My kingdom for a horse, or son, whichever comes first.

I woke up this morning at 2:30 thinking about my first pregnancy and marveling at how times have changed.  I married Duane Seeger back in 1960.  I was 19 years old and I had known him for 3 weeks.  In hindsight, I think I might not have made the wisest decision, but then it was a good run and I got 5 kids out of the deal.  He wanted a son.  He explained that to me when he proposed.  I kind of wanted a son too, so it seemed a match made in heaven.  So we spent the first year trying to get pregnant and the next 4 trying to stop!

In 1962 I had Debbie.  1963, Patty.  1964, Dona.  1965, Sam.  We took a break, got a divorce and then had Susie and got another divorce.  I have actually sent several divorce lawyers through college.  But that is not what this is about.  This is about how the whole business of delivering a baby has changed.
I remember when Momma had my little sister, Dorothy.  It was right before harvest and back then women laid in bed for 10 days (or so it seems).  When harvest started mom had to drive one of the trucks that hauled the wheat to the elevator.  She was nursing, you know, and no one else could do that, so Dorothy laid on the seat beside her.  The rest of us kids were left at home at the mercy of Josephine.  Women did not go to the hospital to give birth.  It was done at home, usually with a midwife in attendance;

Side note here:

Origin

Middle English: probably from the obsolete preposition mid ‘with’ + wife (in the archaic sense ‘woman’), expressing the sense ‘a woman who is with (the mother’).

And you must remember that women were second class citizens until the last century.  A good horse was more highly prized than a wife.  A man could always get another wife,  but a horse was hard to come by!

Lucky for me, I went to the hospital for all my births.  The first one, Duane dropped me at the front of the hospital and called the next day to see what I had.  He came 3 days later to take me home and rail at me for not having him a son.  I kind of liked her and she was really cute.  For the next 2 years, we repeated that scenario until I finally got it through my thick head that he REALLY wanted a son and I finally had one in 1965.  He did not want him named after him and he had no idea what he DID want.  I had always coveted the name Samuel Reuben.  Everyone knew that.  So I told the nurse my choice and she was aghast!  It was a Catholic hospital and that was a Jewish name. So I caved and named him Earl Edward.  Back in those days I would not have said shit if I had a mouthful.  I have gotten a backbone since then.  Today he is still called Sam.  He was always Sam and he will remain Sam.  Somethings do not change.  

Now I had a son and Earl Duane actually came to the hospital to pick me up.  Boy was I surprised!  Sadly, our life and relationship did not change because I gave him a son.  But life did go on for both of us.  He has been gone for many years, but one of the girls still lives on the land in Lakin, Kansas.  

Now, I must confess, when I crawled out of the bed 3 hours ago, I was thinking about Wakeeney,  Kansas and events that had transpired there, but I digressed.  I must remember to do a blog about places we lived and how the rental of apartments had changed from back then.  Right now I have to go do other things, because I am old now and my duties have changed.  

The old testament comes to mind at this moment. Not sure of chapter and verse, but I know I knew it at one time....

Go forth and mulitply!!!!

The church on the corner.

When I was in the 5th grade, Miss Swenson the teacher, decided I had a brillant future as a poet.  She asked mother's permission to submit some of my work to Jack and Jill magazine.  I could write reams back in those days, unless some one wanted me to, and then I was blank.  As I recall I did manage to give her something and she mailed it off to the magazine, but I never heard any more about it.  Childish dreams dashed in the forgotten world of adults.  Probably her fault I am screwed up today!
Seventh grade proved to be very traumatic for us kids.  Mother was diagnosed with cancer and was put in the hospital and operated on immediately.  By this time Josephine was already married and so we were sort of left in the lurch with no one to take care of us except dad.  Now what that man knew about taking care of kids was exactly nothing.  He assumed on some level that since Mother was not there, we  would not need to eat.  Neighbors took pity on us and we did not starve.  You can not tell by looking at me today that I ever missed a meal!
When Mother came home, she was "bedfast" which meant the little bed in the front room was where she spent her days.  That way she could look out.  As I recall there was not a whole lot to see out there, but she was in a prime place to see it if it were to be seen.  She had received lots of cards while in the hospital so she spent time reading those, over and over again.
The ladies at the First Christian Church on the corner of Main Street and across the street from the school came to call and decided that since school would be starting soon, they needed to sew us girls new dresses for school.  We were measured and measured again to make sure the first measurements were correct.  Then the day came that they met for the "sewing bee".  I was so excited I could hardly contain myself.  I was going to have a new dress!  This would be a fancy dress made just for me and it would not have the words "Gooch's Best" any where on it.  At least I hoped not.  Dad was beside himself because those old biddies were sticking thier noses in our business.  They thought he could not take care of his family.  The fact that they were right was entirely beside the point.  I was going to have a new dress.
The day came when they brought the dresses and we tried them on so they could see how they looked and if they fit properly.  To my amazement I recieved 2 dresses.  I could hardly contain myself.  I could hardly wait for the first day of school.  It did finally come.  To this day I can not remember what color my dresses were or what they looked like.  Seems like one of them had stripes and one had flowers, but you could not prove it by me.  Mother cautioned us not to be "putting on airs" because we had new clothes.  I don't think I did, but nonetheless, my day was shattered when a boy in my class said, "Oh, ain't you something in your new clothes?  My mama said the church ladies made them because your momma is dying and can't take care of you.  Says you are poor as church mice."  Well, that pretty much did it for the happiest day of my life.  Needless to say, Mama wasn't dying, but it made for a long day.
Got into a lot of trouble that year.  Got sent to the office for saying Loren McQueen had cooties.  What ever cooties were.  I only said it because some body else told me that.  Seems like that was also the year Mrs. Wells had her baby in the bathroom in the middle of the night.  I sure wished we had an indoor bathroom, but that would not come for many years.  Oh, and I am here to tell you, an outside privy certainly leaves a lot to be desired.  I am amazed to this day that my digestive tract ever worked, between worrying about falling through the hole and living in mortal terror that a black widow spider would bite me on my tender tush!  And then there was that trip out in the middle of the night and having to worry about mountain lions and gypsy's and God only knew what else.  How did I manage to survive in that world?
Seventh grade ended with a bang.  The last day of school was always a picnic.  The band played and the kids ran around and it was so much fun.  Well, sort of.  That was the year the band was playing and a bird flew over and did a number on Gay Withrow's hat as she played whatever insturment she played.  Sure sucked to be her!
But the best thing about the whole year was that since the ladies made us clothes, mother felt obligated to attend church.  Thus began my early religious training.  I wanted to know all about this man named Jesus.  I was crushed that this man had died on the cross.  If I had only known him my life would have been perfect, but now he was dead and I would never know him.  I did finally get it straight, he had died for me, so I could have life everlasting.  That is something I never forgot.
I joined youth group.  I always memorized more verses than anyone else.  I loved that church and I loved the minister, Rush Barnett and his lovely wife, Genevive.  I wanted to be a missionary and go to Africa.  He talked to me about it and the plans were made.  Many hours were spent in there home and it was there that I was happiest.  And then the inevitable happened.  Rush J Barnett was transferred to another church.  I don't remember who took his place, but it was a man who did not much like kids and I was a kid.  We still went to that church, but the youth group ceased to be.  When we quit going, no one really seemed to care.

Brothers, mothers, and praying for our lives

Jason Seeger trying to intimidate Joey.  Needless to say it did not work. Brothers always have bond, just as sisters do.  When they are little they fight over who gets Mom's attention.  As they grow into teenagers, they try to throw all the attention onto the other one for obvious reasons which might entail a punishment issue.  Little brothers are a pain when big brothers start to date.  The awkward stage soon passes and big brother starts to take the little brother under his wing and teach him things.  And finally they reach a place where there is mutual respect and the life altering change begins.  Brothers become men.

But sometimes that cycle is interrupted, as now.  I recognize how hard it is for this big brother to stand helplessly by and watch as his little brother walks a path that only he can walk.  It is hard for all of us to stand at a bedside in utter helplessness.  So we do the one thing we can do.  We pray.  Our lives are currently in a state of meditation and Joey is at the center.  We know what we want, but we can not fix this.  I can't fix it.  Jason can not fix it.  Dona is completely helpless.  Everyone is.  So we pray.  We pray and all of our friends pray with us.  

Dear Heavenly Father, Only you know.  And you know what we are feeling.  Please make us strong as we pick up this cross.  Help our dear Joey in what ever way you choose.  You are all seeing, all knowing and omnipotent.  We ask only that you stand with us as we stand with our friends in prayer.  Not our will but thine be done.  With Joey in the palm of your hand, we surrender our will to you.  Amen

And with that I can only thank my friends, family, and everyone who stands by us in this hour of trial.  Know that we are all grateful for your prayers and we are still hoping for a miracle. 

Follow up on the dreaded colonoscopy.

It has been 2/1/2 weeks since the dreaded colonoscopy so I need to catch you up on where we stand right now.  First, I hate my doctor.  I hate my insurance company.  I am now back to falling asleep before 4 AM and staying there for 7 hours.  Libby says that is the sedative side effects.  I know they killed every good bacteria in my complete digestive tract, so I am still eating pretty funny.  Lots of yogurt, pro biotics,and  kim chee trying to get my stomach full of rotten stuff;  cheese (for the binding effect), and lots of water.  I can now walk upright without clutching my stomach to releif the ache in there.  And guess what !  Got my letter from the hospital.  They had managed to corner one tiny polyp about the size of a dust particle and removed it.  It was not cancer. ( I think it may have actually been a tiny vestige of my immune system that was hiding from them.)
Oh!  And I might possibly have a sign of a hemmorhoid!  Ya think!  I have given birth 5 times and anyone that has been through that knows what that means!  That, coupled with the indignities I suffered the night before was enough to drive a lesser woman over the edge.
So now that the "procedure" is a fading memory, I am here to dispense my wisdom.  I understand that colon cancer is a real problem and if caught early is much better managed.  So while I may make light of it, I feel much better knowing that for me, it is not a problem.  So, if your doctor recommends one, then by all means, do it.  But first try the begging him not to do it.  This always makes them feel that they are in control.  They will also know you are scared shitless (I do not mean that literally.) and may take pity on you.  At least you can always hope!
 

Ever had a colonoscopy? Want one? Niether did I!

This is Debbie and her darling Hammer yesterday morning.  It was my date with destiny for the colonoscopy, which I had fought tooth and nail for years.  As luck would have it they had driven in the night before from Longton to attend a funeral in Pueblo.  Picked the one day of my life when I was not allowed to eat anything, thus I was not cooking.

This is my daughter Patty who had driven in from Lakin, Kansas specifically to take care of me during the time I would be incapacitated, and to drive me to and from the hospital.  So, I was in good hands.

If you have ever had this procedure, you will recall that visiting on the night before was a challenge at the very best.  They did fend for themselves in the eating department, which I think means they probably did not eat.

Now let me just go on record here as saying at no point in time did I ever WANT a colonoscopy, but some where along the line it became a power struggle between my doctor, who shall remain nameless,  and me.  I had a perfect doctor before him.  Dr. Riechert.  I never seen him.  If I had a problem, which is rare, I called and he fixed me up.  Silly stuff like poison ivy, pleurisy, and the occasional renewal of the thyroid prescription.  But, unfortunately, he took better care of me than he did himself and after his demise, I was on the hunt for a new doctor.  Enter Dr. Nameless.

Since he was now the man who was in charge of my health care, I thought I should at least meet him.  So I made the appointment and we met in his office, both of us fully clothed.  Nursie took my vitals and he checked the chart when he came in.  The following conversation ensued.
"So are you in any pain?"
"No, not a bit."
"I see you have high cholesterol.  I will give you Lipitor."
"I tried it once.  Didn't like it.  Like the high cholesterol better."
"You do not need a pap smear.  Do you want a colonoscopy?"
"Do I look like I want a colonoscopy?"
"Why are you here?"
"I am here because you are my new doctor and if perchance I end up flat on my back in the ER, I want you to be able to say, 'Oh, I know her.  She is my patient.'  I require very little maintenance, but I do need a family doctor."

Thus began our patient/doctor relationship, which over the years included one pap smear, and several referrals for the mammogram (which was invented by a frustrated husband some where) every year or so.  He did finally talk me into Zetia for the cholesterol problem, which I managed to tolerate for almost 2 years.  But the colon business was just a formality of "Do you want a colonoscopy?"  "Do I look like I want one?"  In all fairness, I felt rather sorry for him trying to doctor someone who does not want doctored.  Finally he asked if I would do the "poop test" and since that was non invasive, I agreed.  Now this is where my life spiraled out of my control, so listen and learn.

Nobody told me, do not eat red meat for 4 days before you do the test.  Nobody told me, do not eat beets or anything red.  And since I eat damn near anything except cooked apples, I ingested probably anything that crossed my path prior to the "taking of the sample with a paint brush".  (Playing in my poop is not something I normally do just for the record)!

To make a long story short, of course it came back positive.  Of course I was going to have a colonoscopy.  My insurance insisted on that.  So that is what I did yesterday.  Now I am here to tell you that Sunday I was not allowed to eat food and could only have clear liquids.  Eating is my passion and I did not enjoy that at all!  Sunday night was the worst experience of my life.  I had to drink a gallon of the most foul stuff I have ever encountered in my years of drinking and I have downed some pretty gross stuff on my way to a good drunk (if there is such a thing as a good drunk).

Now, I am happy to report that I passed with flying colors, and have two pages of pictures showing nothing but the cleanest colon in town.  My kitchen floor should be so clean!  My friend stopped to see me on my way into the hospital and decided I looked "fit" and after work came by to reassure himself that I had indeed survived and was amazed that I showed no signs of being any worse for the wear.  I tried to look pathetic, but could not pull it off because I had to laugh at him.  Bless his heart.

So in closing, let me tell you this... if you find yourself facing this, not to worry.  It is a piece of cake.  If you survive the night before you can survive anything.  And so I can continue my march down or up the road with that behind me and when I see the doctor again, I shall remind him that I am one of the healthiest old ladies he will ever encounter and not to make me take any more tests!