Dogs

My life has always included a dog.

Sarge was the collie mix my parents had when they were first married. Named for my dad’s rank in the Air Force, I didn’t know Sarge well since he was relegated to the basement after Anthony and I came along to ease Mom’s cleaning regimen. I hardly noticed when he passed away of old age.

Then, the summer I was eight, we got Ralphy. A bassett hound/beagle mix puppy, Ralphy was sweet, but capo dost (“hard head” or obstinate). He was fearless and did not hesitate to go toe-to-paw with my father over a stolen shoe or – one time – a stick of butter taken from the kitchen counter.

Ralphy was my dog. I woke up early to walk him, and trained him to sit, stay, “speak” and shake. During each of my extended hospital stays, my parents said Ralphy searched the house, looking for me. And as I recuperated at home, I was never alone with Ralphy at my bedside.

Bassetts and beagles are prone to tumors, and Ralphy had his fair share. All were benign until the one that took hold in his liver when he was 13. By the time we’d discovered it, the tumor was as big as a grapefruit, and so painful Ralphy would fall asleep sitting up.

We ended his suffering on Dec. 4, 1983 – one month and one day after my grandfather died. Later, Mark said I had cried equally for them both. I begged my mother to get another dog, but she’d had enough. “When you and Mark get married, you can get your own dog,” she said. One wrinkle: Mark had been allergic to dogs as a child, and he didn’t know if -- like his asthma -- he had outgrown that malady. We decided to chance it, but I told him, “If you are still allergic, you’re going on medication, because we are NOT returning the dog!”

We rescued Maggie from an animal shelter in South Orange, NJ. She was a black, spaniel mix, about 15-months-old, and shell-shocked from abuse. It took years before she trusted us to step over her while she slept, causing more than a few near-falls for Mark and me.

Not only was Mark not allergic to Maggie, he formed a strong bond with her. She was his first real pet and the perfect addition to our new home, just one month after our wedding. After J was born, eight years later, we learned that Maggie wasn’t crazy about kids. She wasn’t aggressive towards J; she just ignored her.

Later in life, Maggie developed lymphoma. We kept her comfortable on medication and let nature take its course. Then, in September 1999, as Hurricane Floyd was bearing down on Raleigh, Maggie lost control of her hindquarters and she couldn’t walk. “A system failure,” was what the emergency veterinarian told us, and the difficult decision was made to put her down. She was 15-years-old.

Mark took Maggie’s loss especially hard and vowed that we’d have an extended mourning period before considering another dog. Then, one sunny day in October, he suggested we go “look” at the animal shelter.

“If we go to the animal shelter today, we’re getting a dog today,” I told him.

Can’t say I didn’t warn him – that afternoon we adopted Sandy.

A husky/shepherd mix, Sandy was three-months-old when we brought her home. J named her for the sandy color of her face, and she is the sweetest dog I’ve ever had. She’ll be 11 in July, but most people think she’s still a youngster. Sandy and J have grown up together, and, when R was an active toddler, Sandy had infinite patience. However, when she’s hurt or scared, I’m the one she comes to.

Despite the ache of arthritis in my lower back each morning, I feed Sandy and let her out, since I’m usually the first one up. As I shuffle to the kitchen while Sandy scampers ahead of me, I wonder if I will have the strength and will to start over with another dog, after her time with us ends. Probably. Because, in my mind, a home is not complete without a dog.

Living life

Crisis management is a vital parenting skill that I learned from a master – my mother.

When faced with my spondylolisthesis diagnosis and the reality that their 13-year-old daughter needed major spinal surgery to avoid paralysis, both my parents were matter-of-fact. Did I want the surgery? Was I comfortable with the surgeon? And, if either of my parents were freaking out on the inside, I never knew it.

During my surgery, Mom prayed and visualized Jesus carrying me. That brought her peace. Afterward, my surgeon, Hugo Keim, reported that all had gone well and I was fine. Dr. Keim and Mom never hit if off; he reserved his warm-and-fuzzy bedside manner for his patients, and didn’t have much charm leftover for their parents. Yet, after each of my surgeries, he updated her personally, instead of delegating the duty to a junior doctor on his surgical team. For that, Mom was grateful.

Post-op, I was in a body cast for six months. The kicker: for the first three months, I was bed-ridden so the spinal fusion could heal properly.

Caring for me at home was a challenge that Mom seemed to enjoy. She’s a natural at troubleshooting and, by the time the gurney rolled me through the front door, everything was in place.

One of my father’s brothers had located an old-fashioned hospital bed – crank-style – that he had cleaned and painted white. And, instead of sequestering me upstairs in my bedroom, Mom decided I would be in the dining room on the first floor “where all the action is,” she said. So, the dining room table and chairs were moved into the living room, creating a crowded by usable arrangement.

Since Mom had gone back to work by then, a phone was installed at my bedside. I was also given one of Dad’s police whistles to summon assistance, if needed, after everyone had gone upstairs to bed. With Dad working rotating shifts, Mom coming home midday for lunch and my brother checking in a few hours before Mom at day’s end, I was covered!

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Mom was teaching me how to deal with life’s curveballs. The takeaway: make a plan and execute, and keep living your life.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Size matters

“Don’t gain any weight.”

That was the parting advice from my rheumatologist during a recent visit.

Years ago, I was told that each one-pound gain in weight adds 10 pounds of pressure to your body’s joints. And this information from Johns Hopkins reports similar findings.

However, a weight gain of two or three pounds (okay, three!) is inevitable whenever I visit my parents. My mother’s amazing cooking and baking, combined with my father’s continual stockpiling of sweets (he brings pocketfuls of free cookies home from the bank every day), usually sabotages my best intentions within 24 hours.

Prior to my Easter visit, I had seen a number on the scale that had eluded me since before my son was born nine years ago. And, when my weight is down, I do notice a difference. There is less morning ache in my lower back and the stiffness in my hip decreases. I stand straighter and walk without a noticeable limp. Good motivators all, but no match from Mom’s homemade lasagna and meatballs.

So far, I’m down one pound. Considering there are still jelly beans and peanut butter eggs in the house, I count that as a major triumph.

Other news from the rheumatologist: 1) the arthritis in my hip is only in certain areas, but not the entire joint, and 2) the severity of my arthritis -– as evidenced by my X-rays -– means I qualify for a permanent handicapped placard. So, I’ve got that going for me, too.

BOGOs, freebies and squirrels

Last weekend, I celebrated my birthday at my parents’ home.

Mom and Dad are both retired, yet they have each approached retirement in their own unique way.

Mom is a social butterfly. If I don’t catch her by phone in the morning after her daily walk, she’s often out and about until late afternoon. She is in high demand to play bridge and Mah-Jong with several groups and -- as a three-year breast cancer survivor -- also volunteers to counsel newly diagnosed patients. On less structured days, she goes out to lunch or to the movies with her friends.

Meanwhile, Dad’s days are pretty predictable: 18 holes of golf (within two hours; he’s an express golfer) and a brisk walk before dozing in front of the television for the remainder of the day.

The afternoon I arrived for my birthday weekend, I woke Dad from his intermittent nap so he could brief me on his favorite topics (aside from golf): BOGOs, freebies and squirrels.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Dad is a product of the Great Depression, so he’s always looking for a deal. He and Mom comb through the grocery store ads and visit several stores each week to hit all the sales. (That’s where I get it from!) Dad also collects buy-one-get-one (BOGO) free coupons for fast food restaurants by fishing through the trash at the post office. Apparently, a lot of people toss those valuable circulars after they’ve sorted through their mail. He keeps more coupons than he and Mom could hope to use, but he also spreads the wealth among the golf course starters, and other friends.

Scouting out the free meal offers from banks and financial advisors has also become an exact science. The meal and venue need to be of a certain quality before my parents will consider attending. They recently found freebie nirvana on St. Patrick’s Day. The event featured a sumptuous buffet with a wide variety of offerings, and a Venetian table of desserts. Jackpot!

Then, there are the squirrels. Dad pursues squirrels with a level of intensity that reminds me of Bill Murray’s quest to kill the gopher in Caddyshack. Although explosives are not yet part of Dad’s arsenal, he does spent an inordinate amount of time scheming to prevent squirrels from gaining access to the bird feeders in the front and back yards. Recently, he greased the surface of the backyard feeder with Vaseline. “It works!” he told me gleefully. “They slide right off.”

Yes, it’s the simple things that keep life exciting in my parents’ retirement. They deserve that, and more. So, here’s to many future birthdays and everydays, talking about BOGOs, freebies and squirrels.

Happy Anniversary, 'Maria Talks Back'

It has been one year since I started this blog. Time does indeed fly!

My original goal for entering the blogosphere was to establish an online platform for my memoir, Growing Pains.

Life continues to get in the way of my completing the current revision – I’m just pages away! – but, a lot of unexpected, pleasant things have happened in the meantime.

Most notable: I met Suzette and Emily Schrump, and Katherine Southard (aka, Miss North Carolina). Our crusade to convince United Healthcare to cover Emily’s doctor-prescribed brace treatment for her scoliosis was a rewarding triumph that I cherish. And, after meeting that challenge, we continue to stay in touch via Facebook. That’s how I knew that, today, Emily received her third brace. You grow, girl!

Looking ahead, I resolve to finish this edit on my manuscript and move forward with the next. It seems daunting now, but a lot can happen in a year.

Becoming a statistic

My family has reluctantly joined the ranks of the unemployed. It’s a club we hope to be ousted from soon.

This is the fifth time in 25 years that one of us has been laid off. In times past, the financial blow created by one spouse’s job loss was buffered by the continued employment (and health benefits) of the other. This time, that is not the case.

Since I’m self-employed, my income is not as regular or reliable as a “normal” job, so the only thing we’re able to bank on at this point is Mark’s unemployment benefits.

Job loss is akin to losing a loved one. Now, one month into this adventure, we are finally emerging from the five stages of grief, moving towards acceptance – and action.

The kids are feeling the stress, too. J asked if we would lose our house. I told her that’s not part of the plan – and it’s not.

If one good thing has come out of the recession, it’s that there are more options available to help people keep their homes. One is the Home Protection Program. This loan fund program is only available in a handful of states and, luckily, North Carolina is one of them. We are just in the early stages of the pre-approval process, but are hopeful it will work out.

In the meantime, we have returned to a Depression-era mentality of pinching every penny, and taking a hard look at needs versus wants. This is a familiar way of thinking for me. My father still wears T-shirts until they are worn down to nothing – even though he has a dresser stuffed with new ones, still in their packaging.

Recruiters are saying that the job market is opening up and things should start popping by Spring. Until then, if you know of any appropriate opportunities in web analytics/search marketing, and/or business/data analysis, please email me. Prayers are also appreciated!

Good luck, Katherine!

During the two and one-half years I wore a Milwaukee brace (between 1976 and 1979), the medical focus was on the physical. No one ever inquired about my emotional state, and how it “felt” to be in such a visibly restrictive apparatus, 23 hours per day.

Thankfully, things have changed. One of the agents of that change is Katherine Southard (a.k.a. Miss North Carolina).

Recently, Katherine discussed scoliosis, self-esteem and tolerance with students at South Harnett Elementary School in Bunnlevel, N.C. Katherine appeared at the behest of 10-year-old Emily Schrump. As you may have read in previous posts, both Katherine and Emily (like me) are scoliosis patients.

During her speech, Katherine (whose platform this year was “Scoliosis: Ahead of the Curve”) engaged the students by explaining scoliosis and showing them Emily’s Boston brace. Her core message: it doesn’t matter how people look on the outside; it’s what’s inside that counts.

I was able to generate some great (if I do say!) media coverage of Katherine’s appearance at Emily’s school. The stories ran this week in the News & Observer and the Fayetteville Observer-Times.

If her commitment to Emily is any indication, Katherine has made a tremendous impact during her reign as Miss North Carolina. In August, she secured a $500 shopping spree at Peebles clothing store, to help Emily buy back-to-school clothes that would fit over her new brace. Katherine also connected me with the Schrump family, and what a rewarding experience that has been! Together with Emily’s mom, Suzette, we’ve taken on a health insurance giant and scored some cool media opps along the way.

This weekend, Katherine will be competing in the Miss America pageant . Please join me in wishing her the best of luck!