An Emotional Day

Some days kick me in the ass. Today was one of those days.

I can’t get into details about patients on my blog, but as a palliative care doc, I often encounter emotionally challenging cases. I am deeply involved in one of them right now; walking the road with this particularly young, vibrant family is hitting closer to home than usual. As always, it is riddled with challenges but also with a sense of privilege and an offering of clairvoyancey. I have extra energy for “play” with my own kids these days and a little less patience for the day-to-day annoyances that hold us back from what truly matters.

Add to this the fact that it is Remembrance Day; a day that rightly enough reminds me of my Grandfather, a proud WWII vet who always played the Last Post on his bugle at the annual Remembrance Day Ceremony. We lost him when I was in Grade 9, but he is ever a part of all that I do.

So what a day for my baby cousin to have a stat C-section. The news was met with concern for her, followed by excitement about the pending arrival, followed by a somber reflection as to the significance of our newest family member joining us on 11/11. As we do in our family, we threw the complexity of our sentiments into making jokes about having to name the baby “Irvin” in honour of my Grandfather as we waited impatiently for the news. I am happy to report that all went well – and (THANK GOODNESS) it was a baby girl so we DON’T have to name her Irvin after all…

Now- - you think I’m done with mixed emotions? Think again.

Mia is JUST about to turn 10 months old. A fantastic age, but one that brings with it my own emotionally charged sentiments. I’ve never enjoyed the “Tenth Month” before. My memories of Toby’s developmental milestones end abruptly with his intubation and his week long stint on life support. It all started just days after his 10-month birthday. As Mia approaches this stage I notice her doing similar thing to what Toby did- she is cruising with determination and babbling constantly in an attempt to communicate with us. This weekend she climbed the stairs for the first time; last night she walked around the coffee table using only one finger for support.

I VIVIDLY remember myself telling the Sick Kids ICU nurses how Toby had been doing just that the night before he was admitted to hospital. We were gearing up for his first steps one day and longing to see him breathe on his own one week later.

Tonight, on the way home from daycare, as I was struggling to keep all that I had dealt with already that day in check, Toby launched into his usual RANT about Gochar that ended in an offhanded remark that Gochar’s brother had died.

(Some days I really can’t stand Gochar.)

I turned to Toby and said to him, “Toby, you know, that’s SAD. Gochar’s brother dying is something that is SAD, not something just to say when you’re making silly statements. How would you feel if your sister Mia died?”

Toby stopped his babbling INSTANTLY and for ONCE IN HIS LIFE was at a loss for words.

(I immediately felt guilty. In hindsight this was WAY too heavy of a statement to make but I really didn’t think he was listening…)

“Mommy.” He said seriously, “That’s NOT…well…Mommy -- Mia CAN’T die.”

He struggled to find the words to what he was finding a frustrating conversation,

“Don’t you KNOW, Mommy? Babies DON’T die!!!” he finally yelled at me in exasperation.

I left it at that.

Toby will never understand why I burst into tears just then. It was perhaps a mixture of relief that my cousin’s baby had arrived safely and my own sense vulnerability. Or maybe the nostalgia for that level of innocence; I wish with all of my heart that he could be right. Babies should never die. And neither should the Mommies of young babies.

But the predominant feeling is that of gratitude; how lucky I am that I can just leave it at that and let him believe…

The Case of the Missing Comb

This weekend we are looking after my dad while my mom is away on business.

I have mentioned my dad before on my blog; he gives me some of my very best material. But just to recap, my dad is a very sweet 85 year old man who loves to regale us with Shakespearean sonnets and tales of Smithville and playing hockey in the 1940s. What he’s NOT so great at is remembering what he had for dinner 10 minutes ago, what day of the week it is or WHERE his beloved wife is.

As such, visits with my dad are a lovely opportunity to watch him bond with his grandchildren but are also filled with countless repetitive statements and questions…

Coming up here is not easy for my dad. Although he loves to just sit and watch Toby and Mia play, it is hard for him to be out of his usual routine and away from my mom. From our end, taking care of my dad is easy as long as you follow two simple rules. 1. Always take him with you when you leave the house and 2. Despite how trivial or repetitive the concern, offer the answer and some reassurance.

Last night as we were sitting watching TV dad all of a sudden got into a panic.

“Lyssie! You know what I have LOST? “

(Oh, god PLEASE don’t let it be your teeth or your sleeping pills…)

“My COMB!” he said with a look of utter dismay.

Right. Obeying rule #2 of looking after my dad, I sprung into action. I checked his bathroom and his coat pocket. I scoured the basement as he sat there watching with a look of bewildered helplessness. Ten minutes later, after an unsuccessful sweep of the house, I went into his room and found a black comb sitting on his dresser.

“Is THIS it??” I asked incredulously (SURELY it hadn’t been THAT easy to find – I had assumed he had at LEAST checked his room!)

The look of relief on his face stopped me from criticizing him and I threw my hands in the air in defeat and allowed him this small moment of triumph before asking him WHERE he would like me to put it so he doesn’t “lose it” again.

“Oh, just put it on the dresser in my room.” He said practically.

I have a sinking suspicion we may be reliving this scenario again before the weekend is through….

Ho-hum the trip is done...

** Note - we got back from our trip this past weekend. I am under strict intructions from my more practical street-savy half not to publicize on the internetwhen we are out of the country. I feel a little deceitful that I only started the "Disney posts" after our return but there you have it...here's the one I wrote on our last night. Forgive the date discrepancy :)

It has been a whirlwind trip. Despite the fact that we have two very young kids with us who require regular meals, bottles, naps and downtime, our feet have not touched the ground since we got here. We have hit every theme park not once but at LEAST twice and yesterday, in a rare feat of enthusiasm I actually “three parked it”.

(For those not well versed in Disney-speak, it means I went to 3 theme parks all in one day.)

It is your average person’s worst nightmare, but for Disney folk it’s quite an accomplishment deserving of a very large, white, mousy high five.

The reality of it is this; there IS a certain magic of Disney that I was sometimes engulfed in, and other times not quite so much. Sharing the wonder of the “Celebrate Life” parade with my little boy who so desperately clung to his own life a a few years ago had a certain bit of magic to it. Seeing the fireworks at the Magic Kingdom surrounded by millions of screaming kids (who ALL should have been in bed) and missing most of it because we were inadequately located right behind a big obstructive tree - -not so magical.

I think the highlight for us was the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot. I don’t know if this makes me a selfish parent or an indulgent person, but it was by FAR our favorite thing to do - -with and without kids. We hit Epcot everyday (it WAS only a 2 minute walk from out hotel) for an unplanned lunch or a pre-dinner drink or even as our evening’s main event. You can walk around the International Grounds with drink (S!!!) in hand and sample foods from around the world. They even gave out “passports” so you could be sure to see what every country offered. Rob took this as a personal challenge and I’m proud to say that we managed to eat and/or drink (most times BOTH) from every country represented at the Epcot Food and Wine Festival. Yes, that’s right- - all TWENTY NINE of them.

This was no small feat. In fact, I may just have to haul out my old pregnancy pants again as a result of it. The event SHOULD be sponsored by Lulu lemon as that is ALL I will be wearing for the next few weeks (months, maybe? Shudder…) as a result of it.

Today was our last day and to fit the mood it rained. A lot. All day.

But we didn’t let the rain deter us from our ultimate quest; we had 3 countries to go, two cranky and overtired kids and dreary weather to contend with, but a mission is a mission and NO ONE gets in the way of Rob’s gustatory determination.

We headed out, umbrella in tow, and dragged the kids around Epcot to finalize our conquest. The first thing we stumbled upon was a Parisian booth that sold champagne (yes, please) followed closely by the Gin Blossoms (the band, not the drink). Making our way back, we found ourselves leaving the last park for the last time when we heard some familiar sounds coming from “Canada.” An energetic, kilt-clad maritime band playing Celtic songs from Great Big Sea quickly brought us out of our “last-day” funk. Within minutes, both kids were in smiles. Toby emerged from the stroller, dancing and jumping around in the puddles while Mia shook her bottle to the beat. What had started as a gray day of crankiness ended with a high from the place we call our home.

I could think of no better way to end our trip. Four theme parks, 2 parades, 10 bus rides, two horrific flights, countless “magical moments”, 29 countries, and at the end of it all we concluded the trip with one simple message; There’s no place like home.

Here’s a short video of Toby getting his groove on…Canadian Styles J

The Trip to Disney world

Today we travelled to Disney World.

I write that (ironically) in a compact little sentence on the pretence that it did NOT in fact, completely turn our lives upside down, inside out and present us with some of the most challenging moments we have ever faced as parents.

I suppose all that the previous paragraph entails is irrelevant as we have arrived safely, all kids are in bed and asleep and we are still married. So no REAL harm has been done. (Depsite the fact that, lingering in the back of our minds is the horrific knowledge that we will have to do it all again this time NEXT week…)

Disney is beautiful and magical and all that it is cracked up to be. Travelling with a 9 month old is, unfortunately, equally as predictable.

Mia is a wonderful baby. She took to sleep training with such integrity that it is now hardwired into her that sleep occurs at 9am and 1pm on the dot in the privacy of her crib with all of the usual fixins (lovey, sleep sac, white noise fan).

Apparently, this means that it does NOT occur in the following circumstances :

On a plane, in a car, in a bus nor a stroller. In mommy’s arms, on daddy’s lap or in front of any stranger.

(I Dr Seused it up in a desperate attempt at humour.)

The flight was a mixture of inconsolable crying followed by an intense hour of “I can’t feel my right arm but no amount of pain will justify a millimeter of muscle movement on the off chance that it will wake her up” followed by another intense hour of intense fussiness. I would consider aeroplane flying with infants an extreme sport.

There were many moments in the day in which the end was not in sight. If I had been a marathon runner I would have walked. If I had been a teacher I would have thrown down the chalk. If I had been a jaguar I would have laid my belly down in the cool grass of the Savannah and smiled as the Gazelles leaped off into the distance.

Apparently, when you reach this point as a mom, there ARE no such decadent options. There is no ESC button. You just have to close your eyes, suck it up, and deal.

Have I got you jealous about our trip to Disney, yet?

Alas, we have arrived. We found our room, our bed and our sanity in that exact order. We even managed to have some quality family time together at the pool (margarita and beer in tow) before calling it a day.

Toby’s good night song, (in which I recount all the tales of the day to the tune of Brahms’ lullabye) went on and on and on tonight; there were so many details he wanted me to include. (Apparently it wasn’t NEARLY as traumatic for him as it had been for us.)

After I left his room and crawled onto the couch with Rob, pen in hand to plan the rest of our “adventure” I noticed that Rob had his shirt on backwards.

In hindsight, maybe this isn’t the funniest thing that has EVER happened to me, but sleep deprived, exhausted, relieved and excited at the same time united to unveil a moment of adult hysteria at this thought; the longest day of our lives and Rob did it all with his shirt on backwards.

More on Gochar

This Saturday we are taking both kids on a plane, flying to Florida and spending a week at Disney land. It is a time sensitive indulgence; every other year of our children’s lives Rob will be teaching and the token trip to Disney would have to have occurred at either March break (yikes!), Christmas (impossible) or during the summer heat. Realizing that Mia will in no way whatsoever benefit from The Trip to Disney, we are taking this opportunity to spoil at least ONE of our children while Rob is off on parental leave.

It doesn’t hurt that our trip also coincides with the annual Food and Wine festival at Epcot. Which, coincidentally, is where we are staying.

I digress.

The point of this post is to update you on yet another interesting family dinner. Amidst the excitement of packing, planning and preparing for the trip, Toby could think of nothing other to talk of than…Gochar.

I seem to be mentioning Gochar quite a bit in recent posts so I thought I should share with you some of the truths about Gocahr that Toby enlightened us on tonight at dinner.

(Gochar, by the way, is Toby’s imaginary friend. At least…I HOPE he is imaginary. I SOMETIMES wonder if there may be a ghost living in our house with the unfortunate name of Gochar but to keep us all sane we just go with it…)

So here is what Toby (with equal measures of seriousness and earnestness) repeatedly interrupted our Disney planning meal to tell us :

Gochar is tall. In fact, he is the tallest man in the world. (Demonstrated with hand gestures.)

“Know how big his head is? THIS BIG”

(arms extended as wide as Toby can reach)

“Know how long his legs are? THIS BIG”

(arms reaching down as far as they can reach)

“Know how big his belly is? THIS BIG”

(arms forming the biggest circle Toby can form with his two decrepit little arms)

Yes indeed, there was a visual picture for just how big Gocahr is; tallest man in the world (except for his mom, of course, who is taller than him.) He is also, I have to say, COMPLETELY out of proportion.

“How do you hug him, Toby, if he is so tall?” I asked.

Toby took this question very seriously and thought about if for a bit as he chewed his pizza (I believe we even got in a brief discussion about carry on luggage for Mia) when he announced that it WAS possible to hug him, you just had to “crouch on your tippy toes” to do so.

Other interesting facts?

Gochar likes to cook. His favourite thing to cook is salad and he makes chocolate salad dressing. But his mom always say, “Gochar, you can’t eat that. “ but he does anyways.

Gochar drives a car. It has orange tires.

Gochar has a last name.

Wait for it…

THOMAS.

And so you have it - -Gochar Thomas, the tallest man in the world (except for his mother), recognized by his fancy car with orange wheels and well versed in culinary expertise and wildly rebellious bodily proportions, continues to enrich our lives with his very presence. I wonder if he’s coming to Florida with us…

Meal time Exceptions

At dinner tonight we had a cranky, tired Mia, a cranky, overtired and hungry Toby and one set of cranky, overtired parents.

It was not a great combination.

I’m not sure who started it or how it happened; it had the potential to turn a temper-tantrum filled family meal into sheer pandemonium but in fact, had the opposite effect. Amidst a tray of perogies, mushed up baby food, avocado and banana slices, watered down apple juice and mouthfuls of spit out spinach salad, someone put their utensils down, threw their hands up in disgust and said, “AHHHH!”

Toby stopped spitting out spinach.

My baby stopped crying and throwing food on the floor.

Rob stopped asking questions about our trip to Florida and I stopped sighing in exasperation.

Even the dog poked his lazy head up for a second to see what would happen next.

We all waited with baited breath to hear the sequeale. Was one of the parents going to yell? Would Mia burst into tears? Would Toby resume his spinach spitting?

To our surprise, it was Mia who responded first with a little giggle followed by an “AHHH!” of her own. Now THAT was a sound she knew how to make.

Still shocked by the interruption, I didn’t quite have my mommy hat on straight and immediately “AHHHH-ed” right back at her at the top of my lungs.

This earned a full on belly laugh from my baby-food covered little girl. As her chubbly little cheeks rolled with laughter an equally piercing shriek responded to my own.

It was a verbal food fight. Soon Toby joined us followed closely by daddy.

Our rapidly disintegrating attempt at a cohesive family meal had been miraculously rescued by a spontaneous game of screaming at one another. Not the most CONVENTIONAL of meal times, but it had us all laughing hysterically within a few minutes.

And then, just as quickly as it began, Mia remembered that she was overtired and hates eating, Toby remembered that he has never tried perogies before and certainly never wants to, and Rob and I resumed our roles of meal time parent-police after exchanging a puzzled but bemused look that said it all; "And now back to our regularly scheduled program."

Giving Thanks

This weekend we had the unfortunate task of introducing Toby to his first funeral.

Rob’s beloved Grandfather (Toby’s great grandfather) died last weekend. It was not unexpected, but as it is with all deaths, the news still came as a bit of a shock. Plans got changed. Work got cancelled. Tears were shed.

The hoardes of Blonde relatives made their way en masse to Chatham to pay their respects. When I say, “everyone was there” I mean EVERYONE was there. And that is no small feat when you are talking about a family of 11 children and 19 grandchildren.

Rob’s grandpa lived to be 88 years old. But what is even MORE impressive is the fact that he drew 200 people to his funeral, complete with a police escort to the cemetery that had cars pulled over at the side of the road with people standing at attention, saluting as we drove past.

Now I’ve got you wondering if you missed an important funeral - -I certainly felt important being in that line of cars. But Grandpa was no Steve Jobs- his death didn’t make the headlines; as it is his modest obituary would probably have him rolling over in his grave at the cost. Grandpa Blonde was an honest and true, salt of the earth family man. He was a farmer through and through – never passing up a good meal, an opportunity to be thankful or an offering of praise for good old-fashioned hard work. He was also a devout Catholic. There were many tears at his funeral, but there was an overall feeling of peace and contentment. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Grandpa’s death was as peaceful as it seemed; he had left us for the better place he had worked his whole life to be welcomed into. The fact that so many attended is a true testament to how well he lived his life and what a legacy he has left behind.

And how did Toby do at his first funeral?

Fantatsically. It is one of the greatest privileges as a mom to be able to witness your child’s learning in front of your eyes. Toby watched the entire proceedings of the day with great attention. Often he would come and sit on my lap. Sometimes he would ask questions. He took his role of “staying quiet” very seriously and expressed appropriate concern for those who were crying, the lack of legs that Grandpa sported in his coffin and the fact that the “box” looked like it might be too heavy for Daddy to carry.

I was able to take time to listen and relieve each of his concerns; people were sad but it was OK to cry at funerals; Grandpa DID still have his legs- they were just hiding under the “shelf” (as Toby called it) and not to worry, there would be other pallbearers helping Daddy with “the box.”

I had had a bit of forewarning about the possibility of such an event when Toby had watched parts of Jack Layton’s funeral with us. He had been VERY interested and often talked about Jack and the “box” after the fact. Not surprisingly, this started a run of uncanny “Gochar mishaps” that all ended in Gochar dead and in a box (announced quite cheerfully by the innocent Toby). He has been processing this new aspect of life for a while now and this was just one more step in the journey of understanding that which we all struggle with.

At the end of the funeral, Toby was very quiet in the backseat of the car, holding the red rose he had been allowed to take off of Grandpa’s casket, when I turned and asked him if he had any questions. “No.” I then asked him if it had been like Jack’s funeral, seeing Grandpa in his box.

“Oh, NO, Mommy, “ he replied earnestly, “Jack was in a CANADA box.”

And so, this Thanksgiving, along with the usual fixings of turkey and mashed potatoes, we got an extra tasting of what it means to be thankful.

We are thankful for family and our health.

We are thankful for great friends who willingly take our dog on their own Thanksgiving adventures so we would have one less thing to worry about.

We are thankful for colleagues who eagerly covered my practice without a second thought.

We are thankful for Grandparents who pretended to have nothing on so that we wouldn’t feel badly about leaving Mia with them.

And most importantly, we are thankful for the legacy of one simple farmer who, through a life well lived, continually brings us all together, reminding us all that it is the simple things in life that count and, most importantly of all, started the chain of events that brought me my Toby and Mia.

And if Grandpa taught us anything at it all, it’s that at the end of the day, there is nothing more important than that.