago. (Beautiful wedding! Congratulations to Miranda and Jeff!) They had an outdoor wedding at a campground, and many of the attendees were camped out there for the weekend. Ourselves included.
So there we were with our spiffy new (and by new, I mean it's older than I am, but we just bought it) motorhome, me and Derek and the kids. And Noah, of course, was having a little trouble coping with all the bustle and change in routine. So I decided to put him and his brother to bed close to his normal bed time. We were camped a few minutes walk from the day-use area where the wedding reception was being held.
So I've got Noah and Sean tucked up in bed in the bunk above the cab in the motorhome. (They sleep in the top bunk because it means it's much less likely that Noah can get out and wander at night.) Derek's off at the day use area having fun with his relatives. (We had agreed on this beforehand; he knows his family much better than I do, and he doesn't get to see them very often. So that night was a party-your-heart-out night for Derek.)
I've just finished tidying up the camp and settling in for a long boring night by the fire with one of my favourite books, when I hear thud, THUD.
Now you parents in the crowd know that there are thuds, and there are THUDS. The former is an indication that one or more of your children is misbehaving and is in for a talking-to. The latter is a clanging alarm bell on the inside of your skull screaming that something is wrong.
So I ran into that camper so fast I had Noah in my arms before he was even crying. Noah had fallen from the over-cab bunk. (Sean wasn't even phased by his brother's trauma.) There was blood, and at first I thought he'd split his lip, but then he tilted his head back. My thoughts: Oh, that's gonna need stitches. His chin was split open and the wound was gaping. That wasn't gonna get fixed with a band-aid.
So I fish out my cell phone and call my husband, telling him, "Noah fell out of the top bunk and he's gonna need stitches."
"I'll be right there."
Those few seconds of trying to keep Noah calm while not panicking, myself, were some of the longest of my life.
He arrives, takes Noah from me. Noah is quiet now, just making this soft keening sound that alerts us that he's upset and doesn't know what's going on. Derek turns to me and says, "He's gonna need stitches."
This trips my Sarcasm Circuits, and he gets The Look. I think: That's what I said, stupid. I'm pretty sure I didn't say it out loud. At least I hope I didn't.
Derek's mom and sister-in-law arrive on the scene. His mom gives us directions to the hospital and says she'll watch Sean. His brother's wife, Jessica tells us to keep him awake because he may have a concussion. He is very drowsy at this point, and the accident happened about five minutes earlier. So we are concerned. I drive, being as Derek's been drinking, and he rides in the back and keeps Noah awake.
So a fifteen minute drive to a town I don't know, to find a hospital I've never been to in the dark. The emergency waiting room is empty. (Thank God!) They check him out, informed that Noah is autistic.
They give him some medicine so he won't remember being stitched. (I don't know if this is standard procedure for stitching children or because he's autistic, but I sure appreciated that.) And after taking the medication, he promptly falls asleep. He wakes up and it takes four people to hold him when they give him the freezing needle. And he promptly falls asleep again. Doesn't even move when they start cleaning the wound. So Derek and I opt to not watch our baby being poked and stitched, and go to the waiting room. A few minutes later he has a perfect row of eight tiny stitches under his chin. They did a beautiful job stitching him.
He shows no symptoms of concussion, and we are allowed to take him back to the camp.
He sleeps like the dead until 9 a.m. the next morning, and is babbling a mile a minute from the moment he wakes up. He doesn't seem bothered at all by the dressing on his chin, and doesn't seem to be in any pain. Looks like he's gonna be fine.
So the stitches are out now. He's going to have a scar there, but the whole ordeal was, in retrospect, not all that bad. And not nearly as bad as it could have been. Thank God!
So that was my traumatic induction into the your-child-has-been-injured-and-needs-to-go-to-hospital club. I hope you never have to join it.
Love,
-Nan
P.S. A big thank-you to all the staff at the Fort Saint John hospital. You were calm, competent and empathetic. You made a bad experience into a much more tolerable one. God bless you!
P.P.S. And also to my sister Candice (a registered nurse) for taking out the stitches while by some miracle keeping Noah calm. You truly have a gift, sister.
I'm sure many parents have gone through the process of taking their child to emergency for any number of reasons, and I'm sure many are far, far worse than my son's injury. I am so very sorry you had to go through that.
But this is my story, and the first time your child is injured badly enough to go to the hospital is terrifying, no matter how minor the injury.
Derek's cousin got married a couple of weeks ago. (Beautiful wedding! Congratulations to Miranda and Jeff!) They had an outdoor wedding at a campground, and many of the attendees were camped out there for the weekend. Ourselves included.
So there we were with our spiffy new (and by new, I mean it's older than I am, but we just bought it) motorhome, me and Derek and the kids. And Noah, of course, was having a little trouble coping with all the bustle and change in routine. So I decided to put him and his brother to bed close to his normal bed time. We were camped a few minutes walk from the day-use area where the wedding reception was being held.
So I've got Noah and Sean tucked up in bed in the bunk above the cab in the motorhome. (They sleep in the top bunk because it means it's much less likely that Noah can get out and wander at night.) Derek's off at the day use area having fun with his relatives. (We had agreed on this beforehand; he knows his family much better than I do, and he doesn't get to see them very often. So that night was a party-your-heart-out night for Derek.)
I've just finished tidying up the camp and settling in for a long boring night by the fire with one of my favourite books, when I hear thud, THUD.
Now you parents in the crowd know that there are thuds, and there are THUDS. The former is an indication that one or more of your children is misbehaving and is in for a talking-to. The latter is a clanging alarm bell on the inside of your skull screaming that something is wrong.
So I ran into that camper so fast I had Noah in my arms before he was even crying. Noah had fallen from the over-cab bunk. (Sean wasn't even phased by his brother's trauma.) There was blood, and at first I thought he'd split his lip, but then he tilted his head back. My thoughts: Oh, that's gonna need stitches. His chin was split open and the wound was gaping. That wasn't gonna get fixed with a band-aid.
So I fish out my cell phone and call my husband, telling him, "Noah fell out of the top bunk and he's gonna need stitches."
"I'll be right there."
Those few seconds of trying to keep Noah calm while not panicking, myself, were some of the longest of my life.
He arrives, takes Noah from me. Noah is quiet now, just making this soft keening sound that alerts us that he's upset and doesn't know what's going on. Derek turns to me and says, "He's gonna need stitches."
This trips my Sarcasm Circuits, and he gets The Look. I think: That's what I said, stupid. I'm pretty sure I didn't say it out loud. At least I hope I didn't.
Derek's mom and sister-in-law arrive on the scene. His mom gives us directions to the hospital and says she'll watch Sean. His brother's wife, Jessica tells us to keep him awake because he may have a concussion. He is very drowsy at this point, and the accident happened about five minutes earlier. So we are concerned. I drive, being as Derek's been drinking, and he rides in the back and keeps Noah awake.
So a fifteen minute drive to a town I don't know, to find a hospital I've never been to in the dark. The emergency waiting room is empty. (Thank God!) They check him out, informed that Noah is autistic.
They give him some medicine so he won't remember being stitched. (I don't know if this is standard procedure for stitching children or because he's autistic, but I sure appreciated that.) And after taking the medication, he promptly falls asleep. He wakes up and it takes four people to hold him when they give him the freezing needle. And he promptly falls asleep again. Doesn't even move when they start cleaning the wound. So Derek and I opt to not watch our baby being poked and stitched, and go to the waiting room. A few minutes later he has a perfect row of eight tiny stitches under his chin. They did a beautiful job stitching him.
He shows no symptoms of concussion, and we are allowed to take him back to the camp.
He sleeps like the dead until 9 a.m. the next morning, and is babbling a mile a minute from the moment he wakes up. He doesn't seem bothered at all by the dressing on his chin, and doesn't seem to be in any pain. Looks like he's gonna be fine.
So the stitches are out now. He's going to have a scar there, but the whole ordeal was, in retrospect, not all that bad. And not nearly as bad as it could have been. Thank God!
So that was my traumatic induction into the your-child-has-been-injured-and-needs-to-go-to-hospital club. I hope you never have to join it.
Love,
-Nan
P.S. A big thank-you to all the staff at the Fort Saint John hospital. You were calm, competent and empathetic. You made a bad experience into a much more tolerable one. God bless you!
P.P.S. And also to my sister Candice (a registered nurse) for taking out the stitches while by some miracle keeping Noah calm. You truly have a gift, sister.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
What I've Been Up To...
Sorry I've been away so long.
A great deal has happened in the two months since I last posted. (I'm not counting the other post from today.)
My dad's side of the family got together to celibrate his parents' 60th wedding anniversary. We camped out together not far from where I live. I got to see family I haven't seen in years. It was a little stressful camping with Noah, what with his habit of wandering off just when he knows no one is paying attention, but it was still a great deal of fun. Congratulations to Grandma and Grandpa on their anniversary! Sixty years is almost unheard-of in this day and age.
My own fourth wedding anniversary. Seems like a lot longer than that, and yet it seems like we just got married last week. I love you Derek! Lets aim to break Great Grandma and Grandpa's record of 75 years married! 71 to go...
I turned 30. dun dun DUN! (Insert creepy death music here.) My birthday was pretty uneventful but I got to spend it with a friend who I rarely get to see, and I'm super-excited about my 30's. I feel like the best is yet to come, and with exercising and losing 20 lbs since December, I feel younger than I have in years.
Noah got approved for specialized services. This is a huge deal. A couple of years of intensive therapy for his speech and social delays could make a huge difference in his ability to be self-sufficient in adulthood. So now I get the help Noah needs, because honestly I have no clue what I'm supposed to be doing to help him.
Also, I would like to thank my grandparents. (The same who celebrated their 60th anniversary.) They very generously offered to buy Noah an Ipad, after they found out we were considering getting one for him. The Ipad has been amazing. Noah had been doing so well with his self-help skills at school by June, but his speech had disappeared entirely. Within two weeks of getting the Ipad, with programs to help him communicate, he was speaking again. I've even heard him offer a couple of completely unique sentences that were appropriate to the conversation, and he's correctly responding to yes and no questions. (Usually if he responds to a question, he just repeats it back to the person.) So the Ipad has been a godsend, and I hope we can integrate it into his therapy program.
So that's what I've been up to this summer. We also bought a motorhome and have been camping with family. When the rain finally stopped this summer, we've gotten to spend some time playing in our newly fenced backyard.
The family is all doing well, and that's all I really have to say for now.
Love,
-Nan
A great deal has happened in the two months since I last posted. (I'm not counting the other post from today.)
My dad's side of the family got together to celibrate his parents' 60th wedding anniversary. We camped out together not far from where I live. I got to see family I haven't seen in years. It was a little stressful camping with Noah, what with his habit of wandering off just when he knows no one is paying attention, but it was still a great deal of fun. Congratulations to Grandma and Grandpa on their anniversary! Sixty years is almost unheard-of in this day and age.
My own fourth wedding anniversary. Seems like a lot longer than that, and yet it seems like we just got married last week. I love you Derek! Lets aim to break Great Grandma and Grandpa's record of 75 years married! 71 to go...
I turned 30. dun dun DUN! (Insert creepy death music here.) My birthday was pretty uneventful but I got to spend it with a friend who I rarely get to see, and I'm super-excited about my 30's. I feel like the best is yet to come, and with exercising and losing 20 lbs since December, I feel younger than I have in years.
Noah got approved for specialized services. This is a huge deal. A couple of years of intensive therapy for his speech and social delays could make a huge difference in his ability to be self-sufficient in adulthood. So now I get the help Noah needs, because honestly I have no clue what I'm supposed to be doing to help him.
Also, I would like to thank my grandparents. (The same who celebrated their 60th anniversary.) They very generously offered to buy Noah an Ipad, after they found out we were considering getting one for him. The Ipad has been amazing. Noah had been doing so well with his self-help skills at school by June, but his speech had disappeared entirely. Within two weeks of getting the Ipad, with programs to help him communicate, he was speaking again. I've even heard him offer a couple of completely unique sentences that were appropriate to the conversation, and he's correctly responding to yes and no questions. (Usually if he responds to a question, he just repeats it back to the person.) So the Ipad has been a godsend, and I hope we can integrate it into his therapy program.
So that's what I've been up to this summer. We also bought a motorhome and have been camping with family. When the rain finally stopped this summer, we've gotten to spend some time playing in our newly fenced backyard.
The family is all doing well, and that's all I really have to say for now.
Love,
-Nan
Embracing Emotion
I like to cry.
Yes, there are times when showing emotion embarasses me. When I get so angry or frustrated that it manifests itself in tears, for instance. I hate how my face gets red and scrunched up and my eyes get puffy. (For this reason, I love Julia Roberts. When that woman cries she actually looks like a real human being. Unlike most actresses, who somehow manage to still look perfect while bawling their eyes out.)
But for the most part, I like to cry. I embrace my emotions as they come. One of the rules I live by is this:
Don't ever apologise for how you feel. Apologise for how you act, but never how you feel.
You are entitled to your emotions.
When I get into a melancholia mood, I tend to wallow in it. I put on music that matches my mood, and let the emotions come. I spent all morning yesterday crying because I was watching Grey's Anatomy. (Stupid, addictive soap opera...) Sometimes when the emotions are buried, I have to use something to help them to the surface. I think that bout of crying helped, because here I am writing again for the first time in two months. I've been suffering a serious block. Fell off the wagon exercise and diet wise too.
Time to get back on the horse, so to speak.
So I guess what I've been trying to say is that I'm fighting off my depression by simply stopping fighting it. And letting the emotions come in full force, and letting them surface, dealing with them and moving on. I'm feeling better for embracing my emotions, rather than trying to stuff them into a box. It's nice to not feel numb anymore.
Love,
-Nan
P.S. The form of depression I suffer from is very mild. This helps me to deal with it. I'm not in any way saying that this works for everyone. If you suffer from depression, talk to someone about it. Message me, call a hotline, call a friend. No one can help you if they don't know you suffer. So ask for help. People love you and care for you. The world is a better place with you in it.
Yes, there are times when showing emotion embarasses me. When I get so angry or frustrated that it manifests itself in tears, for instance. I hate how my face gets red and scrunched up and my eyes get puffy. (For this reason, I love Julia Roberts. When that woman cries she actually looks like a real human being. Unlike most actresses, who somehow manage to still look perfect while bawling their eyes out.)
But for the most part, I like to cry. I embrace my emotions as they come. One of the rules I live by is this:
Don't ever apologise for how you feel. Apologise for how you act, but never how you feel.
You are entitled to your emotions.
When I get into a melancholia mood, I tend to wallow in it. I put on music that matches my mood, and let the emotions come. I spent all morning yesterday crying because I was watching Grey's Anatomy. (Stupid, addictive soap opera...) Sometimes when the emotions are buried, I have to use something to help them to the surface. I think that bout of crying helped, because here I am writing again for the first time in two months. I've been suffering a serious block. Fell off the wagon exercise and diet wise too.
Time to get back on the horse, so to speak.
So I guess what I've been trying to say is that I'm fighting off my depression by simply stopping fighting it. And letting the emotions come in full force, and letting them surface, dealing with them and moving on. I'm feeling better for embracing my emotions, rather than trying to stuff them into a box. It's nice to not feel numb anymore.
Love,
-Nan
P.S. The form of depression I suffer from is very mild. This helps me to deal with it. I'm not in any way saying that this works for everyone. If you suffer from depression, talk to someone about it. Message me, call a hotline, call a friend. No one can help you if they don't know you suffer. So ask for help. People love you and care for you. The world is a better place with you in it.
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