“He can’t bite my ear off if I knock his teeth out” – Jake Paul. 

At the start of the year, I penned some reflections as I normally do, ready to share a “start to the year” post here on the blog.  My state of the union.  Goals for the year ahead.  Big plans, bigger dreams.  Yet as I typed, I emptied out the contents of a most stressful holiday season (in one word – PUPPY!).  Ok, there was more than that, but a puppy certainly didn’t help.  After a couple of pages of mind dumping I realized that the contents of what I’d written was just too depressing to share.  The list was long.. woes and worries, challenges and angst, disbelief and anger.  And so, more than halfway through, I stopped writing and simply walked away.  That was seven months ago now, but the key takeaway from that morning hasn’t left me.  What has proven true to the utmost degree was the title of that blog post.   I still think of  those two words daily.  “No Agenda”.  And as long as I honor its mantra, the days and months that have followed have gone smoother than when I don’t.

Despite my no longer working, simplifying our schedule and decreasing commitments, 2024 remains a whirlwind.  Managing Sasha’s continually changing condition has been a bit like shadow boxing.  In the fall of 2023, Sasha’s care team sounded the alarm with increasing volume advocating for a g-tube placement for safer, more efficient feeding.  Her weight loss was finally showing up on a scale and her muscle loss had been evident for most of last year. A g-tube, I was told, would allow her a safer route for food and fluid intake along with an avenue to get medications in her, which will be of paramount importance should her swallowing continue to decline.   The good news: this would not negate her ability to eat and drink orally whenever safe to do so.  Simple enough, one would think! But for me, it was anything but. I cannot commend highly enough the multiple doctors, from Sasha’s Complex Medical PCP to her Palliative Provider to her Neurologist, Geneticist and Nutritionist, for their patience over a 9 month period in navigating my concerns and hesitations.  I met with anesthesia, cardiology and her assigned trauma surgeon (this is not a trauma surgery but scheduled in a manner so that all the bells and whistles are available in the OR). Each and every individual was filled with the time and patience to navigate both my parental and nursing angst.  Last month, during a visit with palliative care, I shared that I had come to terms with the knowledge that I will never feel 100% certain on this decision, but that I had come to about an 80/20 ratio of certainty, which was the threshold I needed to feel confident in scheduling her surgery.  “I will call to schedule as soon as soon as we end here today.  I want you to know that”.  I could see relief flood young Dr. Wilson’s face, one of the kindest most empathetic providers I have ever met.  Ultimately, I let one day pass before calling.  My blood pressure lowered as I got an answering machine at the surgeons office, and I certainly didn’t mind the three weeks of phone tag that ensued.  Finally, the surgical scheduler and I connected.  I’ve decided not to share the exact date in order to get to the other side of this quietly, but later this summer Sasha will be getting a peg tube placed. 

For a very long time, Sasha’s care team was providing me only the benefits a g-tube will offer, while I was only presenting the concerns.  Many may think the quote I opened this post with is out of character for me (and it totally is….I am definitely not a boxing fan nor a pop culture follower of individuals like Jake Paul!!). But Jake Paul’s quote regarding his much anticipated Mike Tyson match-up encapsulated everything I felt about Sasha’s potential surgery.  All I kept seeing, every time I contemplated the sparkling g-tube endorsements from her medical team, was a boxer falsely inflated by his coaches in the corner of a ring mid fight.  We’ve all seen it; the shoulder rubs, the boisterous pats on the back and the bravado behind their words of encouragement.  You know that infuriating feeling when you know a fighter is going down yet his people insist he gets back out there?  Of course they do, that’s the nature of the sport.  He’s being told he’s winning this thing and all the viewer can see is his defeat. It’s harrowing and awful. 

That’s how I felt for a long time as I challenged the medical professionals on Sasha’s potential g-tube.  No one was talking about the way this disease was headed.  No one was acknowledging that we were late in the match and this decision signified that Sasha was tired. It took almost  a year to reconcile Sasha the struggling boxer with her care team’s  campaign of encouragement.  Sasha and I were not being falsely inflated with confidence.  We knew where we stood in the fight.  At last, my head cleared and I understood what her team was trying to convey and why now is the time.

With this going on in the background, I had to acknowledge other things.  This was not the year for Sasha to hike in our annual Sunrise Ascent on Mt. Washington.  While we still hike weekly with our beloved Adaptive Sports Partners organization, longer days with exposure to mixed elements and extended durations of sitting are no longer comfortable.  A planned winter vacation to Myrtle Beach is getting scaled back halfway in distance.  Feeding times are lengthy now, with more time at home needed to ensure caloric intake doesn’t wane and that safe swallowing remains at the forefront. 

I suppose 2024 does have an agenda after all.  To be present.  To cherish what remains.  To create new experiences within the reality of what is.  This is nothing new…it’s not revolutionary.  It’s what so many talking heads, influencers (more like Mel Robbins, maybe not Jake Paul!) and psychologists talk about ad nauseum.  But its important work. 

“We knew the bus was coming and we knew it was going to hit, but we didn’t know how far away it was or how fast it was going.” Michael J. Fox

One morning a few weeks back, I awoke unexpectedly reflecting on Sasha now being twenty-five years old. This birthday, twenty five in particular, has stunned me at various points since it occurred on July 20th. Sasha has been with me, and I with her, for over half of my lifetime. I looked up at the ceiling. In a half slumber state, a flood of adventures and memories streamed past my minds eye. Like rapidly flipping through one of those photo books waiting to see the cumulative image. Sasha’s life was flashing before me; off-roading along the pacific ocean together, playgroups at Gymboree and Synagogues, driving cross country, snacking together out of tiny snack sized raisins boxes, her tiny fingers feeding me. Picking her up from a Los Angeles police station (her exiting their “holding cell” (playroom) stealing a matchbox car on her way out the door. Shattering the back windshield while jumping sand dunes in a pick up truck (oops. Still sorry about that one Mike!). Meeting Alanis Morrissett, who upon laying eyes on Sasha complimented her intensity. Summitting Mount Washington at sunrise (five times!), leaving countless vacations in the middle of manic, sleepless nights. Canceled flights. Breaking down on freeways. Her elopement from apartments, coffee shops, daycares. Seizures on ambulance rides. Our trip to France at just 2 months old (what a cute passport!). Graduating kindergarten in her adorable royal blue cap and gown. Weekends at the Santa Barbara zoo. Tuesday night Jazz Concerts at Los Angeles County Museum of Art. A rattlesnake crossing our path on a solo hike in Pasadena. I could never begin to hope for a life quite as exciting as Sasha’s, however much I tried.

I looked around the room and decided it was time to get up. Undeniably, for some time now, our lives have become quiet. Our days have form but not much outward purpose. Each meal may take forty minutes or it may take an hour and a half each to eat. Physical supports have increasingly entered the home; gait trainers, wheelchairs, ramps, commodes, modified vehicles, shower chairs, special beds. We have an ever growing care team, new physicians on board along with physical and occupational therapists conducting home safety evaluations to help guide and improve these tasks of daily living. Many have entered and stayed in my orbit; friends in the medical field, Sanfilippo Moms and friends from chapters in life so long ago and far away, all painstakingly encouraging me to be open to tools of support. So many individuals have met both Sasha and I where we are at, and for this I am forever grateful.

Last month, I met with our new palliative care doctor, and near the end of our hour together, he asked how I was doing. He told me to consider the emotional components of our visit to be like a little box…it can be taken down from a shelf whenever I’d like, opened, peered inside, or kept closed. It can be put back up on the shelf at any time. And so, when he simply asked “how are you doing?” I explained to him, that this journey with Sanfilippo has been much like a train waiting at the station. Because Sasha’s plateaus tended to last so very long, the syndrome was more like a presence in the corner of a room. It was a train that was parked. I could see it, but it was quiet, not moving, and not threatening to go anywhere. This year, as we have encountered a continuous and steady decline, I know that I have now boarded that train.

I looked up at the ceiling again. What just happened? What had it all meant. (Other than the obvious, which I didn’t really want to look at). But then something dawned on me. I had a yearning. What if I could recreate all of those adventures, the good and the not so good, in one huge, epic season. What if we could retrace our ride cross country, go back to all the old haunts, and after exhausting all the memories from the West Coast of California to Vancouver Canada, jumping on a plane to Provenance, to shop at the French markets once again and have a flaky warm croissant at a boulangerie, and then fly back home.

The quote I shared at the opening of this post by Michael J. Fox says so much. In illness and in health, we really don’t know how fast that train (or bus) is coming. It’s so important to make the most of it all.

“You can always come back, but you can’t come back all the way” – Bob Dylan

During the last year or so of nursing school, professors and curriculum started emphasizing questions as they might be encountered on the National Council Licensure Exam (Boards). The main point hoping to convey was that you will be posed with tricky exam questions, and will need to choose the most right answer. Some answers will be partially correct, thus tempting to select. The reason being of course, that there will be nuances involved in making sound nursing judgment once out in the field. This past year in particular, this turned out to be such a great analogy for navigating a complicated life.

We are moving along in tandem through the toddler years for Nika and progressive Sanfilippo challenges for Sasha. Life is beautiful but chaotic. Sasha’s activities of daily living are requiring far more supports and involvement than they did a couple of years ago. Meanwhile, Nika is becoming quite an involved caregiver; putting blankets on Sasha once we’ve gotten her comfortably seated, assisting with lifting a leg if she’s struggling to walk, rubbing her arm while asking “are you doing ok?”. Its simultaneously incredibly sweet to witness but a heavy load for a 2 1/2 year old to take on.

Around this same time, Nika hit the “terrible twos” as they are deemed for whatever reason (I kid – its been rough!), while Sasha’s needs increased with her own aging. I found myself becoming sometimes resentful of the stay at home Mom role. It’s simply because this was never what I had planned. I am a highly social person with professional aspirations, and thus felt my world exponentially shrinking. And so, with the pandemic trajectory improving, it was time for me to get back into the workforce. I also needed to get back into the workforce because, if I wanted to maintain the nursing license that I studied so hard for in “active” status, I would need a certain amount of professional hours in the nursing field as required in our state statutes.

So it was in December when I found myself a position at the incredible teaching hospital that oversees Sasha’s care. It’s a trek from our home, so I opted for two twelve hour shifts per week in order to minimize how many days each week I was far from home, and hoping the commute would be doable if that infrequent. I felt so fortunate that in a time of incredible challenges for both nurses and employers, as well as for institutions and patients, I landed in a very supportive, engaged and dynamic group of coworkers and supervisors. What a way to reenter the field that I had been removed from for over three years.

You can probably tell where this is headed. After just a few short months, the 15 hour days door-to-door (because 12 hour shifts in nursing are of course longer than that; changing into scrubs, getting report, stocking your cart and so on) were not sustainable. My performance was inconsistent and the pressure of this role, while exhilarating at times, was high. By March it was evident that the right decision was to step away and regroup.

Remarkably, shortly after this, word of a very exciting position opened up, only it wasn’t in nursing. An Events and Development position with the Adaptive Sports organization we have engaged with for so many years came into creation. While clearly not a nursing role, the job description excited me. Ironically, back when Sasha was a toddler herself, I had worked for a PR and Marketing company in California, so this work would not be completely foreign to me. Mike and I thought long and hard because a full time position right now would be a lot. But Mike was supportive and wanted to see me happy. I applied, interviewed and eagerly accepted an offer this May. We’d make it work!

So, you can probably tell where this is headed as well. Despite finding what ended up being the most rewarding professional role I could have hoped for, and experiencing for the first time in life a job that doesn’t feel like work, in time, I noticed an inverse relationship between work happiness and home satisfaction. As I was finding professional enjoyments, I felt a disconnect with the family. I wasn’t able to disengage and be present when not working. I was putting important tasks for Sasha on the back burner. I was missing milestones with Nika even if they occurred right in front of me. It was like watching a teeter totter go higher and higher, as my professional happiness kept elevating, the home happiness was sinking. It was odd and also unexpected. Mike was noticing a change as well and once I put words to it and said it all out loud, I knew I had to confront some things. This led to other tough conversations and ultimately, the decision to, once again, step away.

There have definitely been some early morning coffee reflections and some “sitting in the car stunned” moments throughout this entire year. As I took a 10 month inventory, from leaving the house at dawn in winter storms to practice nursing far from home to helping coordinate twelve athletes and their teams for the amazing Sunrise Ascent on Mt. Washington and so many points in between, it’s been an incredible year of growth and self awareness. But the hurdles and heartbreak and realities of limitations have been sobering. Nika and Sasha are not independent individuals collectively (nor individually). I refused to acknowledge my own limitations and simply decided that the house of cards would not crash by putting one more card on top. I recently found myself telling a dear friend of these crossroads that “at this point, I’m just tired of myself”.

And so, I sit here today having a few moments at 7:00 AM as both girls are sleeping in (unheard of!). For the foreseeable future, I am home. I am still a nurse and caregiver, and an advocate and promoter of inclusive opportunities like sports and recreation for all. I will simply do this work in a different capacity now. I am also incredibly fortunate that this decision is mine to make. Not everyone can elect not to work. That is not lost on me.

Thank you NCLEX, that nursing exam taken so many years ago. I know now that sometimes in life, the best you can do is make “the most right decision”. It is ultimately what is asked of all of us, each and every day, in this thing called life. I love the Bob Dylan line featured at the opening of this post, however I challenge it somewhat as well. I think you can come back, come back all the way. Here’s to feeling grounded in the process.

You and Me

We go Together Like Bird in Tree

And we’ll Live our Lives so Joyfully

Ohhhh, Ohhh,  you and me

When I was little, my Dad often spoke of historic events: war, politics and Greek mythology.  One story that I recall being riveted by was the Battle of Marathon in 490 BC.  This old worn tale is one told with tremendous pride by many, a time when the Greeks prevailed over the Persians in the most unlikely of outcomes.  It has been said that Pheidippides, a member of the Greek military and one of their distance runners, ran 26 miles to deliver the news of unfathomable victory.  The manner in which my Father told this story, when I was roughly 5 years old, was with a mix of pride and matter of fact-ness.  He wasn’t one for the overly sentimental.  These were merely events I should know about as I move through life, and their knowledge should shape me into a proud Greek offspring.

So early on in my pregnancy, when my Sister-in Law shared her girls names list from back when she had been pregnant, the name Nika jumped off the page.  I was instantly taken back to my Father’s storytelling.  I recalled  Pheidippides shouting “Nike Nike!”  (Victory!  Victory!) jubilantly sharing his peoples news, and then…he dropped to his death.  It is now thought that Pheidippides collapsed from heat stroke in the tremendous August heat.  But he is honored to this day by the birth of the marathon.  And so, it seemed so fitting to name this miraculous baby Nika, inspired by both the Greek Goddess of Victory and the historically rich word of “Nike”.  Victory. 

The week of Nika’s scheduled arrival, it was discovered she had gone breech (again).  She’d been repositioning often during weeks 33, 34 and 35, and I had given up hope that avoiding a c-section was in the cards.  Amazingly, at a late term ultrasound, we learned that Nika was head down!  I was so uplifted, overjoyed in the realization that we may have a smooth induction as planned.  But by induction week, when I presented to my OB clinic for a routine heart rate monitoring appointment at week 38, she was breech again.  I reluctantly scheduled an in hospital ECV (where they turn the baby externally to push them back to head down) and hoped for the best.  I was worried how she would tolerate the procedure but wanted to give it a shot.   Nika turned successfully during the ECV (a miracle yet again – I credited yogic breathing, the OB I’m sure credited his skill set!).  Exhale.  We were barely four days out from induction day.  We would soon meet our baby girl.

Induction day arrived and once again routine heart monitors were placed on my belly.  The placement of the monitors yielded no galloping sounds (we knew she was fine as she was active, but we also knew this meant she had likely turned yet again).  Nika was victorious.   She was labeled an “unstable lie”  – going from breech to transverse.  It became clear to me that this baby might not remain in one position long enough for a successful induction, and decided a scheduled c-section was preferable to an emergent one.  All I wanted was a healthy baby and the safest way of bringing her into this world. 

And now, a year later, here I sit.  Today is Nika’s first birthday.  It is not lost on me that we celebrate today in a time of war, a practice that’s been ongoing since the birth of civilization.  If you think about victory, one party celebrates as another one mourns.  It always has a yin to its yang.  While I so wanted a second non-surgical birth, it was Nika who prevailed.    

Nika was just a few weeks old when a distinct melody popped into my mind, and lyrics subsequently followed.  I thought it fitting to post those lyrics for the opening of this blog.  I still sing it to her often when soothing her to sleep or distracting her from something she maybe shouldn’t be getting into.  I hope those lyrics prevail for her – that while there may be strife in the world at large, and at times there will be strife within her own world, my wish is that it’s a melody of joy that carries her.

Happy first birthday, Nika.  You are so loved. 

Tipping point

“I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains” – Paul Simon

It started out with laughter.  That statement sounds so unassuming, welcoming even.  We hadn’t heard Sasha laugh in years, years.  Then, last Friday, out of the absolute blue it came.  And in an instant, Mike and I both felt our hearts sink.  The laughter was slightly delusional and was the exact laugh we used to hear many years ago, routinely, during episodes of derailment. I tried not to overthink it and just treat it like a long lost behavior briefly returning.  That happens sometimes.  But then, over the weekend, Sasha’s nights were interrupted with a worse type of laughter alternating with weeping.  The weeping was especially alarming as that too, was something from yesteryear.  The weeping was once the main precursor to a grand mal seizure. 

That was 10 days ago now and the past week and a half is mostly a blur.  By the time last weekend came and went and Sasha started becoming lethargic, I messaged her new neurologist, explaining my concerns.  I don’t know if you could say this was the worst possible time for our beloved pediatric neurologist of almost 15 years to retire, but it certainly forced us to quickly develop rapport with our new, adult neurologist.  After hearing me list off what was going on, his nurse wisely recommended I get Sasha checked at her PCP for a possible UTI as her decline came on so suddenly.  There is often a correlation between cognitive decline in neuro patients when a UTI is present.  something I completely overlooked as a nurse Sasha was seen the next day, and while this particular provider had yet to meet Sasha before, he was concerned.  Her circulation was poor and she was barely able to stand.  After some debate, in the interest of getting the quickest results possible, I agreed to a catheter for obtaining a urine sample. Sure enough, Sasha tested positive for a UTI.  While waiting in the exam room for the results one of the nurses said “I so hope that’s what this is”.  Despite what should have been a relief, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that sinking feeling that more was going on.

Sasha has finished her course of antibiotics now but her improvements for now are miniscule. Further correspondence with neurology led to recommended lab work with a Black Friday nighttime drive by Mike to Dartmouth Hitchcock during our first snow storm. Those results led to few answers so we head back again tomorrow for a visit with neurology in person.    

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, we had a magical 5 hours or so on Thanksgiving Day.  Family gathered and celebrated the baby, the holiday and true gratitude after not being together last year for so many special moments.  I kept thinking how all I want for these holidays are my happy, healthy daughter back.  During one of my countless log-in sessions this weekend into Sasha’s patient portal to check on some test results, I decided to upload a profile photo of Sasha at her patient home page.  I’ve had this sinking feeling we’re about to become frequent flyers there, and soon many providers and specialists will be in and out of Sasha’s chart.   But Sasha is so much more than lab values, MRI images and EEG readings.  She’s the purest, most beautiful soul.  All loving, forgiving and tolerant.  It’s cliché but she will always be my hero. 

Last week, while pulling into a parking spot at the post office at our picturesque local town green, the Mumford and Sons cover version of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Boxer” came on the radio.  In middle school and early high school I was infatuated with their greatest hits album:  Kathy’s Song, The Sound of Silence, Bridge Over Troubled Water, For Emily, Whenever I May find her.  They all had me enthralled, hanging on every brilliant word and lyric.  When The Boxer came on this crisp November day, as locals bustled in and out of the post office with holiday excitement, I reflected on so many things.  I simply wanted the things that I’m thankful for the most, the people who I hold dear, to be close by and flourishing this holiday season.  It is now my only wish. 

“The year of the mule”. This is how it reads in my mind’s eye on an imaginary Chinese calendar. 

Each year we attempt to Climb Mount Washington via the Auto Road on the first Sunday in August.  We do so in an event that’s the biggest annual fundraiser for the nonprofit organization that provides Sasha with not only year round recreation, but an amazing community of supporters as well. We begin our Ascent at dawn, normally around 4:30 AM, head lamps shining bright with the excited chatter of our team being the only sounds to break through the mountain pines.  Normally when we start out Sasha remains quiet as she gains her bearings.  You can see hints of recognition to the task at hand as she assesses why she’s out so early while surveying the roughly 15 – 20 people around her (some of whom she’s never met before), and adjust to the unseasonably chilly air. 

Around an hour into the climb, the sun starts to rise.  There’s the perfect curve of widening pavement that coincides with where we are located at sunrise each year, and this moment of awe always merges the team into a cohesive unit.  We’ve been so fortunate every year to have a blend of mules who are old friends, coworkers and complete strangers.  Some have never seen the chair Sasha rides in for hikes, others have seen photos of Adaptive Sports adventures, some have done the event almost since its inception 12 years ago.  It keeps for a sense of wonder in me every year and allows for Sasha to reach new people and invite them into her world. 

This year was different for may reason.  Sasha is adjusting to resuming activities in a halfway post pandemic world along with an ever present baby sister (Nika was waiting at the top of the mountain ahead of us in the car).  And since I was on the fence about doing the hike at all this year, there wasn’t the usual happy preparations and chatter at home.   I’d originally informed Adaptive Sports Partners of my decision not to climb, which meant Sasha would not experience the hike.  When I made the decision official at a summer meeting, I could see the look of disappointment on the faces of staff.  In a subsequent email response from Shane, a mule who has been with our team since 2016, I really understood that this year in particular, so many in our Adaptive community wanted Sasha to have this hike.  When I learned that Shane was roughly 6 weeks out from a mountain bike crash that landed him in the ICU with broken ribs and a punctured lung, it filled me with determination.  If Shane was willing to even consider this 7 ½ mile hike with thinning air as we climb above tree line, me being 5 months post-partum was no excuse not to try.  That’s how much others wanted this for Sasha.  Still, as the event got close, I expressed my reservations. “I don’t think I can physically do it this year” I told Roy, another veteran Team Sasha mule.  “You won’t know unless you try” he said. 

For me personally, it was an ugly hike.  My breathing was labored early on, starting at around mile 3.  By mile 5 I got charley horses in the front of my knees (what a phenom!).  I counted steps and set internal goals only to , at one point, have to stop after a mere 20 steps.  This was not looking good.  Yet each time I struggled, someone stepped up.  My dear college friend, Cheryl, joining us for the first time ever, kept reminding me that my baby girl was waiting for me at the top and she will be so proud.  “Chase vehicles”, drivers arranged through Adaptive Sports who sweep the road to check on the safety and wellbeing of each team, would slow down next to me, roll down their windows and tell me a funny story for distraction or white lie about how close we were to the summit.  Both were key to providing much needed second winds, over and over again. 

It was about four hours after our departure that Sasha made it to the top of Mount Washington.  She enjoyed being independent of me for longer stretches of the hike this year, but the team insisted on slowing the pace so we’d experience the final 200  or so feet together.  Those who were pulling the chair ensured Sasha had a winter hat on as the winds picked up.  Shane, the same mule who’d been in the ICU earlier this summer, handed me my winter coat, the same one he’d crammed in his already full pack to lighten my load.  Mark, the same driver of the chase truck who told me funny stories from his previous life as a State Trooper, patted me on the shoulder as he returned to me the backpack that I’d ditched in his flatbed early on.  Nate and his wife Nicole smiled at me from afar, both of us knowing that the mileage gain they told along the way was a generous number, as Roy asked if the protein-caffeine gummy cubes he gave resolved those charley horses.  It takes a village they say.  This was our village, and it shined bright at Sunrise. 

_________________________________________________________________________

23! 23!

Can it be, you’ve turned 23?

This year has been tough, that much one can see

But it’s what’s inside, your tenacity

Your positivity, generosity

Easy going ways and flexibility

Yet we’ve seen how you’ve struggled, having a new sister is hard

But it delights us that you’re slowly lowering your guard

You’re adapting to something that’s all so brand new

It’s shifted our focus, that used to be aimed just at you

So we want you to know, we see your emotions

You’ve been mad, you’ve been sad

Its ebbed like an ocean

But our love for you hasn’t waivered

It runs deep, it runs true

And today we celebrate all that is you!

“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”
― Allen Saunders

It feels like lifetimes ago, but it was just one year ago today that my internal world started to noticeably change while headed on a road trip to my favorite harbor town.  On the way out, Mike stopped for gasoline and returned with baked goodies.  They looked utterly unappealing, which seemed so odd given my sweet tooth.  Heading south I just remember feeling so very tired in the car.  “This pandemic has been a lot” I told myself.  “I’d normally be so excited, but it’s just not the typical birthday, I guess. That’s all”.

We made our way to Portsmouth NH and walked the streets with masks on, steering far from all other humans.  I tried on dresses and was shocked that my size, simply, was no longer my size “I mean there is something to be said about gaining the COVID 15?” I wondered.  “I guess I gained it!”  Knowing this was temporary, I bought the snug dress anyway and did not give it much thought.  All I could think about was lunch. 

Fortunately, outdoor eateries were open (hooray!) and we found a table on the water overlooking anchored tug boats.  I recall the trepidation of even at such a great distance, being around others.  I inhaled an enormous lobster roll swiftly, “pandemic nerves”, I figured. “ I just want to get out of here so we’re not too close to others for too long”.  Yet I didn’t feel satiated.  “I did pass on those baked good, so there’s that?”

Continuing home that evening, we stopped at the liquor store to grab some perfunctory birthday beverages.  Again, why didn’t I feel like celebrating, and even less feel like having a cocktail?  Yet the strange, overwhelming craving for salt that had followed me all day continued, so I grabbed some margaritas.  Upon returning home, I Facetimed with my dearest friend Sandee, with whom I share a birthday.  We gather together almost every year on July 7^th, but she was in the strictest of stay at home orders in San Francisco.  We toasted and laughed and I took just a few sips of my Margarita, eventually pretending to sip it as the idea of alcohol was not appealing.  I retired early and mulled over my favorite 45^th birthday catch phrase, one I’d had engraved on a watch for Mike on his 45^th birthday. “45 and Feelin’ Alive”….sort of.  I didn’t know what was wrong with my body but retiring early sounded like a fabulous idea.

The next morning, when I awoke feeling like I was hit by a Mack truck, nothing made any sense.  There could be no crazy birthday hangover given my three sips of margarita.  I looked at the calendar…  July 8^th….”huh”.  Later that morning, on a very old and very  expired pregnancy test that sat in my bedside drawer, I found out I was pregnant.   Stunned, I recalled how just days earlier I’d reached out to my running friend, Yuki.  “Ok, I have a plan!  I’m on week 6 right now of the 9 week Couch to 5K program.  In three or so weeks, when I’m done, maybe we can go for a run? But you know all those old sayings, something like when you make a plan, God laughs?”….little did I know.  Oh my gosh.

There’s so many things I want to write about the amazing baby girl who arrived into our lives the night of February 27^{th, 2021}.  I arrived at the hospital early morning at dusk, just after a full moon and in an ice storm.  For now, all I can say is I’m so honored to have been chosen for this little one to be under my care.  Our house now has a happy chaos that I suppose a second child will bring.  I have so many stories to share about Nika Eilish, but I have no idea when I’ll write them all down.  For now, there’s a little girl next to me who wants to eat and play.  What I do know is, maybe I won’t try to plan it.