Family Travels - Val's Story, Chap 6, Part 1

Over the years, we went on a few family vacations, but it seemed Val always ended up in one crisis or another.

          When she was much younger, we took a trip to South Dakota. We had a cassette tape of the Peanuts characters singing country-western classics. I had never been a fan of that genre of music, but after days in the car listening to it over and over, the songs actually grew on me. Nick and Val sang their hearts out, and Jim and I often joined in.

          Then there was the episode at a wayside overlooking the Wyoming prairie. Val had a craft box filled with beads for jewelry she was making. When she crawled out of the car with the box on her lap, she biffed the beads all over the parking lot.

          They could hear her wailing all the way to the Mississippi River. We picked up as many beads as we could, but finally had to shove her in the car, still screaming, and get back on the road.

          Another day, while driving through the empty spaces of the Badlands, she had to go to the bathroom. Nearly screaming once again, announcing she had to poop RIGHT NOW.

          Jim pulled the car over, and Val and I walked a short way through the barren landscape and around the backside of a knoll. Yes, she left her mark, as I watched for traffic, reptiles, and tourists out walking among the hills. 

Val left her mark somewhere out there. 

          The following year, we drove to Kentucky on vacation. Val once again had one crisis after another.

          The first day, it was something about her camera. I don’t even know what, and I don’t think she even knew. She was just in a mood.

          The next day, she left her sandals on the picnic table of a wayside when she went to wade in a stream. The only store in the next town – a Dollar General, I believe – only had one style of footwear in her size. Hot pink flipflops it was.

          Her brother, by the way, always had a fantastic time on these trips. They were as different as night and day growing up. It wasn’t until they were young adults that they grew close, much to this mother’s joy.

We sent the kids on an adventure tour of Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. Luckily, I had made sure she had a pair of old tennies on the trip. Nick had a great time crawling around in the cave. Val did okay; at least she didn't have any meltdowns. 

The Bible

      Blessed is the one who reads the words of God’s message, and blessed are the people who hear this message and do what is written in it. The time is near when all of this will happen. (Revelation 1:3, New Century Version)

I’m just wondering how many of you read your Bible? Or do you even have one? Maybe not a physical, paper copy, but at least a Bible app on your phone?

Are you familiar with the Bible? The difference between the Old and New Testaments? How the books in both Testaments are organized?

It just feels like I’ve always known those things. I can’t remember if I learned about the Bible in Sunday School or Confirmation Class, or just picked things up as I went along. Know what I’m saying?

Are there people reading this who don’t know that when you see John 3:16, the verse is in the book of John, which is the fourth book in the New Testament and the final book in the Gospel? And that the 3 is the number of the chapter and 16 is the verse. It makes it easy to find verses that way.  And if you didn’t know that, don’t feel bad. When I was teaching Sunday School, one of my students knew what those numbers meant, but when she was reading her Bible, all those numbers in the middle of the words threw her off.

Anyway, I know I have shared a lot of Bible verses here over the years, and I hope some of them stuck with you. I hope to share a lot more verses in the coming years. For now, though, I want to delve more into the Bible – who wrote it, what we know about those people, what texts were chosen to be included in the Bible and why, and why some versions of the Bible have more books in it than others. 

I’ve told you many times that I’m not a Bible scholar, but I think that we can all stand to learn a little bit more about it. Let’s see where this leads us – starting next Sunday. 😉

The Illness and Injury Years - Val's Story, Chapter 5

(At least she didn't try downhill skiing.)

I know all kids go through illnesses and injuries, but Val sure had more than her share.

          When she was just a year old, Nick woke up one morning with an itchy rash which quickly turned into painful pustules. The year was 1991, when the vaccine against chicken pox was still being studied in American labs. This was also the time when all responsible moms sent their kids to whoever’s house had a chickenpox outbreak, so their kids could get it and get it “over with”. I was glad Nick contracted it then, before he started kindergarten in a few weeks. 

          And even though his sister was only a year old, I was relieved when a week or so later, she broke out as well.

          Four years later, a few days after she started kindergarten, I got the first call from the school nurse. “Val hit her head on the playground. She says her head hurts, but otherwise seems fine. I still recommend you take her to the hospital after school to get checked out.”

          Hours and an MRI later, the ER doctor confirmed she had a mild concussion and gave me the usual instructions of what to watch for. She was a little sick to her stomach that night, and the headache continued for a few days. It slowed her down for a while, but that was okay. She needed to slow down.

          The following fall, within a week of school starting, the school nurse called again. Val was throwing up. I sighed into the phone; this was becoming a trend. And it was.

          In August 1997, my sister Pat took the kids and me camping in Michigan’s UP. We had a great time, all of us tromping through the woods, making s’mores over the campfire, and sleeping in the pop-up camper.

          About a month later, Val came home from school more tired than usual. At bedtime, she told me she was too achy to even get her pajamas on by herself. I pulled her t-shirt off over her head, and what I saw on her chest and back told me immediately what was wrong with her. A round welt the size of a small saucer on one side of her chest and a larger one on her back.

          If you don’t live in northern Wisconsin or some other thickly wooded area, you might have been alarmed or at least confused. After working in the medical field for ten years and seeing many patients with this same illness, I had never seen it with quite such a remarkable presentation. But I still knew in a second. She had Lyme’s Disease.

          The next day, after Val had her blood drawn, the lab tech told me that the test turned bright pink instantly, faster than anyone else’s had, confirming what we already knew.

          This time, I called the school nurse to let her know that Val might be out for a few days until her symptoms abated and she felt better.

          My poor little girl finally had a reprieve of a few years until September 14, 2001.

          It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Nick was mowing the lawn on the riding mower, and Val was riding her bike around the yard. Hubby and I were doing something in the front yard when Nick yelled out, “Val’s screaming.” He pointed to the side of the house.

(Picture not taken that particular day, but all this padding would not have helped anyway.)

          We ran to find her crumpled underneath her bike, howling in pain. We carefully picked her up, and she grabbed her arm.

          Just like that tell-tale Lyme’s rash, Hubby and I both knew right away what was wrong. Forever after, he said her right forearm looked like the kid who broke his arm in one of the Harry Potter movies. Floppy. Okay, that’s overly dramatic, but the middle of her arm truly was bent back noticeably.

          I grabbed the car keys from the house while her step-dad carried her to the car. We left Nick alone, still mowing the lawn and probably unaware.

          The doctor once again confirmed what I already knew and what the X-ray showed. She had broken and displaced both the ulna and radius bones in her forearm.

          We were sent to the hospital in the next town over, one that had an orthopedic surgeon on call. He gave her some sedation, set her arm, and wrapped it in a cast from her fingertips to halfway up her shoulder.

          For six weeks, with her right arm in a sling, she learned to write, eat, and brush her teeth with her left arm. It would be one skill that served her well over the years. When she got contact lenses a few years later, she learned to put them in each eye at the same time, using her left hand for the left eye and her right hand for the right.

          It seemed that finally the curse was broken, at least for a while.

Life Happening - Val's Story, chapter 4, part 2

Life happened, as it always does. They say that if three or more stressful events occur within a year – such as a death in the family or serious illness – it wears a person down and can cause all kinds of problems. 1993 would be the first of many of those years for me.

          My marriage to the kids’ dad had been shaky for a while, and it finally fell apart completely. Naturally, it would be easy for me to blame him, but I know in my head that it takes two people working on it to keep any relationship going. My relationship was mostly with my babies, and his was with his friends. He moved out in March of 1993, and our divorce was final on November 11. I insisted on keeping the house because it was our children’s home. He cooperated in everything.

          Don’t I wish that was all that happened that year.

          My dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few years before, and it was progressing quickly. By April of 1993, Mom was worn to a frazzle taking care of him. My siblings and I finally convinced her to admit him to the nursing home.

          She took Dad in on a Friday morning, and the next day, he choked on some food – it’s common for people with advanced dementia to forget how to swallow. This choking incident resulted in aspiration pneumonia, forcing them to admit him to the hospital on Sunday.

          Unless Mom agreed to put in a feeding tube, the doctors told her he would continue to choke on his food. We all agreed that a feeding tube would only prolong a life he was no longer living.

          He passed away on Thursday with me and Mom, his wife of 48 years, by his side.

          But that still wasn’t all for that year.

          One September Saturday morning, my sister Pat woke up with severe abdominal pain. Her husband took her to the ER, and the next morning, Dr. Skye and the surgeon on call performed an emergency hysterectomy.

          Initially, they thought the large growth in her uterus was an unruly fibroid. When the pathology came back a few weeks later, the report showed she had leiomyosarcoma, a rare and very deadly cancer.

          A group of specialists discussed her case and decided to keep close tabs on her. They hoped that all of the cancer cells had been removed during surgery.

          She wasn’t only my sister; she was my best friend. My kids were just as close to her, worshipping the ground she walked on. I can still hear their little voices announcing, “Aunt Patti’s here,” whenever she drove into our yard.

          It had been a bad year, but better years would follow. And so would bad ones.

Aunt Patti, Val and Nick, April 18, 1993, four days after Val turned 3 and 11 days before my dad died. 

What will you do now?

     What do you think? Is it time that I move on and write on Sundays about something other than the message of Easter? I thought I would close out this year’s Lenten series with some of the last things that Jesus did and said before He ascended into heaven, according to each of the Gospel writers.

Still later he appeared to the eleven disciples as they were eating together. He rebuked them for their stubborn unbelief because they refused to believe those who had seen him after he had been raised from the dead.

And then he told them, “Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone. Anyone who believes and is baptized will be saved. But anyone who refuses to believe will be condemned.” (Mark 16:14-16, NLT)

     It seems that right up to the very end, Jesus had to keep reminding them who He was, but Jesus also had faith in them, that they would carry His message out into the world.

Then the eleven disciples left for Galilee, going to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him—but some of them doubted!

Jesus came and told his disciples, “I have been given all authority in heaven and on earth. Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:16-20, New Living Translation)

     Even though there were those among them who continued to have doubts, Jesus expected them to spread the words of the Gospel, to carry out the Great Commission.

It was also written that this message would be proclaimed in the authority of his name to all the nations, beginning in Jerusalem: ‘There is forgiveness of sins for all who repent.’ You are witnesses of all these things.

“And now I will send the Holy Spirit, just as my Father promised. But stay here in the city until the Holy Spirit comes and fills you with power from heaven.”

Then Jesus led them to Bethany, and lifting his hands to heaven, he blessed them.  While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up to heaven. (Luke 24:47-51, NLT)

     Then suddenly, Jesus was gone again, this time taken to heaven where He will reign for all eternity. And where He will be waiting for us.  

There are so many other things Jesus did. If they were all written down, each of them, one by one, I can’t imagine a world big enough to hold such a library of books. (John 21:25, The Message)

     The stories of Jesus will be told until the end of time. And it’s up to each of us to carry out the Great Commission and keep sharing those stories. Will you?   

 

Life Happening - Val's Story, chapter 4, part 1

Val was born on a sunny, warm Saturday afternoon in April. The next day, Easter, as I lay in the hospital bed, nursing her, snow was falling outside. There were still a few inches on the ground when we took her home on Monday, but it warmed up quickly and melted before we knew it.

          We were living in a mobile home in a trailer court in town when Val was born. Her father and I had talked about buying a house and started looking in earnest. Our first outing with Val was a visit to see my sister Pat, and on the way there, we stopped to look at a house. I waited in the car while he met with the owner and went inside.

          He came out and said it was only two bedrooms, but had a bath and a half and a large living room. The two-car garage was attached, and it sat on just over four acres. I had already fallen in love with the large, grass-covered yard and the trees surrounding it. No neighbors nearby. It seemed perfect except for only having two bedrooms. We had two kids – a boy and a girl – so we would need a third bedroom at some point.

          We hired a real estate agent and looked at a few other houses in the area. But we kept coming back to that first house and finally put in an offer on it. We moved in at the end of September.

          It was the sixth place we’d lived in since getting married five years before. As a baby, Nick had made all those moves with us, but I don’t think he remembered any of them except for the trailer house.

          This house, a few miles south of town on a piece of land that would become paradise to me over the years, would be the only home Val had when she was growing up.

Not a good picture, but this is from the sale's flyer on our house. So, the first picture I have of it. 

The End of Nine Months - Val's Story, chap 3 continued

Saturday morning, April 14, 1990, the day before Easter and one week before my due date, I called my mom around ten to check in. My husband and I were talking about doing some shopping and wondered if Mom wanted to watch Nick.  

          She agreed and said we could drop him off at my aunt’s, who lived next door to us, and that she would pick him up in a little while. We were still on the phone, saying our good-byes, when I got up from the kitchen chair where I had been sitting to put the phone receiver back on its hook. 

          There was a gush, and within seconds I was standing in a puddle of water.

          “Um, Mom, you still there?”

          “Yes. Is something wrong?”

          “No, not really. But I don’t think we’re going shopping, I think we’re going to the hospital instead. My water just broke.”

          “Well, take Nick to Helen’s house, and I’ll be there to get him as soon as I can. Get going.”

          I called the hospital and told them I was on my way. When we got there 45 minutes later, they tucked me into bed and hooked me up to the monitors. A nurse reached under the blankets to check me.

          “You’re only dilated to three, so settle in. This could take a while.”

          Once again, I thought to myself, “There ain’t no stinkin’ way. They won’t let me eat until this baby is out, and I’m hungry already.”

          Dr. Skye came along a half hour or so later and told me the same thing that the nurse had, adding, “If you haven’t had this baby by tomorrow morning, we’ll start you on Pitocin.”

          An even more emphatic “no stinkin’ way” rang through my head.

          My husband had been sitting in the chair next to my bed, totally unconcerned, watching MTV. When he heard it was going to be a while, he finally perked up. “Then I’m going to run to Burger King for something to eat.”

          “Sure, go ahead,” I told him. Someone might as well eat!

          Shortly after he left, the music video for “Let It Rain Down” by Phil Collins came on the TV hanging from the wall. Of all the videos that were on that morning, I don’t know why I remembered that one. But just like married couples have a song, this would forever be the song for my baby and me.  

          Two hours later, my husband had returned and was finishing his Whopper, when I had the urge to push. I rang for the nurse, who arrived within a few minutes.

          She looked very skeptical when I told her I thought it was time, but she checked me and confirmed my story. “I’ll page Dr. Skye,” she said, hurrying from the room.

          I don’t know why I remember so many details of this birth. Can other mothers recall everything?

          When I was in labor with Nick, all I remember is that we had lasagna for supper the night before and that I pooped all over the doctor when I was pushing (that is very common, and the doctor and nurses are used to it, in case any young women read this and freak out). I also remember driving to the hospital in the middle of the night. We were living in Colorado at the time, and there was one point on I-25 heading into Denver, where it is so dark along the highway, and then you turn a wide curve, and all the lights of the city are suddenly there.

          Now, though, as I lay in that bed with music videos staring at me, Dr. Skye walked in the room and announced, “I was at the store reaching into the cooler for a gallon of milk when my pager went off.”

          Why? Why did she tell me that? And why can I still hear her words in my head to this day?

          Anyway, it was less than an hour later that she was cradling that pink, wrinkly eight-pound, five-ounce baby girl in her arms. She brought the bundle to my side and lay her in my arms.

          She said to my daughter, “You have parents who love you so much.”

          At the time, I didn’t think of her father; I only thought, “Yes, I will love you with all my heart. Forever.”