The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

I've read my fair share of love stories, some better than others.  One of my main issues with love stories is that they tend to follow a predictable arc: boy meets girl.  They fall in love.  Guy becomes girl's reason for living.  Drama ensues.  They come out of it stronger.  They live happily ever after.  From time to time, that's just the kind of thing I like, but it was not what I was looking for when I happened to be ready for some new fiction to read.  

When I picked up John Green's The Fault in our Stars -- a holiday season gift, and my first John Green novel -- I was reluctant to make the investment.  I've started enough love stories with two-dimensional characters and rolled my eyes many a time at long, drawn out bedroom scenes and dull, uninspiring dialogue.  It turns out that The Fault in our Stars made the #1 spot on the New York Times Bestseller List for good reason by taking familiar themes, adding less familiar twists, and defying predictability. 

The Fault in Our Stars is an atypical love story from the start: the main characters are teenagers who meet in a cancer support group.  Seventeen-year-old Hazel Waters is the edgy, sharp-witted, intelligent protagonist who has terminal cancer.  Her life takes a turn for the more adventurous when Augustus Waters shows up to her otherwise craptastic support group.  Gus shows up to the group in support of his and Hazel's mutual friend, Isaac, who is about to have surgery that will render him blind.

Although the story focuses upon Hazel and Gus's evolving relationship, a series of intriguing side plots are explored: Isaac's transition from sighted to blind; the eccentricities of Hazel's favorite author; and the ways in which cancer affects the lives of the teens and their families.

Throughout the book, Green transitions smoothly and suddenly into moments of devastating humor and devastating pain.  He deftly creates snapshots within the story that draw upon the lives of the characters before the time of this story, infusing the dialogue with emotional depth and adding to the richness and complexity of the characters.  One particularly potent example can be found in this exchange:

     Dad asked me if I was working on anything for school.  "I've got some very advanced Algebra homework, " I told him.  "So advanced that I couldn't possibly explain it to a layperson."

    "And how's your friend Isaac?"

    "Blind," I said.

    "You're being very teenagery today," Mom said.  She seemed annoyed about it.

    "Isn't this what you wanted, Mom?  For me to be teenagery?"

    "Well, not necessarily this kind of teenagery, but of course your father and I are excited to see you become a young woman, making friends, going on dates."

     "I'm not going on dates," I said.  "I don't want to go on dates with anyone.  It's a terrible idea and a huge waste of time and ---"

     "Honey," my mom said.  "What's wrong?"

     "I'm like.  Like.  I'm like a grenade, Mom.  I'm a grenade and at some point I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties, okay?"

     My dad tilted his head a little to the side, like a scolded puppy.

     "I'm a grenade," I said again.  "I just want to stay away from people and read books and think and be with you guys because there's nothing I can do about hurting you; you're too invested, so just please let me do that, okay?  I'm not depressed.  I don't need to get out more.  And I can't be a regular teenager, because I'm a grenade."  (p. 98-99)

As the story unfolds, Green deftly and skillfully weaves in several surprises.  Some are pleasant ones, and others not so pleasant, but they are written in such a way that struck me as true to life.  Perhaps it is trite to say, "I laughed!  I cried!  I felt like I knew the characters and I missed them when I closed the book!  I couldn't put it down!"  It turns out that all of these things were true.  I encourage you to read -- and enjoy -- this wonderful story. 

Solitude and the New Mom

I wrote this post many moons ago about the reasons why solitude is such a great and useful thing.  All of these things are completely true, and are major reasons why I think solitude is so grand.  Of course, I was not yet a parent at that time, and looking back on it, I imagine that parents in the know may have wanted to laugh me off the face of the Earth.

"Solitude," I imagine some mother scoffing at me via her computer screen circa three years ago, hair greasy, wearing pajamas, and getting up for the third time in five minutes to deal with some child-related catastrophe before vacating the vicinity of her computer screen for six hours, finally coming back after the kids have gone to bed, sighing, and shutting down the computer while throwing a load of laundry into the washer.  

Now that I'm that mom, I get it.   I continue to need to adjust accordingly.


One of the most challenging things for me about solitude as a new mom is that my opportunities for it have dramatically decreased since the birth of my daughter, especially once I returned to work.  For some people, perhaps this lack of solitude would be a welcome relief.  For me and for others, the demands of being involved with others in a continuous way -- even those we deeply love and care for -- creates a practical challenge to a vital aspect of our self-care.  In my case, lack of solitude makes it difficult for me to approach the tasks of my everyday life with the clarity and connectedness that I'd like to have.  From there, it's only a matter of time before I wind up a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor, hair in a Medusa-esque pile on my head.  

I am one of those people who cannot care well for my kid, my home, my job, or my relationship with my spouse without a little time to myself to fill my own cup, as they say.  Otherwise, I have nothing to give.  At first, trying to find time to myself was a daunting task, but I've managed to find it in a few places I wouldn't have expected before having kids.

1.  The Workplace
Not every mother goes back to the workplace, nor had outside employment to begin with.  However, for some women who relish solitude, going back to work in whatever capacity -- if you have the means and comfort to do so -- provides you with opportunities to be by yourself.  Whether it's in the car, a few minutes with a cup of your favorite (work-appropriate) beverage, or the time between clients, a little downtime can be found.


2.  Night Owls
For those who can wing it (ha ha, get it?  Wings?  Owls?  What a hoot!), grabbing a bit of time after the kids go to sleep and before you go to sleep can help fill your own cup.  Of course, if you'd just prefer to go to bed early, I'm certainly not going to blame you.


3.  Early Birds
If you're this type, go ahead and get up before your kids if you like.  Again, if you want to stay in bed, I won't judge.


4.  The Car
For whatever reason, the car seems to work magic for my daughter, and for other small kids I know.  You aren't exactly all by yourself, but a drive can give you a chunk of quiet time and space.


So I realize I'm not the first mother to ever walk the face of the planet, and I'm certainly not the first to come up with the above ideas.  I have found, however, that you can do all of the above and not feel like you've really had any solitude.  There are a couple of things I've learned about that, too.

1.  Be Present!
I define presence as the quality of bringing your full attention to the task at hand and resting there.  I have found that being by myself doesn't quite cut it -- I also need to be aware of the fact that I am in solitude and to fully engage it.  I check the clock, maybe put on a timer or alarm, and let go of my to-do lists or other activities until the alarm sounds.  By doing this, I get more out of the moments I do have, which leads me to...

2.  It's Not the Time, It's How You Use It.
Even if you were accustomed to spending tremendous stretches of time in solitude pre-kids, as I was, the length of time you have available for solitude doesn't necessarily matter.  Bringing presence to your downtime makes any time you do have -- whether it's three minutes or three hours -- more restorative and filling.

3.  Solitude Is An Inside Job
One of the major lessons I've learned about solitude in the past four months is, by and large, solitude is an inside job.  You can actually build a place of solitude within, like a wellspring or a reservoir, that you can draw upon to sustain you when even those brief pauses are difficult to come by.  I imagine this ability is really helpful once you come to parenting toddlers, but I'll let you know if that's my experience when I get there.   

I love solitude!  I think it's great, and my consistent experience is that it helps me to stay calmer, more competent, and more sane than I would be without it.  I am so glad to discover that I have been able to maintain some solitude in my life post-childbirth, although it looks different than it did before.

 

Grieving and Gratitude

While I was out on maternity leave and home with my then-almost-a-month-old daughter, I decided to start listening to the stereo during the day.  This is something my mother always did while I was growing up.  Leaving the stereo on and one light whenever leaving the house, she always returned to a lighted, sound-filled home.  I don't know what her reasons were for this, but I assumed it had something to do with not wanting to come home to a dark, quiet house.  As I sat at home, nursing, changing diapers, sometimes cleaning the house, and sometimes eating lunch, the combination of our grandmother clock's steady tick-tock, and intermittent newborn cries could have induced a turn for the worse in my mental health.  Fighting this decline was critical, and so I started listening to the oldies station.  

I love music in general, and the oldies are no exception.  Much to my surprise, I've noticed the music of my childhood years edging its way onto the local stations, indicating that the tunes of the decadent eighties are now going the way of the dinosaurs.  It was noticing this, combined with decent pattern recognition skills and auditory recall, that led me to realize the local station was rotating a few playlists.  Tiring of being able to predict the next song to play, I decided to really shake things up and listen to NPR instead.

Although there is predictability to NPR, it didn't bother me because I knew I'd be listening to different topics each day.  I started to learn about politics as I changed diapers, and listened to people I've never heard of talk about their new books while I nursed.  

Then Sandy Hook happened.

It was one of those moments when I knew I'd remember where I was when I heard the news.  That day, I was eating lunch at my dining room table and my daughter was on the floor in her jungle animal play gym nearby when the news broke.  It was the first major tragedy to make news since my daughter had been born, and I had no preparation for the impact it had upon me.

I looked at my daughter.  I thought of my workplace friends.  The teachers filling in for me on leave.  My students.  In particular, I thought of an elementary school in which I work.  The principal, the office staff, the students with whom I work in the halls on travel skills.  The dedicated teachers who support them in their educational programming every day.  I thought of the people at Sandy Hook, desperately waiting for children, spouses, and friends to leave the school building.  I looked at my daughter again and finally understood why some people live in desperate, controlling fear, and cloak their children in it.

Oh, how I cried.

The photos started to go up online.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  Young children and the educators who lost their lives.  The person who carried the gun, and the person who brought him into the world.  I have never cried so much over the deaths of people I did not know.

I began this post intending to write something about safety versus independence, and how being able to live fully means being willing to accept a certain amount of risk, to deliberately exchange our attempts at keeping ourselves safe for the richness and joy that can be ours when we stretch beyond our habitual ways of behaving.  All of that is true.  Sandy Hook is a painful reminder that we cannot be certain that this moment won't be the last one, and of how limited our control is over what happens to us.  

We do have control, though, over the spirit in which we approach life.  After all, we only have our lives, our loved ones, our memories and values and dreams, for so long.

Let us be grateful for what we have while we are fortunate enough to still have it, and let us express that gratitude by living as fully as we can.
 

 

Musical Memories #1: "Operator" by Jim Croce

Musical Memories!  We all have them: a song comes on the radio, or over your favorite web music channel, and it brings you right back to a certain time.  I share some of my own musical memories here in this special series.  Click on "Musical Memories" in the sidebar to read them as they're posted.

The room was dark, and I was exhausted.  Thankfully for the gift from medical science known as epidural anesthesia, my body had finally relaxed enough that I was able to progress through active labor to transition after being stalled for over 12 hours.

At some point in the early morning, the spouse had hooked up his iPad and asked what kind of music I wanted.  I don't remember how the music was picked out; I eventually found out that he had set up "Moody Blues Radio" on Pandora.  This indicates that my mother had something to do with the choice of music, the Moody Blues being far and away one of her favorite groups. 

I had had my epidural placed for about three hours and was at that point where I would have to start pushing.  At some point in this whole process, I had a brief, lucid moment and tuned into the sounds in the room.  I heard "Operator" playing and said to the spouse, "Hey, this is a good station."

"Yeah," agreed the others in the room.  "It really is."


The lyrics to "Operator" have nothing to do with childbirth, as far as I can tell.  They seem to be a song about the one that got away, a long-lost love.  It's the last song I remember hearing before my daughter was born and, when it came on over the oldies station today, it brought me back to that moment just months ago when she was about to come into the world.  For that reason, it has landed a spot among my musical memories that I'm sure will last until the end of my life.
   

First Time Pregnancy: Some Stuff You Might Want To Know

Here I sit in my rocking chair, finally on maternity leave, about to have my first child (or so they tell me), and I find myself reflecting on some of the things I have learned over the course of being pregnant.  I thought I'd share them with you all, so that 1) people who are considering becoming pregnant can have a sneak preview of some of the joys and non-joys of the pregnant state as experienced by just one person; and 2) people who have "been there, done that" can sit back and have a self-satisfied chuckle.

1.  Miscarriage is surprisingly common.
Having a positive pregnancy test doesn't mean you will stay that way.  We all sort of know this, but I was very surprised to find out when I miscarried at 9 weeks last December that nearly every woman I knew who had children had had at least one miscarriage somewhere along the way.  It can be emotionally and physically challenging to have a miscarriage for some women, especially if you have been trying to become pregnant for a long time.  Just go into it aware that there is a very decent chance you may experience this yourself. 

2.  You can test positive later than you think on a home pregnancy test.
I tested positive only after three tests and ten days after my expected period, and I have a regular cycle.  Everyone is different.

3.  "Morning Sickness" 
"Morning" my ass.  Try 24/7 sickness for 9 weeks (some people have it even worse, with dehydration, hospital admission, IV fluids, and so on).  That made having a full-time job, at a public school, where the cafeteria is right near the front door cooking mystery meat first thing in the morning, a challenge in ways I cannot adequately explain.  I had to resort to sniffing lemon essential oil vials in my workroom while others weren't watching.  I have never disliked food -- or even plain water --  so much in my life.  The only things I could consistently keep down were milk and Gummy Bears, and I only discovered the Gummy Bears because I was craving sweet things, averse to chocolate, and desperate for protein. 

4.  Less Testing is Sometimes Best
I found out after an early ultrasound for dating purposes -- with which I was fine -- that my embryo's development was measuring a week and a half behind where the professionals thought it should.  I thought that made sense, considering that my test was positive a week and a half later than I would have expected.  They told me they wanted to schedule a follow-up ultrasound a week later to "check on things."  The thing is, I had figured out a few things about myself during my previous pregnancy.  One is that excessive testing was total hell on my nerves.  I could not think of anything other than the tests.  Not knowing any better at the time, I had four ultrasounds, no fewer than ten blood tests (ostensibly to monitor hCg levels), and almost wound up with an exploratory surgery I didn't actually need.  This isn't to knock the work doctors and medical professionals do.  They have reasons for wanting to do things like this.  On the other hand, how was having four ultrasounds going to prevent a miscarriage?  The answer -- it wasn't.

This time around, I told the nurse who wanted to schedule my follow-up that I wanted to wait a month before having a follow-up ultrasound in order to help keep my anxiety level low.  She didn't seem totally pleased, but it was a game-changer for me as I realized that 1) I had choices, 2) I did not have to undergo testing if I did not want to, and 3) It felt much, much better to say a genuine "hell, no," even if it pissed someone else off, than it did to placate someone else and give myself up in the process.

5.  Be Prepared For Comments About Your Appearance
I was so grateful that the vast majority of comments about my appearance over the course of this pregnancy were along the lines of, "you look great!"  I don't care if they were lies or not, though I was extremely surprised by the marked frequency of such commentary.  Occasionally, I did get well-intentioned but mildly annoying comments about making sure I didn't gain an excessive amount of weight.  There were also the humorous comments about cankles, which made me smile.  On the other hand, I did get a few comments later in my pregnancy about how I "didn't look so great."  Fortunately, these didn't come from anyone I'm particularly close to, so I was able to easily blow them off with comments like, "It's because I'm wearing black" or "It's because I haven't slept through the night since July." 

6.  Weird Things Can Happen To Your Body That You've Never Heard Of Before.
It started innocently enough, with stretch marks on my abdomen.  I had heard that might happen.  Sometime in the middle of my third trimester, though, it started to feel as if fire ants had taken my entire abdomen by storm.  I was itching intensely, day and night, and nothing seemed to help except the occasional cold pack.  No one had ever mentioned severe itching to me as a pregnancy issue.  

Let me point out here that if you are having abnormal itching anywhere on your body during pregnancy, you ought to check with your doctor or midwife right away.  Some itching conditions are "benign" (although you feel like you've descended into the ninth circle of hell) and others pose real health risks to your baby.

I didn't get an official diagnosis that this is what I've had, but I'm 99% certain that when my midwife said, "looks like a pregnancy rash" at 39 weeks, she was talking about the condition known as PUPPP.  So I went to Dr. Google to learn that there are some women who get stretch marks on their rapidly-expanding bellies, and their bodies have some kind of response to that that causes them to develop an itchy rash.  I started looking for remedies online, since lotion, oatmeal baths, and scratching myself into oblivion were failing strategies that brought on real concern that I might have to just peel my skin off and start over completely.  I wanted to limit hydrocortisone cream and Benadryl, so I discovered a way to get the itching from this maddening issue under control. 

What follows is how I treated this issue.  The itching had dramatically decreased by day 3, and by day 5, it was almost entirely gone.  Your mileage may vary.  Please note:  I'm not a doctor, so please use your own judgment and common sense, and take responsibility for your own decision to use these recommendations or not:

1.  Get Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap.  They sell it at GNC, natural food stores, or online at Amazon.  Grab a washcloth, get into a cool or tepid (not hot) shower, and lather up on all the itchy, rashy areas.  Start with three times a day (I'm serious).  Let the soap stand for 5-10 minutes, then rinse off.  If the washcloth makes you too itchy, don't use it.  At the end of day 2, I had some stinging on my skin after using the soap.  The next day, the majority of the itching had gone away and I decreased the use of the soap to 1-2 times a day, depending on what I needed on a given day to manage the itching.  NOTE:  You will smell like a campfire for a few days.  If you have PUPPP, though, you will definitely not care.
2.  Aveeno sells an eczema therapy/colloidal oatmeal bath product.  Get it.  After you use the soap, take some of the oatmeal out of the packet.  Don't use it as a bath; that's bullshit.  Instead, make a paste and apply it to the itchy spots.  Leave it there for 5-10 minutes and rinse with cool or tepid water.  Use it with the same frequency that you use the tar soap.
3.  When you get out of the shower, either pat yourself dry or set your blow dryer to a cool air setting and use it to dry yourself.  Yes, you will freeze, but at least you won't itch.
4.  My spouse made a concoction of oatmeal, mint herbal tea, jasmine tea, salt, and sugar that he heated and then stored in the refrigerator.  It made a sticky paste that I applied to the itchy spots which dried and helped soothe and protect my skin.  Be sure to strain well so that you don't have tea leaves sticking to your belly.  Use as needed.
5.  I found it helpful to keep myself as cool and dry as I could comfortably manage, and to drink lots of sugar-free liquids (both hot and cold) to stay hydrated.  I recommend lemon water and herbal teas.  I found that moisturizing lotions were not helpful, even in New England in November, and that if my body got warm, this would make itching worse.
6.  If the benefits outweigh the risks for you, take an antihistamine as recommended by your doctor or midwife.  My midwife approved Benadryl, if absolutely necessary.  I took one tablet (25 mg) for three nights before bed to help manage some of the itching and so that I could sleep.  Benadryl on its own did not take away all the itching.

7.  Be Prepared To Go Past (Maybe Way Past) Your Due Date.
First-time pregnancies are notoriously long, dates can be miscalculated, and Mercury can go retrograde, all of which can contribute to a later due date (well, I don't know about the Mercury thing for sure).  Don't obsess, but start to think about what you will do if you go past your due date.  Will you opt for medical induction?  Will you try natural induction methods?  Will you wait a certain amount of time past your due date, or are you just ready to get on with giving birth?  No one can tell you what is right for you, but trust yourself to know what the best course of action is and speak respectfully but firmly with your prenatal care provider about your options, benefits, and risks.


8.  Early Labor Can Take DAYS.
I've been having legitimate irregular contractions at night and in the early morning for the past 3 or 4 nights.  Then I wake up and they go away.  I've heard this called false labor or pre-labor.  I can think of other names for it, but none of them are suitable for sharing here.  Some point out that your body is doing SOMETHING and can even talk about having had this sort of early labor feeling for as long as a week before their water breaks and they have a relatively short active labor.  Just, you know, don't be surprised or think there's necessarily something wrong with you or the baby if this is what is happening for you.  Obviously, check with your care provider if you think something is amiss -- it's appropriate and reasonable to err on the side of caution.  Other than that, keep yourself well hydrated, stay with your exercise, and keep yourself distracted by doing early holiday shopping or writing super-lengthy blog posts.

 

The Sensitive Man

It's Halloween, and since I'm feeling unusually enormous, what with being 38 weeks pregnant and all (not to mention the fact that it's flipping cold outside), my dear spouse happens to be outside handing out the treats this year.  I saw him through our front door, and even from the back, he looked slightly forlorn, as if he had been left out of the clubhouse.

I waddled my way down the stairs and out to the cold, concrete slab that passes as a front porch to sit with him for a few moments.

"Sometimes I feel like the local deviant," he told me.

I frowned.  "Yeah, I know," I said.  "I picked up a bit of a vibe that you might be feeling that way.  What's up?"

"Well, you know.  The being-a-man thing.  And having a ponytail."

It's true.  He's a man, and he has a ponytail.  His hair is much longer than mine; thick, wavy blond hair of which I am perpetually envious.  I have many fortunes in life, but great hair is not one of them, which may go some way to explaining why I am consistently attracted to people with gorgeous hair.  But I digress.

"You know what, though?" I said to him, hoping I was being reassuring, "You're a kind, sensitive man.  That has to count for something, right?"

His turn to frown.  "I think that's part of the problem."

I wondered if he was right.

The more I come to terms with the ways in which women have been wounded by societal stereotypes, oppression, and control, the more I see the ways in which the way the world happens hurts men, as well.  The more I deal with my own issues and grow in compassion around the ways in which I'm expected to demonstrate my worth and value in the world as a woman, the more I can see the issues that men face, and the more I feel compassion for them.

My spouse is a tall, distinctly masculine-looking man, yet has some traits that are not so traditional.  He is our regular household cook.  He loves to bake, and has often mentioned opening his own bakery one day.  He increasingly takes care of many of our household tasks.  Besides his long, blond ponytail, he is soft-spoken, gentle, kind, and much more patient with young children than I am.  He shares his toys with our friends' children when they come to visit and has fascinated little ones over and over with his collection of old spinning tops, light-up airplanes, and stacking block towers.  I feel so fortunate that he will be co-parenting our child with me.  I wish that his gifts in these areas could be more broadly shared, but I find that they often are not, in part based in a fearful bias around adult men interacting with children that aren't theirs.  Time and again, this fear seems to permeate our society's collective subconscious.

I don't know what to do to help change this.  It doesn't make sense to me that someone who demonstrates nurturing qualities is suspect of ill intentions, simply because of belonging to a particular sex or having a particular gender identity.  Yet I know that I have made similar assumptions about others.  An aspect of humanity is that we all tend to make snap assumptions about us based upon what groups people belong to (or appear to belong to).  Sometimes I think the best and most meaningful way to challenge these assumptions is in being in the world just as we are, even if it's challenging or lonely.

All I can think to say to him is that maybe he can set the tone of any interactions he has at our front door, and that maybe they'll all take their cue from him.  And, I think to myself, maybe I can look at my own behavior and not assume ill intent from people based on their sex or gender.

Now he is at the front door, handing out candy and joking with teenagers, who are walking away and wishing him a Merry Christmas instead of Happy Halloween.  His face seems a little lighter as he comes up the stairs once again from our front door, and it seems that maybe he is having a good time after all.