Posey Road

Prologue…

Writing has always been therapy for me and, as such, much of what i write ends up being a paragraph or two in a folder on my laptop titled “Unfinished Projects”.  I spent much of this morning going through those files and actually found some things worth finishing up and posting.  While they are off, chronologically, I still think there is some value in the lessons learned and have decided to wrap a few up and post them here.   Such is the case with Hell’s Bells.  I hope you see what I see…

February, 2014

“Well Hell’s Bells” my dad used to say when he wanted to cuss but didn’t want to say anything too terrible I guess.  I hadn’t thought of that expression in 30 years or more – not until this week when I was diagnosed with Bell’s palsy.  Seems that’s just the right description for it.

After three months of crazy bad headaches every day, including medication adjustments and a trip to the ER for one that was migraine level, I was finally recuperating nicely from the sinus surgery that would put an end to that particular struggle.  I was healing well 10 days post-surgery and was back at work when I noticed my mouth didn’t quite feel right.  A quick look in the mirror told me something was wrong.

Three hours later I was in the surgeon’s office.  By then my right eye would no longer close or blink, I could see that my eyebrows weren’t even and there was a very noticeable droop on the right side of my face, even to my uneducated eye.

I’m not one to panic – denial is more to my liking. When the doctor explained why what were we seeing wasn’t stroke I was a little surprised.  Honestly the thought never occurred to me even though my husband is a stroke survivor.  Dr. Pershall explained that Bell’s palsy, like shingles, is generally considered to be caused by a virus and can be exacerbated by stress – including the stress of a surgery.

In addition to a strong course of steroids and antivirals, he advised me to keep my right eye covered to protect it since it couldn’t protect itself by blinking or producing tears.  Carol, his wonderfully kind, funny nurse of 10 years admonished Paul to behave himself and not do anything to cause me any added stress.

We left the office still pretty calm, knowing this was a temporary situation and determined to deal with it one step at a time.  Easy enough stand to take when you don’t know what those steps are going to look like.

Turns out “keeping your eye covered” meant buying a pharmaceutical grade pirate patch.  Since my eye wouldn’t actually close, it had to either be taped shut or the eyelid pushed down with a tissue underneath the concave pirate patch.  Tape was irritating and would mean my eyelashes would get pulled out.  Tissue was risky – if the tissue moved within that opening, it could easily scratch the eye.   I finally settled on a paper tape and no vanity (really, if you’re wearing a pirate patch are missing eyelashes going to be an issue?).  Also found a couple of very small microfiber clothes at work (iPad cleaners) that I could position above the eyelid over the tape to help push it shut and make the patch itself more comfortable.

Eating was a challenge.  My taste buds were pretty much gone. I could feel hot & cold and texture but not really taste anything.  Texture without taste is like eating rubber or rocks or sand.  I finally settled on milk shakes – the cold feels good and, though I can’t taste the sweet I can get a hint of vanilla on the front left side of my tongue.  Have added protein powder to these to add food value.  It’s a little nasty but you can live on it.

Driving?  Not happening.  I know I’m not safe.  I marvel at how my dad managed so well, having only one eye for most of his life.  Oddly enough, he was an excellent driver.  For me, the loss of depth perception is a deal breaker.  Paul is very graciously taking me where I need to go.  One more reason to hope my experience with Bells is on the shorter end of the 1-6 months spectrum.

I fell this morning.  Paul was warming up the car, preparing to take me to work.  I turned out the lamp, walked back towards the door in the darkness and knocked over an end table, landing pretty much on my face.  As I laid there in those first couple of moments assessing legs, arms, dignity to see what had taken the biggest hit, I thought about how dependent I had become.  I thought about how upset Paul would be that I had fallen in the few minutes he wasn’t by my side.

I gathered myself together, stood back up and went to the car.  “What took you so long to get out here – did you forget something?” and then, shaking his head with a look of consternation, “I should have come back in.  I knew something was wrong.  Are you sure you’re okay?”  As we rode quietly into town hand in hand, I thought about how good it is to be loved and cared for so completely.

A coworker palsied from birth sent me a note the day I was diagnosed. He said to look for the unexpected positives in each day.  It wouldn’t have occurred to me – that there could even be any or that I should look for them.  John’s words of wisdom resulted in Bells Blessings – a daily journal, not of my struggles but of the ways God is showing His presence in my life every day.   Another friend, Jan, quoted a song that says that when you don’t know what to say, just say Jesus.  That’s been particularly helpful as I struggle with my speech, trying to carefully form the words.  I’ve noticed that the less I talk, the clearer my speech is…seems like there are more lessons to learn in that.

While this is difficult and frustrating, we are learning so much.  The switch from Paul as patient/me as caregiver to Paul as caregiver/me as the patient happened overnight.  I am humbled by the need and yet so proud of my husband for way he immediately stepped up and tucked me under his arm, encouraging me every minute and serving me so unselfishly.  He says he learned how to do that from me but I’m not so sure.  I see Jesus in him.

I understand now what it was like to be Paul all those years ago.  Helpless in many ways, a little foggy thinking, demanding.  Occasionally I see him battle within himself (and win!) with the decision of patiently coming to my rescue or just wanting to finish what he’s doing.  I’ve done that so many times with him over the years.  Now that I know what it’s like to be the patient, I wish I had been a more compassionate caregiver.

Bell’s Palsy won’t last forever but I hope the lessons I’ve learned hang around for a while.

Sept 2015 postscript…6 weeks after onset, my speech, sense of taste and ability to blink and close my eye returned.  I look back and realize that I did not miss one single full day of work during this time (just the afternoon of onset), which is more than a little crazy since I talk and work on a computer for a living.  I apologized to my clients for the speech impediment, made the font bigger on my screen and slogged on as usual.  My mantra both for my kids about school attendance and myself at work has always been that we do our jobs unless we are throwing up or on fire.  In hindsight there may need to be some additional exceptions added…

Though I still notice a bit of a droop in my mouth when I get really tired, Bell’s Palsy is largely just a memory now.  This experience DID make me a better caregiver and a better wife to Paul.   There’s nothing like walking in someone else’s shoes – even for a little while – to balance your perspective.

“I do not believe that just because you’re opposed to abortion, that that makes you pro-life. In fact, I think in many cases, your morality is deeply lacking if all you want is a child born but not a child fed, not a child educated, not a child housed. And why would I think that you don’t? Because you don’t want any tax money to go there. That’s not pro-life. That’s pro-birth. We need a much broader conversation on what the morality of pro-life is.”

Sister Joan Chittister, Benedictine Nun, Author and Speaker

In 1982 I was a 21 year old college dropout.  I was pregnant, not married and non-too-thrilled by the sound of my exboyfriend’s voice on the phone as he sighed and said, “well I guess we could get married”.  I had failed at college, failed at Christianity and failed at this relationship.  It was one of the darkest times in my life, yet I’m thankful I still managed to value myself enough to realize how foolish it would be to marry someone who didn’t love me.  “No thanks.” I said.  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do but that’s not it.”  I could hear the relief in his voice as we agreed to talk later.

I spent the next weeks thinking long and hard about my options.  My father offered tearfully to pay for an abortion, but I flatly refused.  Not because I had strong political views but because I believed that long before this child was conceived, God knew the mess I would make of my life and had a plan for redemption – for all of us.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew^[a] you,
before you were born I set you apart              Jeremiah 1:5

Setting emotions aside, I began to look logically and realistically at my remaining choices.   I could give this child to a family better able to provide for its physical and emotional needs or I could face the daunting obstacles of raising him/her myself.  While I was an emotional wreck at the time, I knew I had some marketable skills.  I had a good job history/work ethic and the strong and secure faith of my childhood that was becoming increasingly tangible in spite (or maybe as a result) of my failures.  The concept of grace had stopped being a Youth Night discussion and had become a daily lifeline for me.   Keeping this child would be insanely difficult but doable.

I had a baby girl that spring.  I picked the strongest name I could think of, knowing that little Katharine would need strength and courage to face the world with the less than ideal circumstances of her birth.   We lived first with family, then in a brand new government housing complex while I worked part time for that first year and went to school.

Ultimately I got a good clerical job and we moved into a 1 bedroom apartment.  My twin bed was in the dining room and Kate had the big bedroom to play and sleep.  We shopped on a budget.  We were mostly vegetarians out of necessity and we wore thrift store clothing.  I bought a used car, paid my own insurance, tithed and had a savings account.  My dad helped out when one of us had to go the doctor.  We weren’t rich but we had enough and we were happy.

In the meantime, Randy married and had a family.  He made his child support payments for Kate faithfully.  Eventually and very gradually, he and Kate got to know each other before he passed away just last year.

Kate didn’t meet her biological father until she was 14 but she met her daddy when she was four.  Paul loved her as his own and to this day she is closer to him than to me.  I’m okay with that – proud of it actually.  They fought hard for their relationship and are reaping the rewards.

Married for 8 years, Kate is expecting her first child any day now.  Only in the coming years will she fully realize the sacrifices that were made on her behalf.  That’s how it works – one more subtle part of Eve’s curse I think.  We take our parents for granted until that day when we are called on to make the same sacrifices they’ve made for us all along.

I could have easily found a family to adopt my blue eyed, fiery tempered daughter. There are thousands of young couples longing to give a child – especially a baby – a loving home.  I chose to raise Kate myself because, after much soul searching, I knew it was the right decision for both of us.

I think Sister Joan makes a good point.  Are we really pro-life or just pro-birth?  If we’re committed to life (not just breathing) we’ll stop protesting funding for the social programs that allow our young moms to improve their lives.  The sliding scale housing I lived in made it possible for me to be fully present in my daughter’s life that first 2 years while I worked part time and attended classes at night.  It wasn’t a hand out – it was the help I needed to get to where I could support us on my own.

At the end of the day, the choice to be made was about quality of life for this child and THAT’S what I believe in.  I vote that way and I invest my time and money in charities that benefit – improve the life of – children that are coming into this world in less than ideal circumstances.  I fought hard for Kate – not just for her right to breathe, but for a certain quality of life for her.

While I weep at the thought of the hundreds of thousands of young lives lost to abortion every year, I’m much more upset about a simultaneously liberal and conservative society that tells walking wounded women that abortion is their best or only choice.  Many liberals say it point blank.  While I don’t appreciate the aggressiveness I do appreciate that they don’t pussy foot around – they say what they believe.

Conservatives send the same message when we limit opportunities for food, housing and education.  We say, however inadvertently, that abortion really is your best/only choice.

We aren’t going to help you make a life but we don’t want you to take one.

As a result, so many women are left with the spiritual, emotional and sometimes physical consequences of a choice they felt they actually had little choice but to make.  The women waiting at the abortion clinic aren’t there to make a political statement – they are there because they feel it is their only way to go forward.

There’s a Young Conservatives facebook post going around right now with a guy holding a sign that says “Abortion has never been about choice.  It’s about escaping the consequences of your choices by taking all choices away from another human being.”  The link goes on to say that “the real choice happens when one makes the conscious decision to take part in sexual relations, and children are often the consequence of that.  Instead of aborting, mothers facing hardships should consider options or reach out to the many charities that are willing to help.”

There are so many things wrong with this post I can’t even begin.  For one thing, it completely disregards the man’s role/responsibility as well as the innate nature of human sexuality.  While Christians all agree about the value/need to wait for marriage to have sex, the reality is that much of the world isn’t governed by our values and, historically, women are left holding the bag.

As my husband recently said, “you can’t put the genie back in the bottle”.  Telling pregnant women what they should have done is ridiculous and irrelevant.   When conservatives are looking for answers to social issues we’ve got to come up with something besides blaming loose morals (I cringe to remember that I’ve said similar things myself).

I believe that social programs should be the church’s responsibility.  Jesus made it clear that we are to care for widows and orphans, reach out to the hungry, sick and imprisoned.  So many pro-life, tea party republicans sit in comfortable pews in their churches on the best side of town, giving money towards their own internal programs/dynasties while protesting the very tax funded social programs they weren’t willing to provide.  I love the church but I think we’ve gotten it all wrong.

No doubt that, in an ideal world, people wouldn’t have sex outside of marriage.  In that same ideal world the church would provide housing, food and education for all of those in need and government would be free to do just that – protect and lead.

We don’t live in an ideal world – on either side – so we’re stuck working to improve the very real world we do live in.

I’m not a fan of militant views on anything.  On almost every subject I find that truth and reason lie somewhere midway between idealism and practicality.  There can and should be middle ground. There has to be a way to make changes to our social service programs that will give its beneficiaries a leg up without creating codependency.

If liberals and conservatives really will work together, we can have the best of what both bring to the table and come up with fiscally responsible, workable solutions to these very real issues.

How would we have helped to feed, house and educate the 327,653 children that were aborted last year by Planned Parenthood?  Let’s get that plan in place and offer real alternatives to women so that they DO have choices.

Only then can we say we are really Pro-Life.  Until then we’re just overly vocal idealists, criticizing someone else’s personal life and unimaginably difficult circumstances.  Our protests may well be righteous and well-intentioned but they are intrusive and damaging nonetheless.

As for me, I’ll continue to pray for an end to abortion.  I’ll also give to, promote and vote for those who are working to provide real and lasting alternatives that will put an end to the cycles of brokenness and poverty that have brought us to this point.

I hope you’ll join me.

I’ve had the luxury of being in my house alone for 3 days now.  My husband, who rarely travels, has been away for the weekend at our nephew’s basketball tournament.  A long time high school girls basketball coach, Chris’ team made it to the regional tournament and has a good shot at going to state next weekend (as I write, we have one game left to win that spot).  If they win, Paul will be off to the state tourney to again spend time with his brother and cheer Chris and his teams on.

Since Paul is retired, he’s rarely away.  He says everything he needs is here – his hobbies, pool cue business, lap dog, the 60” tv and me (I suspect in that order, more or less :D).

I wish I could tell you I’ve missed him desperately but if I did, he would call me out for lying.  Truth is as much as I love him, this time alone has been a balm for my soul.  I came home Thursday night from work to a quiet house and a slightly anxious little dog.  After checking on the other animals, I put on my pj’s, turned on my electric fireplace and nestled into my chair.  The dog curled up in my lap and here we’ve sat for much of the weekend – not working, not writing, just resting, reading and watching it snow.

I wonder why I’m not bored or feeling “housebound” like others complain of.   Maybe it’s because I know Paul’s eventually coming home.  These precious days have had the benefits of being single with the promise that in a few days the love of my life will walk back through the door and the routine of our daily lives will resume.  It may be a bit boring but the older we get, the more comfort I find in coffee together every morning, report on the animals/work at the end of the day and even the inevitable “what did you have planned for dinner?” question that sometimes causes so much frustration.  It’s easy enough to take those things for granted but there’s a certain comforting rhythm in the routine of each day.

Or maybe it’s simply because I like the solitude.

I rarely listen to music in the car.  When I bought my new car the salesman spent a good deal of time showing me the intricacies and ease of use of its advanced sound system.  I was trying to act interested but Paul sat in the back, laughing and told him he was wasting his time – I probably wouldn’t ever even turn it on.  True.  I always say there’s enough noise in the car from the voices in my head so I’m not willing to add to the distractions.

When I was in high school, I tried so hard to be like the other kids…outgoing, less cautious, in short – FUN!   I thought there was something wrong with me because social situations didn’t come easy for me.  I made deep friendships but if there were more than 2 people in the room and they weren’t someone I already felt connected to, I was a complete wreck.

There was lots of nail biting, nausea and throwing up in my teenage years.  The simplest interactions would bring on this type of mammoth insecurity.  Riding around the drag with kids from church, having lunch with my crush David Fraser – I even threw up before a date to a banquet with Marvin, one of my best friends that I rode to school with every day!

I memorized the Living Bible Translation of 2nd Timothy 1:7 – “For the Holy Spirit, God’s Gift, does not want you to be afraid of people but to be wise and strong and to love them and enjoy being with them.”  Sadly I spent much time chanting that scripture with my head out the window or hanging over a toilet.

I’m glad I found strength in scripture.  It eventually did really change my life for the better.  Over the years I became more functional in group settings and was able to participate in a wider range of relationships.  Ultimately (if somewhat ironically), I got to the point where I was giving speeches to groups of 10 -200 on behalf of foster kids in our area – something I cared enough about to put aside my fears for.

In my fifties I understand now that while much of my struggle as a teenager was based in insecurity, there was also the simple fact that I was then and remain, an introvert.

We didn’t use the words introvert and extrovert much then.  I wish I had understood that, while I did need to develop more comfortable social skills, there wasn’t anything actually wrong with who I was.  There is such a difference in that statement!  Accepting who you are and growing in uncomfortable areas versus never feeling like you are good enough.

I spent years trying to tame my introverted, intense, type A personality into the social, easy going person I so admired and wanted to be.  My childhood friends Lillian, Stormy, and Twila – those young women were heroes to me.  Smart, comfortable in their own skin and easy to be around.  As the years went by I continued to seek out those big personalities for my friends.  I wanted to hang out with people who were different than me.  Women who dreamed big, were confident and filled the room.  In later years, friendships with Mollie, Kim, T-Nina and Lisa brought that same joy and added dimension to my life.  To this day, I love those women with all of my heart and soul, though I do it quietly – faithful in prayer, warm thoughts and precious memories.

I read recently that many introverts like people well enough, that’s just not where they find their energy.  Rather, an introvert gains her courage – her strength – in time alone. She recharges in solitude.  That explains why I was so determined to set an entire room in my house aside just to feed my spirit.   Plants, books, picture window looking out over the field, electric fireplace, piano, comfy furniture, no TV.  I call it my Life Room because it’s in this room I find peace and comfort and the emotional energy to get back out there to do the things that are important and exhausting and that I absolutely love.  My job, volunteer work, church activities and time with the people I care so much about.

After 3 days of rest and light soul searching, I came to the conclusion that it’s time to stop fighting myself.  Not because there’s no room for change – far from it.  (Much of the comfort I find in solitude comes from knowing I can’t cause any damage when I’m in the room alone!)  I am learning though to finally accept who God made me and just quietly grow in that.

Three days on my own, and that’s what I’ve learned.  Took a while, but what a precious gift this snow storm brought after all.

P.S…The girls won their game this afternoon so next weekend the Garden City girls, their coach and his family (including his Uncle Paul) will make their first appearance at the 2A state basketball tournament.  His Aunt Pam will sit in the house on Posey Road, quietly cheering them on and again, catching her breathe for a few more days  😉

I’d like to explain my absence from this site, but I can’t.  Doing so would break Pam’s Code of Writing Ethics – my public forum is not a place for my loved one’s private struggles.  Though my goal is always transparency, I have (in my own head) gallantly refused to do so at the expense of the people I love.   Doesn’t that sound admirable?  Sort of, but there’s a martyr element too.

The real truth is that I haven’t written anything in 3 years because of my own fears and disappointments.  The wind got knocked out of my sails the day I realized some of my expectations for my family were not going to ever be fulfilled.  Sadly, I used that disappointment as an excuse – an excuse to withdraw from God, from my callings and from looking ahead with the fresh eyes of wonder that faith provides.

Frankly I’ve spent the past 3 years in mourning but the only thing that died was my own ideas of what my life would look like.  Scripture says we are to die to ourselves daily yet I couldn’t let go of even one dream with any decent amount of grace. 

Pollyanna Pam just didn’t think she had anything left to say.  That’s probably true given my refusal to explore the unbeaten path that lay right in front of me.  Intended as a short pause – a chance to catch my breath, I eventually got comfortable sitting in that old dead end.  Three years later, I’m find myself in that same spot, still waiting for the scenery to change.  Still staring at that unbeaten path.  Still afraid to go forward with no way to turn back.

Those same expectations took another blow recently.  While I’ve been numb for a good while now, I am aware enough to realize that my only options are go forward or dig my own grave even deeper.

It’s time to move on.

I hope you’ll come with me on this journey.  If you’re ahead of me, I welcome your encouragement.  If you too are dusting yourself off from a gut punch, working out your own salvation with fear and trembling (Phil 2:11-13), I invite you to hold my hand.  With the surety of scripture, power of prayer and a commitment to seeing the truths we are so afraid of through the eyes of Grace, we’ll get through this together friend. 

I’ll see you back here soon.

The biography heading on our youngest daughter’s Facebook page says simply “It’s not about me.”  While in this instance, it probably is about her, that simple phrase has echoed through our home a lot the past few years.  When we start to feel slighted by others or when things don’t go our way with jobs, volunteer work or relationships, we do well to remember there’s a bigger picture.  When it comes down to it, most things really are just not about us.

And yet, when we look at Christmas – really look at the “Reason for the Season” – it actually IS about us!   Christmas isn’t just a calendar entry that brings on decorating, a big meal and gifts.  The reason those traditions exist in the first place is that God knew the wretchedness of my heart and loved me so much that He sent His Son to save me.  Imagine!  Jesus, fully God, left the magnificence of heaven to become fully man in a decidedly un-magnificent place, just for me and you!    

It’s easy to lose sight of that during the excitement and busy-ness of this time of year.  As much fun as the giving is, don’t forget there’s much to be received.  The reason for it all – Jesus – came to earth for you. 

Cliché as it may sound, He really is the “Reason for the Season”. May our hearts be open to receive the One Gift that really matters.

2/27/11…now that Christmas is long over, I realize I never got around to moving this post from Draft to Publish…guess I didn’t take my own advice and got too caught up in all the “doing” this year 🙂

Hello world!  That’s how WordPress welcomed me today when I set up this, my very own blog site.  For the past year I’ve been a contributing writer for getnfused.com, but I finally decided it’s time to stop wading in the writing waters and begin swimming.  Those of you who’ve read my ramblings for years will find some familiar posts here.  I hope you’ll also find some new ways to look at your journey as I share the ups and downs of my own with you. 

Thanks to everyone for the encouragement I’ve received  along the way – Mollie and Andy, this next step would never have happened without you.

Posey Road is my own personal spiritual retreat.  It is now my home, but has long been a place of faith and refuge for our family.  Whether you live in Florida, Indiana or just down the highway in Lubbock, I hope you’ll find encouragement and peace here as we journey together.

Blessings!
Pam