Sunday, December 23, 2012

Creative Beast

I really should be wrapping presents, or cleaning something, or prepping something, but instead I just got done with two hours worth of cuddle time with Grace and Jeremy, lazily watching our coveted food network cook off shows, fireside, under the soft glow of the Christmas tree. If I could pause those two hours, I would. I love the coziness of pre-Christmas. I do love the day itself so much, but it also makes me sad, because it means the world will soon be back to houses without Christmas lights, carol-less music, and boring old, boring.

Being another year older, and possibly a bit wiser, or maybe weathered is a better word, I am cautiously optimistic for 2013. It seems like a year ready to have the thick red curtains pulled back. A mysterious year, ready to unfurl some magic. What do you have up your sleeve, 2013? I don't know, wait and see... it whispers, with a tip of it's hat, a coy smile curling at it's lips.

I have to say, I am already feeling conflicted. I don't stay put very well. If you remember my resume, I like to learn new things on about a three year basis. One new thing I really badly want to learn how to do, is oil paint. I have no plans of hanging up my photography, not even, but, this creative beast inside, wants to learn it all. And, oil painting, it wants. I've tried to explain this beast to Jeremy, and have explained it like this: It is a wild stallion inside me that roams free. I try and catch it, chase it, tie a noose around it's neck, but I can't. It runs wild, freely, bucking and snorting, kicking and galloping,  and when I do catch it, it is not for long before it breaks free and runs, rope trailing behind it. That is how it feels.

So there you have it. My creative beast.

Can I catch this beast in 2013? Probably not. Besides, horses in corrals make me sad. Horses that run free, I love to watch.

I do hope, whoever reads this and beyond, that 2013 will meet you and keep you in good health and happiness. I hope this is "the" year for you, a great year, a fond year that when looked back on, has treated you well. A year filled with love and dreams, starry skies, and full hearts. That and more, is my wish for you.

Sending love and wishing you a very Merry Christmas to you all,

           The Smith family

*Will be back in two weeks! Taking a winter break! : )

Sunday, December 16, 2012


Here I am, staring at a blank page staring back at me.

I really have no words, and don't feel like writing, and just like so many other of you, I am silenced by a deep heartache.

The right words fall away perhaps because their are none to be had, or perhaps words feel too little to even come close to soothing hearts that feel so much pain right now. Instead of words, I offer you, the people of Newtown, the deepest of prayers that there will be a net to catch you, arms to hold you, and that you can feel the love and support from a collective world that mourns with and for you.

A mama I don't know, a very brave mama, stepped out with her story, and does know what to say. She wrote an eye opening piece that I believe should be read by many, so instead of my words that feel so small and insignificant, I invite you to read hers, a cry for help that we, as a nation, should all hear and tend to.

Please Read Me

Hugs, love, and light to help you navigate this darkness. Sending it all your way. Love~M


Last week, we made gifts.


We made bird seed ornaments to hang outside for your feathered friends.

This would be a good craft to do with your little ones this week, on these cold, wet evenings. It is a quiet, fun, and messy project.  But, messy is OK. We swept up the mess and crumbled castaways into a bag that we dip a small bowl into, and my little one scatters seeds on her way to the bus stop in the mornings.

You can find the instructions and ingredients here

Here are some tips:

  *Pack it in pretty tight, as tight as you can. Help your littles do this, as if it is not packed,
     it will crumble when you take it out of the mold.

  * Cut straws to leave in your feeders as they dry for a hole to put twine or ribbon through
     to hang them.

   * Make sure when you put the straw in that it is not close to the edge at all. Many of ours
      were accidentally inserted at an angle, and too close to the edge, resulting in a crumbly
      mess that you can't hang.

    * Use cookie cutters that don't have any thin fancy details that hang out. A star, a heart,
       an acorn, a gingerbread man works best and hangs as a nice solid piece.

    * Be prepared to loose some. We lost about half  to a crumbly mess, but the half that
      did work, look great.

 We strung ribbon through to hang them, and packaged them up in clear bags and a raffia bow.

 If you do these, please post pictures on your fb, I would love, love to see them!

Give your kiddos an extra hug. A hug from me too, while you're at it.

Enjoy them, breathe them, love them.



Sunday, December 9, 2012

Kiss me, I'm Irish

Need an idea for gift giving this year?

Let me just hook you up with a recipe for a little sippy, sippy.

I made this a couple of years ago to give away as gifts, and sadly that year, ended up with none for us. Not even a drop. This year, that won't happen, as I tripled the recipe, and we have already been doing a little sippy, sippy of our own.

It is best made at least a week in advance so the flavors can soften, but if you are short on time, it will still be very tasty.

                                     Homemade Irish Cream

                         2 Cups Heavy Cream

                        14 oz. can of sweetened condensed milk

                         1 to 1 1/4 Cups Irish Whisky

                         2 Tbsp. Hershey's special dark chocolate syrup

                         2 tsp. instant coffee granules

                         1 tsp. vanilla extract

                         1/2 tsp. almond extract

It couldn't be more easy. Put all ingredients into a blender, and blend well. When you are adding the whisky, start with a cup, then taste and add more to your liking. I ended up using just shy of 1 and 1/4 cups. Always store this in the fridge as it will go rancid if kept at room temperature. Once made, it will keep for at least a month in the fridge. As it sits, it may separate and look "iffy". Just give it a good shake, and all will be good with the world again. I ended up getting my Irish Whisky at Trader Joe's. It is called Kilbeggan Irish Whisky. Irish Whiskey's can be spendy, but the bottle I bought was 19.95 + tax, and it made three batches worth. I poured each batch into big ball canning jars to keep in the fridge until I pour them into pretty jars for gift giving. That way I can pour off a little bit and taste test for quality control. : )

Here is another variation I did with one of my batches:

Fleur de Sel Caramel Irish Cream:  Omit the Hershey's chocolate syrup. In it's place, add 4 Tbsp. of Trader Joe's Fleur de Sel Caramel sauce. Cut down the instant coffee granules from 2 tsp, to only 1/4 tsp, or omit it all together. I added the 1/4 tsp just to add a tiny back flavor to it. Make sure it is blended well before pouring into jars.

Since we are on the subject of Trader Joe's, let me just tell you how much I love that Fleur de Sel caramel sauce of theirs.

I love it. I luuuuuuuuuuv it.

I have also found a way to make my favorite espresso out of it.  I have this espresso machine I bought from Starbucks way back in 1997, the "Starbucks Barista." I remember buying it, as it was sitting all lonely like in the back of the store on the sale rack, gathering dust. It was all, " No one likes me. No one wants me because I'm, well," It's true. It was most certainly gold colored. And not just any gold, but that awful '70's gold that has a shimmer in it that will match no ones decor. I took pity on it's golden tears, and scooped it up, and bought the machine that now sits on my counter and doesn't match any of my decor at all. I don't care. I have my favorite lattes down to a science, and I love it even if it does strike a John Travolta Saturday Night Fever pose in my kitchen. It makes me fabulous espresso.

Anyways, right now Trader Joe's has it's seasonal goodies out, and one of them is a "Sipping Chocolate." It is good as a sipping chocolate, but it can be better.  By adding a tsp. or two of it, and a  very generous Tbsp. of the Fleur de Sel caramel to your morning latte, you just made yourself a Salted Caramel Mocha. Yummmmmmmm.

I go sit now ( I am actually writing this on Thursday night instead of Sunday), with a small glass of Fleur de Sel Caramel Irish cream over ice, wrapped up in a fleece blanket, the Christmas tree twinkling to my right, as I go address my Christmas cards to send out. Daisy wants my lap, but can't, because I am busy, so she settles on keeping my feet company instead.  I click on the TV and pick out Sleepless in Seattle the new Footloose movie from my Netflix queue, and slide into the lazy evening.

Ahhhh, I do love Christmas time.

Have a lovely Christmas laden Sunday evening, y'all.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Plateau's and hot wings

I am stuck on this crazy plateau.

The pouring out of pent up memories has me reeling a bit, and hiding out. I feel I have bared too much, and have yet to feel that it was helpful to let it all spill out. So, I sit here on my indifferent plateau, not feeling the need to slip down, or feeling the need to climb out. Just staying put. I even dreamt about it last night. I was on this tiny trail on the steep side of a mountain with a massive cliff edging it, and crashing waves down below. Being one that is incredibly afraid of heights, I just hung on to the rocks on the side of the mountain with fingers tight, hanging on for dear life, not wanting to move one tiny inch. I wasn't alone. There were people with me. There was this very slim, rocky, rim for people to walk on that was just past me, but it was treacherous, and the random people that tried to climb past, either stumbled and fell off the cliff, or couldn't get past me. Isn't it weird when you dream of complete strangers? Where do they come from in your dreams? Are they people you have not met, but have seen before? Or is your brain making you friends? Intermixed with those random strangers, were people from high school (darn you, fb!), and newer friends. Some were jumping off the cliffs, and falling into the crashing waves below, which no one would have survived in real life, and then there were people that were stalling, until someone would grab them, and toss them over the side whether they liked it or not. Anyhoo, the dream went on like this, then at the end, I was somehow in a restaurant picking from a menu with 100+ types of buffalo hot wings....dreams....plateau's and hot wings.....go figure.

December has moved on in, and so has the rain. I look at the forecast every night, why? I don't know. I should know by now it will be the same forecast for the next five months, temps 40's-50's, rain, with micro moments of sun.  I guess I am hoping for the s-word. I could use a coating of magical snow to come whisk me out of my funk, and show me some beauty.

We are decorating over here. Our nephew came to stay with us last weekend, so I had two elves helping me decorate, which I loved.


We've also been doing some remodeling.

Grace's books have been stacked in the upstairs hallway for months, waiting for a home. We finally gave her a hammer, and she went to town. We said, "Grace. Go make yourself a bookcase, so we can go through the hallway not sideways anymore. So, she did, and now, here is her new bookcase. We will hire her out to the right person. Payment will be made in the form of milk and cookies....and maybe the new Taylor Swift CD she's been wanting.   ; )!


I have a very important photo shoot coming up, but the kicker is, it is all indoors, so, mama got a new toy.

A new set of studio lights!  So, I've been cramming all the information I can on how to shoot with these suckers, and let me tell you, it is very intimidating, and has a completely different set of rules from shooting with natural light.  Must practice.  Lots to learn in a very short amount of time.  Eeeeeek!!!


So, that is the story, morning glory.

Things have been rough, but I sit on my plateau and I stay until a hand comes down to pull me up, or a yank at my ankle comes to pull me down.

At least I have buffalo hot wings.

 : )

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Murmurs continued

When we arrived at the PICU that night, Jeremy and I were kicked out of the room. The entourage that brought her up to the PICU directed us to the waiting room on that floor and informed us it would be a while before we would be able to see her. It was late, after midnight, and I just wanted to be near her. I knew she was scared, and I very much wanted to fight them on this, but the bear inside moaned and cried as it knew, this fight, it would not win. The internist that night came in and told us they were going to get her settled in, then perform a spinal tap. She was sick, and they wanted to        "rule some stuff out", like meningitis, they told us. I tried to tell them I had had the flu, and that I was pretty sure that is what she had. I really, really didn't want them to do a spinal tap, and begged them not to, but they said it was necessary. The thought of them sticking a needle in her back and draining out fluid was just too much. They would sedate her, they told me, so I would not be able to feed her until sometime in the morning. I was still breastfeeding through all of this, getting in feedings and comfort when I could, but this broke mama bear down.

It was three in the morning, and we lay in the semi darkness on the grimy couches of the waiting room, crying, willing sleep to come bring us into darkness. That night was one of the lowest, rock bottom feelings I have ever felt in my life. I was crushed. My soul wanted to slip out of my body. I couldn't stand to be in my own skin. I wanted to lay on the floor because I felt so low, but the ground wasn't low enough. I wanted to be under it. I wanted to change bodies with her so badly, so she wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

Somewhere in the early darkness a nurse came in and told us she did good, and they were waiting on some testing. She had a rash that covered her torso and was feverish, but she was stable, and we could see her soon. Soon, just wasn't soon enough.

When they finally let us in, we were the enemy. The PICU nurses did not know us yet, and we were just other bodies that got in their way. I know rumors were starting. She's so sick. Why didn't anyone catch this? Didn't they take her to her checkups? Did they not care?

The spinal tap came back negative, but she had a virus, and they wanted to keep it contained, so they put her under isolation, which meant a yellow gown, glove, and mask, for anyone who entered her room, us included. The PICU staff warily eyed us, as we eyed them back. I was still her mama, and now that I was in the room, I wasn't going to leave. I cannot tell you, or put into words the feeling behind the division/ tug-of-war of power that was felt in that room. I was feeling territorial, and so were they. I was doing my best to stay out of the way, but I was NOT going to have them tell me we were going to have to leave for the night. Nope. No way. The one night was pure hell, and I wasn't going to leave her side. We would sleep on the floor, we told them, if we had to, but she is OUR child, our world, our universe, and she is sick, and we are staying. End of story.

They weren't happy with us, so, enter in a social worker. She was very nice, and even scrounged us up a small cot for us to sleep on, so we could have a small space in her room to call ours, which did not make the nurses happy. I was very, very grateful, and we made sure we kept our stingy laundry supply and toiletries out of everyone's way, and kept to our corner of the room when nurses entered. "We are not a hotel. There is a hotel very, very close to the hospital with a bed, a bathroom, and a shower that we could stay at," we were told, and urged, even from the social worker. "They even give you a price break if you have someone staying in the hospital." Oh, yeah. Just what we need. A $1000 hotel bill to top off this nightmare...wait.... Bills. Bank accounts. Payments, I thought to myself. I had become completely oblivious to the outside world, and had no idea the day, the date, when the mail was last checked, or anything. I didn't bother thinking about it too long. The outside world would have to wait, this was taking up 100% of my focus. Nope. Not gonna happen. "We are not leaving." I told them firmly, which caused even more feathers to be ruffled, and more visits from the social worker, until one afternoon a couple days later, my mother-in-law brought in some papers I had asked her to pick up from our house and bring to me. It was Vanessa's progress reports from each of her visits to her Pediatrician. There were about six of them, pieces of papers with her stats, and such. I was telling the social worker that we were "all on the same team." That we all wanted her to be well, get better. I am not here to eagle eye anyone. I am just here because I am her mother. She is my home. I have no where else to be. She is it. The cardiologist came in, and I handed her the papers. She rifled through them, crestfallen, as it sunk in. I was telling the truth. I took my child to each and every appointment, and then some. They told me she was fine. Here is my proof.

After the heart to heart with the social worker, and the cardiologist getting her proof, it was like a whole new hospital. The nurses, they opened and warmed up to us, as we did them. We got to know them very well by the time we left, and had become quite close to some of them. We had favorites, and ones we weren't so fond of, but now, we were all on the same team, which meant so, so much to me. They made sure we had bedding at night, and every once in a while, even scored us an extra cot. They made sure, since I was nursing, I was able to get a meal each day, on the hospitals tab. They had done a complete 180 turn, and welcomed us into the world of PICU nursing. Jeremy was commuting to the Island to work every day, and came home in the evenings, and was able to take a shower at home. Ahh...a warm shower. I was a bit jealous. It had been days since I had the luxury. The PICU rooms had no bathroom or shower, just a sink, so I was getting a little desperate. One of my favorite nurses took pity on me, knowing I would not leave Vanessa, and if I did, it'd have to be fast, and tracked down a room a couple floors down where they washed dirty hospital toys, and stored big tubs. It sounded gross, but it had a shower head with warm water that I was welcome to use. So, that became my bathroom for the rest of the hospital stays. Every other day I'd make the trek downstairs to the creepy/icky washroom, and have a much needed shower. The water would hit my face and it would feel like I was standing under a waterfall in Tahiti, it felt that good. It's the little simple pleasures that you feel extremely grateful for, when the world around you is crumbling at a very fast rate.

Her cardiologist at first, was a bit stand-off ish, partly, because she was so focused on finding out what was wrong with her heart. Her heart was a mystery, as the daily echoes she had offered not much in the way of diagnosis, only spurred more questions. Vanessa was doing okay, sick, but okay, as she so sweetly offered her little frail body up for investigation. Vanessa was a very tolerant baby, except if I was not in sight, if someone other than her mom or dad was trying to hold her, or if you were sticking her with a needle. She could charm the stripes off of a zebra. She was enchanting, and people were immediately drawn to her like a magnet. Our story spread like wildfire through the hospital, and random hospital workers would drop in and visit with this "enchanting baby." Seeing our concern for her, some would ask if they could pray. Of course we said yes, and joined them. Some just wanted to be near her, gaze and interact with her, and visit with us.  Even though to her the world was a bunch of scary people all peering down at her dressed in big yellow gowns and masks, she would smile at them sweetly, and look them straight in the eyes as they listened to her chest, or took her blood pressure, or simply wanted to connect with her. She was on oxygen now, 24/7 to help take stress off her heart. It was hard to nurse her with all the cords, but we made it happen. The nurses wanted to be able to feed her too, so they rented me an industrial pump that could suck the paint off a car. I pumped in between feedings for a sorry little amount due to stress, but enough to make them happy, and add their protein powder to it.

I was getting antsy, and really, really starting to loose my marbles. Extreme stress and anxiety was taking over as the parade of specialists made their way to my daughter. Cardiologist. Nephrologist. PT/OT. Neurologist. Genetics. Ear/nose/throat specialist. anesthesiologist. Internists. Cardiac surgeon. You name it, they had an appointment with Vanessa. She was being combed through head to toe, which is what I had been wanting from day one, but that didn't mean that it was going to solve anything but instead, only give diagnosis. She failed her hearing tests, but she could hear, they were pretty positive of that. Genetics took massive amounts of blood from her, Jeremy, and I. A FISH test was needed to rule out the suspicion of VCFS/ Di George syndrome/ or Marfan's syndrome.We would get the results weeks later. That in itself is for another post that I am not feeling strong enough to write yet. It will need an articulate, thoughtful, bleeding out of my heart honest post, so, I will write it sometime. I hope.

Jeremy and I were falling into a deep depression. One night I was talking to Jeremy in the darkened room as Vanessa slept and admitted to hearing voices. I didn't hear them all the time, mainly when I was trying to go to sleep, or when things were quiet. I couldn't make out the words, but mainly it was different voices calling out my name. I truly felt as if I were going crazy. To my complete surprise, he was hearing them too, which freaked me out even more.

What I hated most out of that hospital stay, was when she had to go to a procedure. MRI after MRI where they had to sedate her. The biggest for me was when she had to go to the Cardiac Cath lab. She was so sedated, and the recovery room was so awful, I hated her having to be there. The people were nice, and, they knew our story, but it made mama bear roar to see her baby come out of anesthesia crying, but having no voice to go with it, because she was so weak. I couldn't hold her. She was delirious. I absolutely hated it, and the bear inside wanted to rampage the halls, and rip into the person who drugged her so deeply.

Soon after the cardiac cath, we had a sit down with her cardiologist. Her face was grim as she sat us down, and confessed right away  We had grown to really like her, and she, us. Vanessa had her under her spell, as the two of them had this very deep connection. She was the only other person Vanessa called "mamma" in her soft, breathy, sweet little voice. It completely melted her.

"I made a mistake." she told us, as we looked at her confused.

"When I was pushing the cath through, I accidentally made a little well in her heart, where there shouldn't be one, and it will have to be repaired during her surgery. I have done this procedure for over twenty years, and have never made that mistake....I don't know what happened.. I am so sorry."

She was crushed, as were we. Another worry/problem to add to the mound. The mound was so tall, I didn't even know how to categorize this new development. Worry a little? Worry a lot? Worry so much that I hear voices? Where should I put this worry....I have no more space left.

The fact that she fessed up right away, and was seriously feeling very bad about it, she assured us that it was alright. Vanessa would be alright, but it would be something they would have to fix. She felt terrible, and knew we were very emotional about our daughter, and confessed to being very scared about telling us.  We took her word, and told her we appreciated the honesty, as mama bear growled inside. I knew she was trying. We all were. And it completely sucked that this mistake was made.

"Would it hurt her? Does it hurt her?" I asked, trying to control my emotional response.

"No.", she assured us.

 But, I still, was not happy. At all. What she, or I didn't know at the time, was that one mistake would be the first of many medical mistakes that would be made from various different doctors during these hospital stays, making her survival nearly impossible.

When it was time for the cardiologist to discuss all her findings with us, we had pieced together that her heart was malformed. To what extent, we didn't know. To what need of fixing, we didn't know. There were so many things we just didn't know about her. It was as if someone literally ripped the floor right out from under us. A couple weeks ago we were going through life completely oblivious to all of this while Vanessa had a ticking time bomb in her chest. She was healthy, fine, the future seemed to be rolling out it's carpet for us, then all of the sudden we are talking syndromes, and heart defects, and words that end in -ologist. I can't even tell you what that does to a person. The only word that comes to mind is: break, or sever.

This memory is very cloudy, but I faintly remember our cardiologist, Dr. K, coming in our room, and giving us the full findings on the echos, MRI's, and cath findings: " Her heart is very malformed. She has a hole in her heart the size of Europe. It is very large, and right now is causing a lot of stress to her lungs, we have to be very careful with that. We thought she did not have an aortic arch. I think I have found it under some of her anatomy, but it may be missing, we won't know until we get in there. I am talking with doctors at OHSU to see if they can do the surgery there. The surgery is just too complex, and I don't think there is anyone in the Seattle area that can perform such a surgery, so it may be that you will have to travel for it."

It was blow, after blow, after blow, until mama bear got beat down, and silenced. This was so out of my realm of reality. A hole. No arch? Too complex for the Seattle area?

I managed to squeak out, "how is she alive without an aortic arch?"......

"I don't know...." was the answer. They didn't seem very confidant until days later when she breezed in with the house cardiac surgeon, Dr. R. They had a plan.

"We are going to divide it into two surgeries. We feel that there are too many things to repair in one surgery, so we will divide it into two, which we can do here. We have been talking to OHSU, and they agree too. We are all in agreement. This would be her best chance at survival." they told us. They were so wrong.

I will never know if the outcome would be the same had we gone to OHSU. My gut tells me the outcome would be the same, if not close. We stayed in the hospital seventeen days, that hospital stay. Seventeen stairs down to hell.

Vanessa slowly got better from her virus, and charmed her way into coming home for a couple weeks between that hospital stay and her first surgery, which was scheduled for Oct. 2nd, 2002. She came home on oxygen, so everywhere we went we had to lug an oxygen bottle with us. She was also on lasix and digoxin, which was really no fun to give.  At night I'd hook her up to the oximeter, and a couple times a night her alarms would sound as she would dip down into the 70's. It would always climb back up to the 90's, right on the verge of my total freak out. To this day I have an aversion to anything that beeps, even my microwave. Even though I loved having her home, and sleeping in my own bed, the first surgery couldn't come soon enough.

 I wanted my baby well, so, very, very badly.

I am going to put the pen down for now, and stop writing about the hospital stays. I will write more about it as the wounds offer small windows of sharing. This past friday marked ten years since I saw my baby alive. Now, I make the pilgramage to feel the sun again, honor her memory by taking care of my Grace, and to being a loving human being to the people around me. It hurts so bad, but I do it.

 When there is beauty, I think of her. Where there is love, I feel her. When there is peace, I cherish her. I miss her with every cell in my body, and love her with every piece of my being. 

I love my Vanessa Rose to the moon, past the stars, and back again.

Sunday, November 11, 2012


Big, deep, breath.

In late August of 2002, I came down with the flu.

It was a knock- you -down, stay in bed for days type of flu, and it was the first time I was really sick while having a baby in tow. Vanessa was only seven months old at the time, and Jeremy had to take a couple days off from work to take care of her while I was down. As soon as I was able, I zombied my way out of bed to care for my little one who was confused, and needful of her mama, whom she was so used to having by her side every wakeful minute. As some know, when mom gets sick, the house does too. It wasn't long after, that Vanessa showed signs of feeling under the weather.

We had been in town, a couple days after I started feeling better, and we were looking to buy a new couch for the living room. When I went to get her out of the car seat before we went into the store, I noticed the straps were very damp. She was very sweaty, too. She didn't feel feverish, but she was so damp. I instantly felt so bad, having thought I had over clothed her in the doggy August weather, but it really wasn't that hot out. After shopping, we ate a terrible meal at Applebees, and she seemed off, and I worried she may be coming down with my flu. For some reason, that particular day I deeply equate with Applebees, and never ever want to go there again. Not that any of this was Applebees fault, but the memory of her actually being in one of the restaurants makes it all so real. She still feels like a very sad fairytale to me.

The next day, Jeremy went to work, and as soon as she woke up, I knew something was wrong. She looked me straight into the eyes, and gave me pitiful fusses, which was unlike her, so I called the clinic as soon as it opened, and they couldn't get her in until 5:15 that evening. At first they said no, the day was full, but I begged and pleaded with them to see her that day, so they reluctantly made room for her. That was my mistake #1. My gut was rumbling, making it known that something was off. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was very antsy, and scared, but didn't know of what. She seemed okay, just flu-ish, but the whole inside of me was roaring. Something was wrong. I had felt that something was wrong for many, many months, but all the doctors we saw gave her a clean bill of health. Their ignorant mistake may have very well cost her her life.

 I should have listened to my gut and hopped a ferry that day, and taken her to urgent care, but I didn't. The stress filled me slowly throughout the day as I took care of her, and worried myself sick. I checked the clock every fifteen minutes willing 5:15 to magically appear. We got the mail from the mailbox. We ate a light lunch. She was attached to my side still giving me that pitiful look as I watched the sunny day slowly slide by at a snails pace.

I almost couldn't breath as I finally walked her into the clinic that afternoon. She seemed okay, fussy, breathing a little heavy, but okay. Me? not so much. I was a mess. I walked into the dimly lit waiting room since it was technically after hours, and nearly ran her down the hall when the doctor stuck his head out to see us.

I unhooked her from her car seat, placed her on the table giving a quick rundown of her symptoms, and looked him straight in the eyes, and said in a very firm, teary, voice.

"What is wrong with her. Tell me. Please."

He held his finger up to quiet me as he listened to her chest, and frowned.

"She has a murmur. A very loud one. Did you know about this?"

I was shocked, but also not surprised at all. My mommy intuition knew there was something wrong, and I told him, crying, how I knew there was something wrong, but no one would listenWhen she was born, a nurse picked up a murmur, but the doctor wouldn't come in to listen to it, because it was in the middle of the night. He thought it could wait until morning. When he came in, finally, he cleared her. So did the second opinion we had listen to her chest. They all told me she was fine.

He shook his head as if to say, no, she was not fine, and checked her oxygen saturation which was low and giving erroneous values, so he put some oxygen on her, and started to actually look closely at her. Finally. Someone actually taking the time to look at her. At seven months, she was barely nine pounds. She was always on the cusp of being off the growth chart, but was making just enough progress to have them put that little dot on the grid. She was tiny, not sitting up yet, and so fragile. "You are small, so she is small", was the only response I got from previous doctors, that refused to hear my pleas and concerns.

He made observations. Her fingers, they were long, and looked almost clubbed. She was small. Too small. And her breathing, it was too fast.

"I will call ahead, but I think you should take her to the Swedish ER over in the city." he told me. "She needs to have this looked at as soon as possible."

So, after a frantic call to Jeremy, we headed off the Island and straight into hell. The ride to the hospital was so difficult as I prayed and sobbed and had so, so many questions. A murmur? Why did nobody hear it before? What does this mean? Why were her oxygen saturation's so low?

We breezed into the hospital getting admitted to the ER right away, and sat, watching the world fly around us that late August evening, until finally after a quick workup, the doctor informed us at midnight that she was going to be admitted.

"What is going on? What do you think is wrong? Please, please someone tell me?" I can't tell you how many times those words came out of my mouth that hospital stay. So, so many times.

"We won't know until we get an echo tomorrow, but, let's get you upstairs, and settled in."

So we took a long ride up to the pediatric floor, where the doctors expertly evaded our hammerings, until finally, at about one in the morning, we cornered a doctor, and in one fell swoop, he gave us the news that would change our lives forever in one short sentence.

"Your daughter has something wrong with her heart, and we think she may have a syndrome, possibly something called VCFS.

I blinked at him, bewildered. I knew the part about the heart was coming, but having a syndrome? what? VCFS? What is that? I had never heard of it. But my daughter was fine last week.

We went to bed that night in her room, exhausted, scared, and so emotionally drained. It was too bad that that night was considered mild, compared to the next sixteen nights.

The next morning dawned on hospital time, which meant beeping from machines, probes, tests, and questions, questions, always questions. Jeremy and I only had the clothes we had worn there, and nothing else. At the time, nothing else mattered, so it didn't really matter much. Family came, and wanted answers, but I had hardly any to give. The cardiologist came in, heart echoes were done, we were told to keep quiet, and stay out of the way. I learned quickly, it was the very best thing I could do for my daughter, so they could do their work, but the Bear inside roared, wanting to take a piece out of anyone who poked, prodded, or made her cry. It was excruciating to keep that emotion caged.

Vanessa held up well, but was getting sicker. The nurses seemed not to be worried, but I most certainly was. I was stressed to the point of having bouts of crying hysterically, trying to do it in private, but I wasn't having much luck. My mind was getting numb, and what in the world was this vcfs, and why won't anyone tell me anything about it??? When I asked, they would say "one thing at a time, and right now, her heart is what everyone needs to be focusing on.

On night number three, Jeremy decided to run home, list in hand, and grab as much clothes, supplies, as he could, and head back to the hospital. It was the first time I was alone since this nightmare began, and it was all I could do to keep myself propped up on the bed, and not become a puddle on the floor. I was sitting on the bed, watching the city lights birth out of the darkness, and I felt a hand gently cover my hand.  It caught me by surprise, and I jerked my hand away, and looked, but no one was there. I'm not sure if you believe in that kind of stuff, but someone/thing was being of comfort, and that someone/thing wasn't there when I looked.

Not too long after that, I went to hold my baby. When I grabbed her little body, I could feel a crackling under my fingertips. A sticky, thick crackle. "Her lungs are wet", I told myself. My former respiratory therapist instincts were kicking in.

I paged a nurse, whom looked at me and said, no.

 I let them know early on that I had been in the medical field, and please, share with me values, and stats, and numbers so I know what is going on with my baby. Please. Now, having worked in the medical field I remember dealing with the "know-it-all" patients, or family members.  I was definitely not trying to be one, although they had perceived me as a threat.  I was simply wanting to be included in her care. Let me know what is going on with my child. Mama Bear will always demand to be included.

Minutes after she blew me off, Vanessa started to have a very hard time breathing, and some foam was starting to make it's way out of her mouth. Oh my god, she is going into heart failure.

I screamed for the nurse, for anyone to hear me. That dang nurse sauntered in like it was no big deal, then her eyes got wide, and she starting hollering too, for hands to help her. A code button was pushed. I was pushed aside. People were running in, and Vanessa was gagging, and trying to cry, as they stuck a suction down her throat to suction the foamy liquid out of her lungs. Alarms were buzzing, and I couldn't feel my feet. I know I was praying audibly. Praying and begging for God not to take her. I was alone, and watching the most awful scene play out, and all I could do was beg. I have never felt so powerless in my life.

They finally stabilized her, and Jeremy arrived right at the tail end of it, to wrap his arms around me and watch, scared to death too. It was a flurry of activity as they started piling her stuff into the crib, and told us they were moving her right away to the PICU. I hurried too, grabbing this and that, but not before growling at the nurse "I TOLD you her lungs were wet!!!" I wanted to pound her, but having watched them call a code on my daughter, the fight had to be re-directed to keeping her alive.

I will try and finish this post next week. I may be able too, I may not, it may have to be a silent post. I have a lot of searching and strength to find in the coming weeks. Not sure if sharing is the right thing to do, but here I go. Jumping off that cliff, again.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Hometown Halloween

I have this love/hate thing going on with this little Island of mine. I can call it mine, because, I've lived here for so darned long, but,  I suppose I will share it with all you newbies who have only lived here ten or fifteen years, or so. If you have lived here long enough to remember years past when town was silent, and neighborhoods rocked Halloween instead, you can call it yours too, by all means.  ; )

The town of Vashon didn't put on Halloween until quite a bit past my trick or treating years. Back then, it was door to door, in the cold, frosty, evening, ringing doorbells, and giving your best trick-or-treat smile. The neighborhood I grew up in really got into it, and the houses were all decked out, candy was actually chocolate, and the happy sound of spooked shrieks and laughter permeated the hours of six to eight. I am not sure what changed all that. Slowly, Halloween in the neighborhoods fizzled out, as the town wanted in on the fun, and decided to play host instead, much to the chagrin of those who loved good old fashioned trick or treating.

Now, only a few spotty household in those once rockin' neighborhoods get into the Halloween spirit. Town has dominated the arena, and has no plans of giving Halloween back. I do miss those days, but I have grown to love town Halloween. I can see way more costumes, the walk is pleasant, and you can grab a mocha or a plate of french fries if need be.

My daughter has only known this type of Halloween. Jeremy and I tell her of the Halloweens of way back when, and our voices thin, as we realize what we are saying makes us feel very old, as she looks at us very confused.  Halloween? At, houses?  We have started traditions with her, and a tradition for us, since her very first Halloween, has been family from near and far, descending on our little town, trick or treating, then going back to our place for a big chili feed, cornbread, hot cider, and goodies. I love it so much, and look forward to hosting every year. It is something I hope will never, never end.

This year, the sky looked unfavorably down on us, and rained, for the first time on Halloween in a long time. I couldn't break out the camera much, and the dark, gloomy, gray made for some very flat color, and grainy pictures, but, the kids didn't seem to mind, which is what mattered the most. Here is some pictures of the town of Vashon, strutting her Halloween glory:


I hope you all had a great Halloween. I wanted to dress up this year, but didn't. I did, however, wear my costume on the inside. I dressed up as the "invisible woman". November is here, looking for me, hunting me down. I thought I had tricked her into not finding me, but, last night she found me, and plunged me into that icy ocean of hers, and held me under.

 Yes, November is here.

 And with it, the nightmares, and darkness.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Fall, in full swing

So, I am at Target the other day, trying to track down Pumpkin Spice flavored Hershey kisses, and as I am pawing through the Halloween stuff, all I hear is Christmas music.

Now, I do love Christmas music. A lot. Just, not in October. The isles of the glittery, garland-y, green, white and red, surrounded Halloween like a western show down." May the best man win," said Christmas, as Halloween, shoved into the corner of Target, was unable to shout above the holiday tunes.

My brain was buzzy, and confused, as I gathered my last minute Halloween essentials, and whisper sang to the Christmas music blaring to my right. Feeling a little sheepish, like I was cheating on Halloween, I didn't grab for the peppermint flavored anything, or the holiday pajamas trying to jump into my cart. They had Animal from the Muppet's on them, and in my size, too, for goodness sake. Christmas, why, WHY, taunt me like this?

"Halloween, Halloween. It's Halloween time." I chanted to myself, gripping the cart handle, crazed by the collision of my two favorite holidays. Oh, and by the way, if you are wondering the theme that all the stores are going for this Christmas, it's silver everything, and peacock inspired Christmas tree's and garlands.

All righty. I can dig that, I suppose.

 It took all of my will power at the next store decked out in Christmas garb,  not to buy the leopard printed fake poinsettia flowers. Dang, they were cute. I'm sure they are not for everyone, but, my house seems to need leopard printed fake poinsettia flowers, doesn't yours?

 I thought so too. We have good taste, don't we?


I never did find any Pumpkin Spice flavored Hershey kisses. Too bad, Halloween. You let me down. Christmas, however, has a smug grin on it's face, mouthing to me the words "I got your back," as it shakes a box of Trader Joe's Chocolate covered shortbread stars at me. They are like my kryptonite. Sheesh.


Back at the Smith household though, Fall, is in full swing, and Christmas is still tucked away quietly in the attic.

It was time to break out the press and squuuuuwweeeze out some Autumn liquid gold. I absolutely adore this machine. Head over heels about it.

Along with the 7 gallons of cider, Jeremy and I peeled, cored, diced, and froze 40 cups of apples. Take that, yo. No cranberries or pomegranates here. Fall, in full swing.

Pumpkins, pumpkins. Cannot forget the pumpkins. We finally got our little hineys to the Minglement Roastarie and carved our pumpkins in the Friday darkness, to be displayed amongst the dozens of other pumpkins that light up the corner on Halloween night. Then, it was time to do our own at home, and spookify our own little porch, in true Halloween tradition.

I like to make goodies while the pumpkins are being cleaned out. My way of skirting out of taking out the innards, I suppose. This year, I made apple fritters.

I followed this recipe if you are interested in making some of your own goodies, too. They were quite tasty, although, it took a while to get the hang of cooking them in the hot oil without burning them on the outside, and having raw dough on the inside. Smaller pieces was the answer.

So, just ignore the banging and hollering of Christmas coming from your attic. It will get it's turn. Take some time to celebrate the orange, purple, and black. Howl at the moon, chase down a goblin, taunt a vampire. In a couple days, it will be good ol' Halloween, and then you can send out the troops to open the floodgates of Christmas. I will welcome thee too. Just wait a couple more days.

Halloween's a coming.

   Have a Happy Halloween Everyone!!!!!!!!!!!