It's Way More Complicated than You Think

 Since the world has been opening back up, I've been hearing a lot about the labor shortage.  Everyone is hiring, employers are complaining about how they can't find any staff, businesses are changing hours due to staffing complications.  Of course everyone and their brother has an opinion about why the shortage exists.  Here's my take on the labor shortage.

A LOT OF PEOPLE DIED

To date, according to the New York Times, the death toll in the US due to COVID is 726,000.  That's almost three quarters of a million people dead.  A good chunk of them from the typical working age group.

PEOPLE DON'T WANT TO WORK

It's more accurate to say people are choosing not to work.  Some people have chosen to remove themselves from the job market for a number of reasons.  Some were laid off during the pandemic and went back to school.  Some decided to continue home schooling their kids for whatever reason.  Some simplified their lives, and realized they don't need as much money as they thought they did.

Typically, when I hear this reason cited, it's implying that people are choosing not to work and instead sponging off unemployment.  While certainly those people are out there, there are not nearly as many as one might think.  In addition, if someone can make more money on unemployment than they could make being employed, that says a lot about our job market and standard wages that needs to be reformed.  We can't expect people to give up unemployment and get a job so they can live below the poverty line.

COVID ISN'T OVER ONCE THE SYMPTOMS GO AWAY

We're now seeing that many people have what is being called "long haul COVID", meaning that once the illness is over, there are long-term changes and damage done to their bodies.  We know it affects many different organ systems.  Respiratory, immune, endocrine, and digestive systems have all been impacted in some way.  Many people who are long-haulers can't work anymore when they recover.  They have to go on disability.  This removes them from the job market.

EMPLOYERS ARE NOT BEING HONEST IN THEIR EMPLOYMENT ADS

I've read a number of articles where people applied for a number of jobs, went to interviews, and were offered far less than what was advertised.  There are a number of excuses why: the minimum wage increase hasn't gone into effect yet, we'll make you full-time after six months, the highest wage advertised is what we would pay a manager, we give full benefits so you don't need as much money.  A few articles even said that out of the huge number of applications filled out, no employers even responded.

Even if they can afford to be paid the lower rate, no one wants to work for a liar.

All of this is to say that the labor shortage is complicated.  There isn't a single cause or reason we can point to and say, "If we fix this, people will go back to work."  In the meantime, let's all do what we've gotten used to doing: muddle through the best we can.  When you go out and the restaurant has staff issues, don't complain about how long the service takes.  Understand that the employees are doing the best they can, and demand is high.  I've always been an advocate of tipping generously, but it's especially important right now.  And most importantly: don't be a dick.  Don't abuse staff or leave bad reviews online because of slow service.  The staff is doing their best, and the business doesn't need your input right now.

Pandemics and Depression are Common Bedfellows

 The pandemic has caused many people to struggle with mental health, primarily anxiety and depression.  Everyone is scared, sad, touch-starved, struggling to make ends meet, all the things that go along with this dumpster fire of a year.  Even my husband, who has never had mental health issues (and in fact has trouble relating to them), is definitely experiencing some depression.  I've experienced a resurgence of my depression, and it's taking a different form than it ever has.

Typically, my depression comes out as anger and irritability.  This year, I've encountered those as well as changes in appetite and sleep patterns, which have never been things I struggled with before.  I've also attained a level of apathy and lack of motivation that I always thought was a myth.  My children roller skate in the house.  I don't care.  My 10-year-old hoards candy in his bedroom.  I don't care.  I have no clean clothes.  I don't care.  There's no food in the house.  I don't care.  Christmas shopping has been a total nightmare, even though I did it all online.  And now that all the gifts are here, I wonder how much I would have to pay someone to wrap them for me.  I have completely lost touch with my wardrobe.  I wear scrubs at work (one less decision to make), and when I come home I take a shower (at least I still do that!) and put on my pajamas.  At 3:00 in the afternoon.

I'm retreating.  I'm isolating.  I'm hiding.  All signs of bad brain action.  Honestly, the hardest thing about this whole situation has been forcing myself to do the things I need to do.  There are days when all I can do is go to work and go home.  No laundry, no errands, dinner ordered in.  I have a very autonomous job, and most days it's up to me to get things done on my own schedule.  Most of the time I like that, but right now I kind of need someone to hang over my shoulder and remind me to do things.  I mean, things other than sit at my desk and play Candy Crush.

Everything takes so much energy, so much strength, so much work.

People think depression is being sad or despondent.  For some people it is.  But it's also lack of motivation, lack of pleasure in things you used to love, the inability to prioritize or make decisions.  I increased the dose of my antidepressant, and that helped some, but mostly I've just been putting one foot in front of the other, trudging forward, hoping it will pay off one day.  And hoping that when this all ends, and we all go back out to the world, it won't linger.

Because the thing is, it's normal to be depressed right now.  I'd be a little weirded out if I weren't.  It's not normal to continue to be depressed when the circumstances change and we get back to living.  I've realized how many of the things I did were coping mechanisms for this same depression.  Now that they've been taken away, I see why I did them.  They got me out of the house and out of my head.  They allowed me to interact with people and be social.  They allowed me to have something to ground myself.

Every now and then my husband will randomly ask if I'm okay.  I always tell him I am, while simultaneously wondering why he's asking.  Last night I realized that he asks that because he really doesn't know.  I've retreated so far into myself, began listening to my own internal monologue so much, that I often don't talk.  So the days blend together, one after the other, all the same, and I just keep plodding.  Hoping something will change.  Hoping something will break.  Imagining... what?  What will the world be like when we all surface again?  I like to think we all learned something about how to relate to each other, how to be kind to each other, how to see things in a new way.  But I know humanity.  American humanity in particular.  We're very resistant to change and learning.  We don't learn from our past experiences, which is why history really does repeat itself.

One thing I know for sure: I'm not the only one.  In fact, for perhaps the first time in history, mental health is affecting more people than not.  I have a group of friends, we call ourselves the Crazy Moms Club.  We all have issues with anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, body image, you name it.  All of our husbands are what we like to call neurotypical, meaning they don't have mental health issues at all.  We are all abundantly thankful for our "normal" husbands because they give us perspective.  They tell us when we're being crazy.  They pick up extra slack around the house when we don't have the energy.  They remind us to feed the children.  And when we get together, our conversation almost always revolves around the difficulties we face being moms with mental health issues.  Some people may say it's commiserating.  Maybe it is.  But it's also therapy.  It reminds us we're not alone.  We get ideas on how to cope.  We remind each other of our worth.  I love those Crazy Moms.  But right now, we can't get together.  We can (and do) FaceTime or Zoom, but anyone with kids knows how that goes.  You spend half the time talking to your friends, and half the time dealing with the kids.  It's less helpful that way.  But what else are we supposed to do in these times?  So we grit our teeth and move forward.

This will all be over someday.

Today I Got Some Insight

 I have mental health issues.  I have Borderline Personality Disorder.  This is a complicated disorder, but it all comes down to a shaky sense of identity: I never really know who I am.  There are some other things that come into play, like depression, anxiety, abandonment issues, perfectionism, all-or-nothing thinking, and a number of other things.  I've been dealing with this for about 10 years, but I've only known what it is for about 2 of those years.  The rest of the time has been spent trying to figure myself out.  Why do I do the things I do?  Why are my personal relationships so complicated?  Why can't I figure out what I want?  Ever?  Once I figured out the BPD thing, I could begin decoding these things.  I could start to see my motivations for behavior.  It's rough.  It's a battle.  I'm lucky.  I have a superb support system, an understanding and supportive husband, and I'm surrounded by educated people who also want to help me understand.

One thing has always mystified me when it comes to my own case of BPD. Most people with BPD have suffered some sort of childhood trauma that involves a role reversal.  Maybe they had a parent with mental or physical illness they needed to care for at a young age.  Maybe they were the child of working parents who had to be responsible for younger siblings when they still needed their own parents.  Maybe they were abused in some way, and had to find ways to cope with adult situations as a child.  That's what usually leads to the identity difficulty.  They see other kids their age doing kid-things, and they can't relate.  They're children in a world that is asking them to be an adult.  

I don't have any of those things in my past.  I had a healthy, happy childhood.  I was raised in a Christian home by both parents, and had a stay-at-home mom.  I have never been in an abusive relationship, and while I've always been a little socially awkward, I have always had friends my own age.  But for some reason, I developed the same borderline tendencies as someone who experienced significant childhood trauma.

So it's a lifelong search, really, trying to figure out what the trigger was.  Does it matter?  No, not really.  In the end, the result is the same: I have BPD.  But, I have always wondered how I got to be such an outlier.  The other day, I had an epiphany.  There have been 3 significant life events that account for my identity issues.

The struggle with infertility

All my life I've wanted to be a mom.  I used to be a preschool teacher, and I would often find myself fantasizing about what my own children would be like.  My husband and I agreed that we wanted children.  We had multiple discussions about how we would raise them.  We were looking forward to it.  We were the classic young married couple dreaming about being parents.  When we were finally ready, we tried.  And tried.  For 2 years.  Then we saw a fertility specialist who (after running some diagnostics) informed us that while I was 29, my ovaries were 40.  While we were trying to have children, my reproductive system was aiming toward retirement.  She told us our only chance of getting pregnant was in-vitro fertilization with a donor egg.  

A donor egg.

That would mean that if we chose to pursue this road, our child would only be half ours, biologically.  We decided that to move forward with fertility treatments would be (for us) trying to get pregnant, not trying to have children.  The distinction is important.  Pregnancy is a one-time event.  It happens, and then it's over.  Having children is a lifetime commitment.  Having children means shaping and training someone to be a productive member of society.  It's a lifelong process.  It was that process we wanted, not the event of pregnancy.

So now I knew I couldn't get pregnant.  That was a big identity blow to me.  As a female raised in a traditional Christian home, one of my "jobs" was to produce children.  Not my only job.  Not my only purpose.  But it was certainly one of them.  And now I couldn't do that.  It felt like a very cruel cosmic joke.  Who was I if I couldn't do this thing that I both wanted to do and felt I was expected to do?  How was I supposed to fulfill my purpose?

The failed adoption

We decided to pursue adoption.  We applied through the foster system in our county, and went through the process of becoming foster parents (a requirement in our state for adoption).  We were matched with a sibling set of two: a brother and a sister.  They were with us for 7 weeks before a family member stepped up and volunteered to take them.  Federal law states that any biological family member within 5 degrees of separation can take custody of the children and be their foster family.

So one day, my husband and I took our two beautiful children and handed them over to the county to be placed with their family member.

I was so angry.  So angry.  I yelled, I threw things, I sat on the floor of my little girl's nursery and cried.  I could accept that I wasn't supposed to have biological children of my own, but to have them taken away?  What had we done wrong?  Why would God do that?  It's a good thing to want to adopt children from an unhealthy environment and raise them in a healthy one.  How could this be what was best for them?

Again, I was faced with the possibility that I may never be a mom.  Again, I struggled to understand who I was, if not who I was expecting to be.

It sent me into a crisis of faith, that lingers to this day in some ways.  I was sure God couldn't be real.  If He was, how could this be what He wanted for me?  He wanted me to give up my children?  He didn't want me to have any?  Why had he given me the desire for children, if I was never going to have them?  My head spun with questions, doubt, anger, bitterness, and despair.

Eventually, we did adopt two children, though not biological siblings.  But my questions about God and the universe lingered, even though I had been granted that privilege.  I made an effort to ground myself in the here and now.  I had been wrong.  God wasn't taking that opportunity away from me.  He was granting it in a different way.  Had I been allowed to suffer along the way?  Sure.  But without suffering there would be no compassion.  

Losing music

The third thing that happened was a blow I still haven't completely worked through.

I have been singing in choirs, musicals, plays, and worship bands since I was 5 years old.  I have always been involved in the music ministry at every church I've ever attended.  Music was how I dealt with a lot of my mental health issues, particularly depression.  Music was how God spoke to me the majority of the time.  Both my parents make music, and it featured large in our family.  I didn't make a career out of it (I always knew I wouldn't), but it has always been part of me.  A symbol.  Not just fun, not just challenging, not just rewarding.  It was ME.  I did music.

For a couple of years, I sang with the worship team at my church.  One day, I abruptly received an email from the music pastor informing me that he didn't want me to do it anymore because I don't play an instrument.

Now, here's the thing: I don't play an instrument.  I've never played an instrument.  I play the piano just enough to help me with my singing.  In elementary school I played the flute, but only for a couple of years.  In high school I realized that my voice was my instrument.  So I focused on that.  I studied voice the way other musicians study their instruments.  I took lessons, I sang in academic choirs, I studied difficult pieces for my recitals.  It made no sense to play a guitar or drum or piano because I already played an instrument.  One I could take with me everywhere I went, practice at any time, and find multiple ways to share with others.

I honed my ear and learned to create harmonies on my own, on the fly.  I sang with friends and family, with church members, with professors, I've recorded a few times.  In the midst of everything that happens in life, I always found a way to have music.

Had we not had children, we would have looked for a new church where I could do music.  But, our children have friends at church, and our church is very invested in families and what they need.  I felt we needed to stay here to maintain stability for our kids.  But that means I have to figure out my role.  I don't get music anymore, so who am I?  

And THAT is the basis of my identity issues.  I have had more than one experience that showed me I'm not who I thought I was, and no answers as to who I really am.  Things outside my control happened that dismantled who I thought I was.  These were not choices I made, they were unexpected happenings.  That is what makes them so devastating.

Now, knowing this doesn't fix my issues.  It doesn't tell me who I am or what I'm supposed to do.  But it does tell me that I have had some life experiences that strike at who I am on a fundamental level.

If you or anyone you know has experienced something like this, please listen: be there for them.  They will push you away.  Stay.  They will say things that make no sense.  Listen.  They will try to manipulate you to do things their way.  Calmly tell them you will not be manipulated, and you love them.  Love them.  Read about this condition.  Talk to people who know.  Try to understand. 

We euthanized our control yesterday

At the end of any research study, the animals are euthanized.  This is because they need to be autoposied so the scientists can figure out what changes happened inside the animal during the study.  They take sample of all the major body systems (heart, lungs, liver, spleen, pancreas, and kidney, as well as some connective tissue in this case) and analyze them.  I'm not involved in analysis, but obviously I am there for the euthanasia part.  More than just being there, I'm the one that gave the injection to euthanize the animal.  The animal was then immediately taken to the pathology center so tissue samples could be taken, blood drawn, and the carcass disposed of properly (cremated).

I've worked in a field that utilizes euthanasia for most of my adult life.  Veterinary medicine employs euthanasia as an option in some cases, where medically appropriate.  This is not the place to debate whether or not euthanasia as a practice is ethical, acceptable, or whatever.  My contention is that it exists, we use it, and it's a reality of my job.  I'm not making (nor inviting) a judgement call about the practice, just acknowledging its existence.  A lot of veterinary professionals site euthanasia as the reason they suffer from burnout and compassion fatigue.  Again, I'm not here to debate that fact, although I will say that I have had compassion fatigue in the past, and it wasn't really related to euthanasia.  It wasn't really related to anything having to do with the animals, actually.  It was usually because of the rudeness of pet owners (I got accused of not loving animals more times than I care to remember) and the unrealistic expectations of some doctors I worked with.  So I'm not opposed to the idea of euthanasia in general, and in fact most of the time it's the most loving thing we can do for a pet who is suffering and has spent their life being a companion to us.  We tell them thank you for being a good pet, and we let them go.  

But euthanasia in my current job is different.  These animals aren't sick.  They aren't dying.  This is their contribution to science.  It's their job.  One of the reasons I don't have an issue with euthanasia is because I take it seriously, I treat the animal with respect, and that makes the experience less routine.  I've developed a mantra of sorts that I frequently will say over animals as I euthanize them: "Black god take you gentle, Weiryn keep you safe."  These are both Pagan gods, the Black God is the god of death, Weiryn is the god of animals.  In Pagan tradition, the Black God escorts the dead (of any species) across the veil to the next life.  Weiryn protects animals who have died and makes sure they have all the blessings they might have been missing in this life.  With this job, I added, "Thank you for your sacrifice."  

The animals I'm responsible for will die. They have to.  It's how we'll learn from them.  You may have a personal issue with research, euthanasia, or animals in captivity at all (remember that includes pet ownership), and that's fine.  You don't have to agree with me.  But I have to find some way to make that okay for me, or I will definitely get burnout or compassion fatigue or just bored.  One of the guidelines I've developed for myself is to acknowledge that euthanasia is routine.  Routine means that we do it frequently, and we have a formula for how it's supposed to go.  But that doesn't mean it has to be mundane.  We can still take it seriously, we can still treat an animal with respect, we can still thank them for whatever contribution they have made, whether to science or as a companion.  So I thank them appropriately and I move on.  It's the best thing I can do.

Black God take you gentle, Weiryn keep you safe, thank you for your sacrifice.

Being part of an essential research department during a pandemic

We're all familiar with the COVID-19 outbreak, I don't need to go into that.  I started my current job in a research department of a university right before the "shelter in place" orders went out.  I believe I had two weeks of "normal" before the order went into effect.  In response, the university closed its campus, and all the students and faculty began working from home.  Classes are being conducted online, conferences and other on-campus events were canceled, and anyone not deemed "essential staff" was ordered to work from home.  I don't have a lot of contact with students or faculty, so I can't say how that end of things is going, but from what I understand of the administrative part of the staff, working from home is working wonderfully for them.  

Active research was deemed "essential", so I keep coming to work every day to do my job.  A job that is quite nebulous regarding its requirements and daily responsibilities.  The big picture is that my job is to make sure animals are being treated humanely and appropriately.  That divides itself into a number of things ranging from monitoring anesthesia to doing daily drug administration to socializing and caring for the animals.  There is a separate animal care staff that is responsible for food, water, cleaning, etc.  If we happen to have surgeries on any given day, that is my primary responsibility, if not, then I focus on socialization, administering drugs, and inventory/administrative tasks (document, document, document).  I also have to clean and maintain all our surgical instruments and equipment and keep track of inventory and ordering.

What is especially weird is coming to campus day after day when there's basically no one here.  Security is here, as well as shipping and receiving, and a handful of researchers.  A small handful.  My desk is an unused open bench in the lab.  As I type this, there is one other person here, a researcher I don't know, doing work I'm not familiar with.  The whole thing is like a setting for a zombie apocalypse movie.  Every morning I arrive at work and enter my building through the loading dock.  Why?  The key card system used to lock the front doors of all the buildings has been turned off.  The only way to get into any building is with a key, and only security has those.  So I have two options when I get to work in the morning: flag down a security guard and ask them to let me in, or go through the loading dock.  I typically opt for the loading dock because I don't have to bother anyone for that (not that they're bothered, they don't want to be sent home).

Once I'm in the building, if I see more than 4 other people in a given day it's an event.  My floor of my building is only for research, so there's no reason for anyone else to be here.  Most days I'm the only one in the lab.  It's also a biosecure facility so in addition to no one NEEDING to be here, no one can actually get into the lab or the vivarium (where the animals live) without authorization and a key.  The key is actually a chip embedded in my badge which I use to open any doors I need to enter.  Out of curiosity, the other day I went exploring on the other floors of my building, which are classrooms, offices, and study rooms.  

They were categorically empty.

Now, I'm an introvert who also happens to have social anxiety, so the fact that I never see anyone doesn't really bother me.  It is, however, creepy AF.  These rooms that used to house groups of students studying, professors giving advice and criticism, and lectures and presentations now stand empty and dark.  The cafe on campus is closed until further notice, so that social center is quiet, dark, and unpopulated.  I couldn't get in there if I wanted to.  I keep expecting Norman Reedus to jump out from behind some corner, but sadly, he never has.  Campus walkways that are usually filled with students, both current and prospective, are deserted.  Outdoor seating areas have been abandoned.  And obviously the parking lot is a virtual ghost town.

All of this inactivity makes me curious about what will happen when we can again go back to "normal".  My personal hypothesis is that there will be a new "normal".  I don't know what will be new, but things will not go back to the way they were.  Employers have learned that employees can telecommute, event to do things they didn't previously think could be done at home.  The food service industry has encountered new ways they can serve their customers from takeout to delivery to allowing customers to buy grocery items from them.  What, then, will happen when the order is lifted?  Like I said, I don't know.  But I'm very interested to see what the evolution of this situation will be.

Until then, my job is still my job, and I'll keep doing it while also maintaining social distancing, wearing a face mask when I go into public spaces, and staying home when I can.

I got a job in animal research. Here's what happened.

First, a little background.

I'm a Registered Veterinary Technician and I've been a college instructor for the past 6 years.  I teach vet tech students.  I teach anatomy and physiology, small animal medical nursing, clinical pathology, exotic animal nursing, and laboratory animal nursing.  It's great, I love it, but I never get to do anything medical anymore.  Recently my supervisor left the college, and it seemed like a good time to see what else was out there for me.  Am I even qualified for anything else anymore?  I accepted a job in animal research.

Now, I haven't even started this job yet, but when I told people I had accepted it, I was met with something I should have expected: divisiveness.  I should have expected it because I know this topic is divisive.  I should have expected it because I know most of the public suffers from the same misconceptions about animal research that I used to have.  If you knew 16-year-old me, you would know this is a serious violation of what used to be my very firmly held (if uneducated) beliefs.  But for some reason, I expected the people I'm friends with to accept this about me.  To maybe ask me questions about why I decided to go this route.  To take an opportunity to find out what animal research is really about.

Instead, people have been expressing sentiments that range from supportive and congratulatory to disgust.  The word "disappointment" was used.  Interestingly, none of the negative reactions have been directly to me.  Most of them have been in passive-aggressive comments to other people in my hearing, negative memes posted on social media, and text messages to other people in my circle.

I wasn't aware that I had to consult my friends when searching for a new job.  I wasn't aware I needed their approval.  And I REALLY wasn't aware that some of them would decide not to be friends with me anymore. 

Not one of them asked me why.  Not one of them asked me what kind of work I would be doing.  Not one of them asked me what kind of research was going on.  No one bothered to gather any real information.  And you know what?  I'm fine with that.  If my job is a reason to stop being my friend, then we need to evaluate whether we were really friends to start out with.

So for fun, I found out some stuff we have because of animal research.  And I have to say, I'm pretty excited to be a part of something that may one day save someone's life, cure a chronic illness, or be the Next Big Thing in modern medicine.

1) Organ Transplants: Organ transplants used to be really complicated.  There were a series of genetic markers that had to match up, or the recipient's immune system would reject the transplanted tissue and the patient could die.  Then we found (through animal research) some drugs can suppress the immune response to the foreign tissue and make the recipient more likely to accept transplanted tissue that didn't match all the genetic markers.  The downside to this was that the antirejection drugs had to be taken lifelong, were very expensive, and suppressed other parts of the immune system as well, making the patient more susceptible to disease.  Now (also because of animal research, specifically with mice and rats) we have gene therapy that can target the triggers of the transplanted tissue and make it invisible to the immune system without drugs, and without suppression.

2) Balloon Angioplasty: This is a procedure where a surgeon threads a catheter through a blocked or partially blocked artery and inflates the balloon to open up the blood vessel and restore normal circulation.  The procedure was discovered and perfected using rat and pig models.  Currently, more than 200,000 people in the US receive angioplasty due to heart issues secondary to cholesterol build-up, and more and more babies born with congenital circulatory deficiencies are being "fixed" with this procedure.

3) Epilepsy: This one is a big deal to me, as a person who has a seizure disorder.  Certainly, we know that anti-seizure drugs are developed through the use of animal models.  But did you know that current research with mice has isolated a number of gene mutations that are linked to the cause of epilepsy?  Through this same model (mice) we've learned that certain types of epilepsy can be managed by including more of certain amino acids in the patient's diet, eliminating the need for drugs altogether.

4) Universal Flu Vaccine: Sounds like a pipe dream, right?  I know what you're going to say: "But the flu virus mutates every year."  And you're right.  It does.  HOWEVER, there are certain things in the DNA of the flu virus that make it influenza and not some other virus.  No matter how much the virus mutates, it will always be a flu virus.  That means, if we can find a way to create a vaccine against anything containing those DNA markers, we can create a universal flu vaccine that protects against all strains of the virus.  In 2015, a universal flu vaccine was developed that protected mice from 8 different flu strains.  The next step is to move on to ferret trials.  Why ferrets?  They live longer than mice, so immunity can be tracked over time to see how age affects the efficacy of the vaccine.

5) Parkinson's: Using mice and monkeys, we discovered that the neurotransmitter dopamine (more accurately a lack of it) is largely responsible for the tremors associated with this chronic and progressive condition.  Using that knowledge, we've been able to develop drugs that block certain neurotransmitters and enhance dopamine's action in the brain to control symptoms.  We've also learned using monkeys that Deep Brain Stimulation (a surgical technique used to direct electrical currents in the brain and control motor movements) is successful in patients who don't respond favorably to medications.

6) Stem Cells: I know it seems like stem cells are brand new research, but that's really because it only went public not too long ago, and people are understandably nervous about the ethical implications.  However, stem cells have been studied as far back as 1961 as far as how they may be applied to nerve damage (think spinal cord injuries and paralysis) to regrow nerve tissue and restore its function.  That research has continued, and we now know that stem cells in a certain type of tissue, rebuild that type of tissue.  Researchers are currently trying to develop cell therapies that involve transplanting stem cells into certain organs or tissues to rebuild and repair them in targeted locations.

So that's what I'm going to be a part of.  That's the legacy of this branch of medicine.  It's complicated and messy, and a bit of an ethical jungle.  But on average, humans in developed nations are living about 30 years longer than they did at the turn of the 20th century because of discoveries made using animal research.  And that's worth contributing to.

Can I please just have some supplies?

 A few months ago, the administrative assistant at my work left.  I'm not angry about that.  She got a better position, moved, it was just a better situation for her.  I'm happy for her.

However, I have feelings about her replacement.  Feelings.  Negative feelings.  Angry feelings.  Frustrated feelings.  Exasperated feelings.  I don't want her job, but I'm positive I could do it better than she does.

Here's the sitch: I'm in charge of ordering supplies for our department.  Anything we need for class, labs, whatever, it's my job to order it.  Because I work for a corporate entity, there is a defined procedure for obtaining approval for those supplies.  I create a want list (a list of the things we need), I submit it to the administrative assistant, she  performs some kind of black magic involving Accounts Payable, and the list gets returned to me with a Purchase Order number on it.  Then I place an order, everyone's happy.

At the same time New Girl was hired, the system for Purchase Orders changed in some way.  My part in it is the same (I think), but apparently something has changed in the black magic portion of the process.  I found this out because shortly after she arrived, I discovered that two of my purchase order requests had not been returned in about 2 months.  I asked her about it, and she pulled out a folder and asked me, "Is that what these are?"  My requests had been sitting on her desk for 2 months, without being processed.

This is where the drama started.  I asked her if there was another way she wanted me to submit them.  I thought maybe they had gotten lost or delayed because the change dictated that I needed to follow a different protocol in requesting purchase orders.  She told me she was working with the assistant from another campus on the purchase order process, so things were moving more slowly that usual.  I asked her if she needed me to resubmit these requests to the other campus for the time being.  She said I couldn't do that because she (New Girl) had to "be aware" of what was ordered.  I asked what she needed me to do.  She told me a really long story.  It had a cast of characters that ranged from humble instructors like myself, to corporate employees in charge of huge budgets.  None of it involved telling me what I had to do.  I was losing my patience.  I said, "Those are all great things.  What do you need ME to do to make this process more efficient."  Commence another epic recounting of the entire system.

I took my issues up the ladder.  I spoke to my supervisor.  I spoke to the campus president.  No one could figure out what my role is in this process.

I now have 5 pending Purchase Order requests, the oldest of which dates back to July 17, that have not yet been approved.  I have a list of supplies needed a mile long and all it does is get longer.  Yesterday, I took some students to a lab where we did not have enough supplies to get everything we need done.  A colleague who teaches the dissection portion of Anatomy and Physiology is attempting to teach the class without enough gloves, surgical masks, or absorbent pads.  Next week, I have to teach a class how to run a blood test, and we don't have enough syringes to make this happen.  And to make things even more awesome, the vendor where we obtain our testing supplies has placed a hold on our account due to nonpayment.

My supervisor is working on it.  The Dean of Education is working on it.  The Vice President for Campus Affairs is working on it.  I don't know where the problem is.  But while this is being "worked on," I continue to submit lists and request Purchase Orders, none of which get approved.  And who suffers?  My students.  I have to somehow teach students practical skills without the supplies they need to perform those skills.  I have coworkers asking me when they're going to get their supplies.  All I can do is shrug.

And the other day I drank way too much coffee, had a minor panic attack, and started looking for new jobs. 

Universe, HELP!!!!  What can I do that I have not already done?

At 40 I Decided to Run a Marathon

I'm not a runner.  For a while I dabbled, but I could really never be called anything more than a jogger.  I'm slow.  I'm lazy.  I run because it's cheap, and I know it's good for me.  I've run in a few 5k races and one 10k.  That was good enough for me.

My husband said that for his 40th birthday he wanted to run a marathon.  "Great," I said.  "Pick one you think sounds like fun, and I'll support you the whole way.  I'll make you weird smoothies, I'll help evaluate your form, I'll stand at the side of the road with a hilarious sign, whatever you need me to do."

A few weeks later, he said, "What if we did it together?  We could do it together.  Wouldn't that be fun?"

My logical response was, "No.  Not at all.  None of that sounds fun."

But now I knew.  I knew he wanted to do it together.  I knew he cared about it enough to mention it and ask, seriously, if I would consider it.  It was what he wanted for his birthday.

Fast forward a bit and our church was putting together a team to run the LA Marathon with Team WorldVision.  In case, you're not sure, WorldVision is a charity that brings clean water to communities in Africa.  They are the largest non-government organization providing water for people in Africa, to the tune of about a million people a day.  It's a great cause.  I told my husband, "There you go.  You can run with friends from church, raise some money for clean water, do the 40th birthday thing, you should check it out!"

We both went to the orientation meeting where they handed out the training schedule.  Team WorldVision employs a running coach, a physical therapist, and a nutritionist to help runners accomplish this crazy thing, and their training schedule is extremely gradual.  Definitely geared toward people who are not used to running.  As I looked at it, I thought, "Well, maybe I can do this.  If I start now, and follow the schedule, maybe I can make this happen."  And it was what he wanted for his birthday.

I signed up.

4 months later, I realized what a moron I am.  That was the day I did my first 10 mile run.  Now Team WorldVision is fantastically organized, and every Saturday, we had a group training session with everyone from Team WorldVision in our area.  Honestly, that was the only thing that kept me training sometimes.  I knew that if I didn't show up for the group run, they would notice and they would ask where I had been.  The day I joined the Double Digit Club was a rough one.  It took me well over 2 hours, and I was the last one to finish (a trend that continued through training up until the day of the race).  When it was over, my husband told me I could back out if I wanted to.  But I don't quit (read: I'm stubborn and don't think things through all the way so I tend to do things I'm not actually capable of).

I've lost track of when, but somewhere along the line, I injured a hip flexor muscle.  It's a tiny muscle that runs from the lower vertebrae to the top of the thigh bone.  However, it's the major muscle that pulls the leg forward, so straining or pulling it makes running (and walking if I'm honest) very hard.  According to my physical therapist, that event caused a bit of a chain reaction where the muscles of my thigh and backside had to compensate for the injured muscle, rotating my thigh bone forward and changing the way the mechanics of my hip work.  She also sounded as though she thought running a marathon might not be the best idea for me.  But she didn't expressly forbid me from doing it, and like I said, I'm too stubborn to quit.

Fast forward again to the day after my 40th birthday.  Why that day?  That was the day of the marathon.

We caught the shuttle from our hotel to the starting line at Dodger Stadium and stood in the back with the slow people.  In case you're unfamiliar with how races work, let me set this scene for you.  All 24,000 runners are organized into groups called corrals.  Near the front are the seeded corrals.  Those are the runners with proven official times in previous marathons who are not strangers to this particular crazy activity.  The number of corrals varies from race to race depending on the number of registered runners.  The fastest runners are closer to the front, and the corrals get slower as they move further away from the start line.  The final corral is called the open corral.  That's the one for people who are running their first marathon or who are too slow to run with real runners.

We set off just as the sun was rising.  And the day after my 40th birthday, I was running a marathon.

Things were great for the first 5 or 6 miles.  I was alternating running and walking and feeling pretty good.  Then I stopped to go to the bathroom.  In the 2 minutes it took to do that, my feet swelled up inside my shoes.  When I hit the pavement coming out of the bathroom, my feet hurt so much I couldn't run anymore.  So for 20 miles, I walked.

I walked uphill.  I walked downhill.  I walked through downtown LA, Chinatown, Koreatown, past Disney Concert Hall (uphill), through Hollywood, through Beverly Hills, Westwood, Rodeo Drive, the Sunset strip, and into Santa Monica.  Now, no one starts a marathon intending to drop out, but around mile 15 I was seriously considering it.  My feet hurt, my hip hurt, it was hot, my hands were swollen, I was sunburned, I couldn't figure out what I needed to make myself feel more normal.  Dehydration and exhaustion will make your brain do funny things.

About this time, I walked past an Episcopalian church.  Outside was a priest wearing a sign that said, "Bless me Father, for I have a long way to go."  He was sprinkling holy water on all the runners as we passed.  I will always be thankful for that priest.  Just as I was thinking about flagging down a medical transport and giving up, I saw his sign, and he smiled at me as he sprinkled me with holy water.  It helped me keep going.

Around mile 24, I stopped into a medical tent and asked if they had anything for blisters.  A nurse sat me down and asked me to take off my shoes and socks.  One word: blisters.  Blisters EVERYWHERE.  Blisters on the balls of both feet that were spreading up between my toes.  Blisters on the insides of both my big toes.  Blisters under the nails of both my middle toes.  Blisters on the insides of both my heels.  Blisters under the two smallest toenails on both feet.  I knew my feet hurt.  I knew I had blisters.  I was not prepared for the disaster that was actually present.  I commented to the nurse that the blisters were bigger than I had expected.  His response: "Yeah, these long races can take you by surprise."  I'm proud to say that I refrained from responding with profanity.  After covering my feet with moleskin, I squeezed my swollen feet back into my shoes and took off again.

About a mile further down the course, I came to the WorldVision support tent.  They gave me a bottle of Gatorade, and reminded me that every mile I had come so far represented a child who could go to school because they no longer had to spend the day fetching water.  Every mile was a mother who could allow her children to live normal lives for the same reason.  Every mile was a community that would be free of any number of preventable diseases now that they had access to clean water.  Then as I walked away, they shot me with a confetti canon.  I will always have a soft spot for confetti now.

At this point in the story, I have to stop and talk a little bit about Team WorldVision.  They are an amazing organization.  Not only do they support communities by providing clean water and child sponsorship, they also do an incredible job of supporting the runners who raise money for them.  They are there for the runners every (literal) step of the way.  They coached us on everything from how to buy the right pair of running shoes to ways to raise funding to being there all day the day of the race cheering for everyone and providing drinks, snacks, and encouragement.  That support was the only thing that kept me training, and as I reached the end of the course, it kept me going when my body wanted to do nothing but stop and collapse.

As I crossed the finish line, I wish I could say it made it all worth it and I felt incredible.  I didn't.  I wanted to die.  Volunteers put a huge medal around my neck, and all I wanted to do was rip it off.  I walked half a mile to the gear check truck, all the while wanting to lie down, and knowing that was the wrong thing to do.  I picked up my gear bag, and met up with my husband (who ran the same race with a kidney stone) at the WorldVision tent, where a well-meaning young man stuck a microphone in my face and asked a bunch of questions I don't remember, and I tried to answer through my "civilized person" filter.  Once he let me go, I sat on the grass and ripped my shoes off, peeled my socks off, and tried to figure out what I needed.

Now, if you've ever engaged in any ridiculous, extended physical activity, you know that when it's over, you have no idea what you need.  I told hubs I was feeling dizzy and he immediately peppered me with questions about what I needed.  I didn't know.  Water?  A snack?  Gatorade?  A massage?  I didn't know.  Finally someone handed me a can of ginger ale, and I suddenly knew that's what I needed.  I had the presence of mind to sip slowly.

We were supposed to walk about a block to the shuttle stop to go back to our hotel, but my feet hurt so much and were so swollen that not only could I not put my running shoes back on, but I also could not put on the sandals I had left in my gear check bag.  I couldn't walk.  I wanted to lie down.  There was nowhere to do it.  Finally, my father-in-law hired a pedi-cab to take us to his car and he drove us back to our hotel.

I also would love to say that I took a shower and a nap and felt almost back to normal, but that's not true, either.  I did take a shower, and a nap, but when I woke up it became abundantly clear that I was still dehydrated.  I drank a bottle of water, FaceTimed the kids, and my husband convinced me that I should probably eat some food, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.  And my feet still hurt so much I could barely walk.  We ate dinner in the restaurant in the hotel lobby and went back upstairs. 

The next morning, after over 500 training miles and one day of hell, we drove home. 

I will never do that again.  Hubs says he might one day, but it will be in a different locale.  I told him I was 100% behind him if that's what he wanted to do.  But I will no longer be participating in the insanity that is marathon running.

So what did I learn?  Well, I learned I can, in fact, finish a marathon.  I learned that in order to do that, I needed a lot of support and accountability.  And I learned that we are all capable of things we thought impossible. 

And Now a Moment of Irony

Back in December, everyone in our house contracted that evil stomach bug known as noravirus.  Of course the kids were fine in a day, but my husband and I took a few more days to feel normal again.  In about a week, my husband was back on track feeling normal, but my version hung on and on.  It didn't matter what I ate or drank, I never felt any better or any worse.  I went to the doctor and found out I had an infection.  Ah!  The source of the tummy troubles demystified!  He put me on antibiotics and something for the nausea.  I figured it would all go away in a few days as the infection got better.

After a few days, I could tell the infection was going away, but I still felt nauseated all the time.  The doctor had warned me the antibiotics could make me nauseated and had advised me to take them with food, so I again figured it would all go away when the medication was done.  As I finished the medication, the nausea stubbornly hung around.  I went back to the doctor.

They said they wanted to run a pregnancy test.  Uhm... okay.  I guess it's their effort, not mine, that's wasted.  I could have told them the results before they even ran it.

Have you ever heard God laugh?

The doctor came back in and said the pregnancy test was positive.  Sure, I'll go ahead and say it again: the pregnancy test was POSITIVE!  After an ultrasound, I discovered that not only was I pregnant, but I was 9 weeks along!  I had gone almost the entire first trimester without even knowing I was pregnant.

I have previously alluded to the statistical unlikelyhood of this very scenario.  Only 5% of couples diagnosed with infertility conceive.  I'm now a statistic.  And all I could think about as I drove home was all the times I told people they were nuts when they said, "Maybe you'll still get pregnant."

We'd decided we were done.  No more kids.  We'd started giving away all our infant stuff: clothes, bottles, bouncy seats, the swing.  And now that there's going to be breastfeeding involved, there's a whole batch of things we'll need to acquire that we are completely unfamiliar with.

This is a weird place to be.  It's our third child, but our first pregnancy.  There are a lot of things we don't know, don't know what to expect, don't know what to do.  And yet once the kid gets here, we'll be good.  We've done the newborn thing before.

I've become the person all infertile couples resent: the infertile woman who conceives by accident.  And now I wonder how long I would have let it go before I found out.  Shortly after I found out I was pregnant, the morning sickness (remember that unexplainable nausea?) went away and I've felt fine for the past couple of weeks.  Would I have been that girl who thought she was just eating too much fast food?  What would have been the tipoff?  I'm not an idiot, but I was certainly not expecting this particular outcome.

The roller coaster of life.  And we'll now be riding it as a family of 5.

Adoption Advice I Wish Someone had Given Me

When we began our adoption process, we looked everywhere for advice, tips, stories, some kind of idea of what we were heading into.  We found very little.  We spoke to a few adoptive families we knew, but they had all adopted through private channels.  We never had an opportunity to speak to anyone who had gone through the foster system, as we were planning to do.  We learned many things along the way via trial by fire.  Now that we're on the other side of 2 finalized adoptions, and we've closed our foster license, I've compiled the following list of points I wish someone had told me about before this all began.

1. Be Vocal
Social workers are busy people, usually being asked to handle far more work than any human should be able to get done in a lifetime, let alone the week many of them are allotted.  They are also having to juggle a number of different types of cases at any given time.  You, a stable home with intentions of permanency, will likely be lower on the priority list than you would like to be.  Social workers focus their time where they can, and less stable, potential problem homes are going to be at the top of the list.  If there's something you need, or a question you want to ask, don't wait for your social worker to come for a visit, send out an e-mail, or give you a call.  Ask any questions you have, address any problems you encounter, bring up any concern you think of whenever you think of it.  Despite the work load, your social worker wants to help you.  That's what they're there for.  You just have to reach for it.  Be the squeaky wheel.

2. Be Candid
Your adoption worker is your advocate within the system.  They approve whether your family profile is considered for given child.  Let them get to know you as you are.  Be truthful.  No adoption worker is looking for the perfect family.  They know it doesn't exist.  They just want to know who you are so they can accurately match you with a child available for adoption.

3. Be Proactive
Don't be afraid to go up the chain of command if your questions are not being answered.  If any of your social workers is unable to help you, speak to their supervisor.  If you don't get the help you need, speak to THEIR supervisor, until you find someone who can give you the information you need.  At some point in the paper process, you will be given a list of contacts within the foster system.  Use it if you have to.  It's there for a reason.

4. Be Flexible
Remember that you could get a call at any time that a child is available.  Be willing to leave work early, call in sick, or move your schedule around to accommodate that meeting.  Your social worker has a busy schedule, as mentioned before.  They may need to schedule their meetings with you at the last minute, sometimes the day of.  Within reason (they understand you have a job and things that need to get done) be as flexible as possible to these scheduling anomalies.

5. Be Attentive
Take notes during classes and meetings.  Whenever you deal with someone new, ask for a card or make sure you write down their name and contact information.  This way, when you have questions or concerns, you can address them to the proper person who can help you get the answers you need.  Nothing prolongs problem solving more than asking questions of the person who doesn't have the answers.

6. Be Realistic
Although you do need to be vocal, it's not a good idea to pepper your social worker with questions and expect answers immediately.  Give them some time, have a little patience, and remember they WANT to help you.  They will answer your questions when they have the time and the correct information.

7. Be Thorough
When filling you any paperwork, fill it out COMPLETELY.  Don't leave anything blank.  If you have no information for a particular item, write "N/A" or "none".  One of the most frustrating things during the process is having paperwork returned to you because something was left out or done wrong.  County deadlines are not suggestions.  They are real.  If you're late, your process will be delayed.  Make sure everything is done on time and in the correct format.

As you navigate the system, pay attention to social workers, other families, and any other sources you may come across.  They are your allies.  You never know where some important piece of information will come from, so make sure you have your eyes open along the way.

Adoption is amazing, beautiful, meaningful, and rewarding.  It is also aggravating, frustrating, confusing, and complex.  Fill your tool box, and forge ahead.

Adoption Education Is Flawed

My university's alumni newsletter did a feature on adoption in its most recent issue.  The focus appeared to be using adoption to express God's love.  A beautiful topic, and many inspiring and wonderful stories.  I'm grateful to the families who were willing to share, and I greatly enjoyed reading them.

And yet, as I read, I was aware of another similarity all the stories had.  They were all private or international adoptions entered into by families who felt they were doing God's will in adopting a child.  That this was their ministry.

While I agree that adoption is certainly a wonderful allegory for God's love for His people (we are, after all, adopted into His family once we choose to be), I wondered what these selfless and Godly people would think of me, who chose to adopt for the selfish reason of wanting to have and raise children.  I admit, I thought very little about what Jesus would do in my situation, and I was not motivated by showing God's love to my children.  Certainly they would be raised in a Christian home, but that's simply the climate of our family.  I chose to adopt because I wanted to be a mother.  It's possibly the only thing I've wanted for as long as I've been able to articulate future goals.  I've wanted it for my entire marriage.  My entire adult life, for certain.

These stories also brought to light a gap in the world of adoption education as far as what information is out there and the public opinion of adoption in general.

When most people talk about adoption, they're talking about these same kinds of adoptions: private, open, international.  The kind that cost a not-so-small fortune.  It's one of the things that makes some people afraid to attempt it.  Every adoptive couple has two major fears: the first is that something will go wrong and the adoption will fall through.  The second is the price tag.  The costs associated with private and international adoption also cause many people (myself included) to have an ethical dilemma on their hands.  In the face of $30,000 in expenses, how do you convince yourself you're not buying a baby?

My central thesis in this discussion is that roads to fost-adopt need to be more vocal.  The foster system needs to wave it's hand around and let people know it's out there.  People fear the foster system because of the horror stories that are out there.  We've all seen the stories in the news of the child being driven away from the adoptive family, tears streaming down her face, only to be returned to a family that couldn't support her in the first place.  Stories like these are, in fact, rare.  The reason we hear about them, the reason they make news is because they're rare.

Another thing to understand about the foster system is that adoptive families and foster families are essentially in different categories.  When you first fill out the very first piece of paper, you designate yourself as either adoptive or foster.  You also get to dictate how much risk you're willing to take when having a child placed in your home.  Legal risk is the likelihood that the child will go back to his or her biological family.  There are 5 levels of legal risk ranging from 5 (definitely going back) to 1 (parental rights have already been terminated and the are no family members within 4 degrees of biological separation who are willing to take the child... also known as legally free), and you get to say how far you're willing to go.  The social workers will only present you with children who meet your legal criteria.

The world of private adoption is all full of fuzzy stories about birthmothers making a loving choice and choosing a family to raise their children.  And those things are true.  But the adoptive family is left feeling totally out of control of the future of their own family.  Here they are, ready for a family, and it all hinges on someone else's decision.  They have to be "right" or "good enough" or "suitable". Most adoptive families already feel somewhat out of control for various reasons in their past.  And now they enter a process that removes yet more control.  The foster system, while not perfect, does give adoptive families a small measure of control.  When they are matched with a child in need of a permanent home, they go to a social worker's office for a presentation where they hear the child's story and then are given 24 hours to decide if this child's case is one they want to be a part of.  If they decide to move forward, a schedule is created to aid the transition from foster home to permanent home.  If they decline, the social worker moves on to the next matched family and offers them the choice.  The child never knows any of this is going on.

Adoption is confusing because the private adoption world has dominated the public opinion, and their advocates and representatives are not always clear about how the process works, how laws apply, and what the rights of all involved parties are.  People believe the horror stories perpetuated by the media because no one is standing up to set the record straight. 

Well, consider my feet on the ground, my head held high, and my hand waving in the air.  I adopted two wonderful, amazing, beautiful, unique children through the foster program.  They are neither "messed up" nor are they scarred for life (except what my husband and I may scar them with as time goes on).  They are perfect, incredible kids, and fine examples of the kind of experience that is common within the foster system.

All questions will be answered.

Anti-Adoption Groups Are Real

I recently had my first encounter with some anti-adoption groups. This encounter was, to put it mildly, less than pleasant. Without repeating what they said (it doesn't belong in civilized conversation), let me just say that it was very mean, very hateful, and very personal. Although the experience was negative and slightly damaging, it did get me thinking about the other side of the coin. I've heard it said that hurt people hurt people, and I had a strong suspicion that the hateful things these people were saying came from a place of pain, not malice. With that in mind, I set out to find out about this anti-adoption thing, and I learned some interesting information.

The term "anti-adoption" is a little bit of a misnomer. Most of the people I encountered (with the exception of the very vocal minority I was unfortunate enough to run into first) were not against adoption in every form and every situation. They're against unethical adoptions. Let me backtrack a bit to explain what MOST of them mean by "unethical".

As I was meeting people who defined themselves as anti-adoption, I noticed a lot of them were Canadian, and a lot of them were birthmothers who felt they had been coerced into placing their babies for adoption. When I enquired as to this Canadian mindset, I found out something disturbing. Back in the 80s, the Canadian government made the executive decision that babies are better off in homes with 2 parents who are married, rather than a single mother or an unwed couple. The hospital protocols were changed so that unwed mothers would always be in the same maternity wards in every hospital, they would always have pain medication during delivery, and while they were still under the influence of those medications a government social worker would convince them to sign over their parental rights, effective immediately. Many of them had no idea what they were signing, assuming it was more hospital paperwork, and only found out later when they asked to see their babies that they in fact had given them up. Many of these mothers have formed a coalition and are bringing lawsuits against the government for violation of rights and punitive damages. To add insult to injury, Canadadian adoption records are closed, completely. The children can't find out who their birthmothers are even if they do want to know, and the mothers are left with no answers, no closure, no resolution.

Needless to say, this was an abomination and I certainly share their opinion that this is not the way adoption should be practiced. The laws have changed and it's no longer done this way in Canada, but the damage is done.

Others of the anti-adoption crowd are against trafficking and sex slavery to create a baby mill. This is something we think of happening in third world countries, but it does happen here at home too. Again, something I'm not interested in supporting.

A smaller number of them are against any form of private adoption where money changes hands and agencies get richer by making families wait longer. I find myself leaning in their direction on this one, but it's because our first encounter with a private adoption agency was so negative that it turned us off completely.

And of course, there are those who believe adoption shouldn't happen at all, that you can teach anyone to be a good parent and that what you should do is support unhealthy birth families instead of removing children for their own safety and placing them with a family who can raise them and give them a future. Oh, sorry, did my opinion on that one show? Good.

Most importantly, I found out that the issue is far more complicated than being for or against adoption. A blanket label in either direction is misleading. I also found out something I've known for a while: you can't convince someone to agree with you by being loud, obnoxious, and insulting. People want information, not verbal beatings.

Bottom line: if you're pro-adoption, don't assume everyone else is, too. If you're anti-adoption, don't assume all adoptions are unethical.

I'm Important, Too

I have decided that today is a day for honesty. I have, therefore, prepared a couple of confessions for your perusal and consideration.

Confession 1: I love makeover shows. I do. I love the one where they take your clothes one by one and shoot them up a vacuum tube, and then all your friends shop for clothes they think are appropriate for you and you pick the ones you like. I love the one where a bunch of fat people go to boot camp together and get eliminated based on how much weight they lose. I love the one where people hang on to every candy wrapper they've ever owned until roaches have made their house unlivable and then they bring in a professional organizer (who usually has no clue what they were getting themselves into) to get rid of all the junk, clean the house, and make it like new. But my favorite one is the one where they film you for two weeks to show what a disaster your wardrobe is, throw away all your clothes (making fun of you the whole time), and then give you $5000 to go buy new ones.

Something I hear all the time on these makeover shows is the story of the "Martyred Mom". You know her, you love her, maybe you ARE her. She's the mom who has spent the last 20 years taking care of everyone else, and hasn't bought so much as a stick of gum for herself. So the makeover staff go out of their way to let her know that now's the time. She deserves it. And certainly she does. In the face of all she does, two weeks buying her own clothes are but a small reward. However, this brings me to my second confession.

Confession 2: I am not a martyred mom. I don't have the syndrome where I have to ignore myself in order to take care of everyone around me. If I get a chance to take a long shower, shave my legs, and put on makeup, I take it! And I don't care that I let the dishes or the laundry or the housework wait for an hour or two while I do it. Maybe that means I'm selfish. But I don't feel like I have to ignore myself in order to take care of my family. I'm acutely aware of the fact that if I don't take time for myself, I get overwhelmed and start to feel taken advantage of. That makes me feel like I'm the only one doing any work which makes me impossible to live with. I know these things about myself. I also know that because of these things, I take better care of my family when I do a few little things for myself every now and then.

So I will not apologize for taking a long shower every few days, dying my hair every few weeks when my roots start to show, or going through my wardrobe every now and then and getting rid of things that don't fit, and replacing them with things that do fit, do flatter, and do look amazing. I don't wear Mom jeans, I don't wear tennis shoes everywhere, and I certainly don't wear those velour track suits that do nothing but make EVERYONE look fat. I will not apologize for having good hair, cute clothes, and a stack of books by my bed without the name Seuss on them.

My final act for the day is to let all the moms out there know that you don't have to be the martyred mom. It's not selfish to get your nails done while the kids are at ballet class. It's okay to put styling product on your hair. It's just fine to buy that dress you saw that you totally love, provided you actually have the money for it. Your family doesn't want you to suffer for them. They DO need you. They DO depend on you. You ARE an important and vital part of them. And it's BECAUSE of those things that you owe it to yourself to be nice to yourself, every chance you get. There aren't a lot of those chances, so when you see them, snatch them. There's no doubt this can be a thankless job, so take every chance you can to thank yourself. Write yourself a speech. Because in this case you're the only nominee, and therefore a shoe-in.

Enjoy the after party.

There Are No Two Ways About It

Two types of matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time. It's a law of physics as well as an important Spiritual reality.

I have previously alluded to some faith issues I have faced, but I have refrained from going into detail. Yesterday I had a bit of an epiphany and feel that I have finally reached a place where I can let the world know what has been going on.

When I was first diagnosed with infertility, I had a few niggling doubts about the entity I have always called "God". However, I have always believed in a loving, caring God who always wanted what was best for me, and I knew that sometimes even the faithful have doubts. In my past, when doubt has arisen, there has always also arisen a way to overcome it; some small miracle that made me believe again. Bearing that thought in mind, I paid little heed to my doubt and moved on, knowing it would subside.

When our first adoption fell through, those doubts went from niggling to screeching. The God I had always known would never allow this to happen. He would never take two amazing children from a loving, nurturing home, and return them to parents who had gone to prison for felony endangerment. That single thought was so big and so loud and so important that the day we handed those children back to their parents, I said to God, "This is my reward for a lifetime of service? This is reaping what I sowed? This is your plan for me? Well forget it. I'm done with you. I gave you your shot and all you did was mess everything up, so I'll be doing things myself from now on, thanks."

I lived in that place of bitterness and anger right up until quite recently. It caused me to do many things I never thought I would find myself doing. I looked into other religions. I doubted whether God loved me or anyone else. My husband told me I sounded like an atheist, but the reality was so much bleaker: I believed God was out there, I just didn't think He gave two shakes about what happened to me. Which expanded into wondering whether He cared abut anyone at all. And if He doesn't care, how can He be in control? And if He's not in control then everything I've ever believed was wrong.

And I did all of it alone because I was so afraid of hearing nothing but trite, well-rehearsed "Christianese" from my friends. I was even angry at people around me that I loved because they could say, "Well, trust God," and I would think, "Oh sure. Trust God. Let's all trust God. Look how well that's turned it so far."

But a few weeks ago, I decided to confide in a trusted friend who I knew had also had significant doubt in her life. Since then, she and I have begun a partnership to rediscover who God is and how I can relate to Him. It's a slow process and I'm a difficult student, but together she and I are focusing on one important and fundamental truth: God is. My plan is to rebuild the faith I once had starting from scratch. As a church-kid, this is something I never expected to have to do. Faith has always been like breathing to me. So easy. As an intellectual person, understanding it has always been a bit of a mystery, but since faith was so easy, I could always fall back on it for things I couldn't explain.

There has been, however, one aspect of faith that I have been as yet unwilling to surrender. I was willing to move forward and rediscover God, but I felt I was entitled to keep that anger about the failed adoption. That was mine, and I refused to let God take it away. I needed that anger, I believed, in case God ever let me down again. That way I would have more than one example to point to in order to prove I was right and God didn't care.

Yesterday, in the middle of folding laundry, I realized that this is not the case. I can't hate Him for taking the other two away, and love Him for bringing me the new one. I can't believe He wants the best for me, except for that one time. I can't say He's in control except for that thing that happened. I can't be angry and move on. Those two states of mind can't exist together.

I can live in this place where I am at the moment where I don't know or understand God and how I relate to Him. I can seek Him with any sort of faith, philosophy, or Spirituality I choose, but I can't hate Him and love Him at the same time. Although this is not what the Apostle Paul was talking about when he said it, it is truly being "a house divided". And as Paul said, it WILL fall.

Where am I now? A step or two closer than I was before. And there will be many times in the future when I'll have to let that anger go again (it's been such a comfortable place for me). But I am now truly stripped. I don't know who God is or what He wants from me or anyone else. And that's okay. I know eventually He'll tell me. And this time I'll be listening.

On the hillside you will be delivered
Sinner sorry and wrecked by the fall
Cleanse your heart and your soul
In the river that flows
For you and for me and for all

The REAL Monster

It is officially Holloween season.  I love Halloween.  I love it (GASP) more than Christmas.  I love costumes and haunted houses.  I love scary movies and carnivals.  I love jack-o-lanterns, candy, and bouncy houses.  I love the magic in the air.  For a whole day, anyone can be anyone or anything they want.  I spend months planning my Halloween activities.  October 1st, I devote myself to finding scary movies on TV, the perfect Halloween candy (I have to be the good house), and the most fun festivals, parties, and carnivals I can.

Monsters are fascinating to me.  Wolfman, Dracula, Frankenstein, whatever that thing was that lived under my bed when I was a kid.  Each one scarier than the next.  However, I have recently discovered a monster scarier than any other I have ever encountered (and I've been to Knott's Scary Farm many times).  This monster strikes fear in the heart of everyone it encounters.  Angels certainly fear to tread in its presence.  And yet, there has never been a single movie made or book written about this monster (at least that I know of).  Perhaps it's because it's so fearsome we dare not speak of it.  It's so scary our brains refuse to dwell on it.  We awake from nightmares about this monster, unable to recall what caused such full-blown terror.  It is what makes us afraid of the dark.  It is what makes us afraid of silence.  We fear what's under the bed because we know this monster could certainly thrive in that environment.  This monster is known only as CRANKY BABY!

We live in fear of CRANKY BABY.  Everything we do, every day, is aimed at avoiding an encounter with CRANKY BABY.  Why do I skip lunch?  So I can feed Carson and prevent him from transforming into CRANKY BABY.  Why do I plan field trips?  So Carson doesn't get bored and turn into CRANKY BABY.  Why do I get up before dawn on Sunday mornings?  Because that's when Carson wakes up begins plotting when to become CRANKY BABY.

And when CRANKY BABY appears, what do we do?  We beg, we plead, we cry, we bribe, we avoid.  But you can't ignore CRANKY BABY.  You can't lock CRANKY BABY in a room and hope it goes away.  Why?  Ah.  This is at the heart of what makes CRANKY BABY so terrifying.  Avoidance and ignoring only fuels CRANKY BABY.  The more you pretend CRANKY BABY isn't around, the more CRANKY BABY displays its power.  CRANKY BABY has an endless supply of energy, and needs no motivation.  It takes no prisoners and can strike at any moment.  At home during dinner.  Out shopping.  At Grandma's house.  At Disneyland.  And its appearance is a virtual guarantee anywhere near bedtime.

But we have a weapon againt the terror that is CRANKY BABY.  We have one way to combat the fear, the demands, the insistence of this terrible creature.  That weapon is something in the home of every family that harbors a latent CRANKY BABY waiting to emerge.  It's a commonplace object that is our only raft in the endless sea of fear that surrounds CRANKY BABY.  This relief, this savior, this sword is known as THE BOTTLE.  When fear of CRANKY BABY reaches its peak, our only recourse is THE BOTTLE.  Wielding THE BOTTLE sends CRANKY BABY running for the hills, and only then can peace be restored.

And the peasants rejoice.

Leave My Parking Space Alone!

My local chain grocery store reserves 3 parking spaces near the front door for adults with children. It's fabulous when I take my son with me because it's right near where the shopping carts are, and I don't have to cross the parking lot to get to the door. Every now and then, I drive up and all those spaces are occupied. No big deal, really. Glad the store is doing well because I want to keep shopping there. However, sometimes I glance into those cars in those easy-access, convenient parking spaces reserved for adults with children, and there's not a car seat to be seen. And that just makes me want to key those cars that are parked there.

Now, before anyone freaks out, I have never vandilized a car for a reason as ridiculous as being in a parking space I wanted. In fact, I've never vandilized a car, period. I understand that the store reserves those parking spaces as a courtesy, much like some businesses reserve spaces for pregnant women so they don't have to walk so far. It's not a law, and people without children can't be ticketed for parking in those spots like they could in handicapped parking. In fact, there's reason the store has to reserve those spots at all. But they choose to as a customer service option. And I greatly appreciate it.

So the next time you see parking for adults with children, don't roll your eyes because parents somehow feel entitled to better parking. We don't. And we're not. But when someone takes the time to do something to make our lives a little bit easier, it goes a long way. And when someone without kids takes those parking spaces, it just shows how selfish and disrespectful they are of both the parents who could park there but now can't, and the store where they're shopping that's trying to have good customer service but can't because certain patrons choose to take advantage.

People with children aren't special or entitled. But we really appreciate the little things.

On the Utility of Clausterphobia

People who know me will not find the following statement surprising: I love bunnies. I've owned bunnies for almost 10 years now. The first one was something of an accident. My husband was deployed, and I felt like I needed something to focus my energy on. I decided a pet was just the thing, and I had never had a rabbit before. This was before I worked in the vertinary field or was familiar with rescues and I figured the only way to get one was the pet shop. So I picked up my first bunny at a pet shop. At the same time, I purchased "Rabbits for Dummies" by Audrey Pavia. It's an excellent book that I highly recommend to anyone owning or looking to work with rabbits any way. This was how I learned about the idea of house rabbits: bunnies who live in the house with the people as opposed to the yard where they get forgotten or eaten by coyotes.

Turns out, bunnies have fun little personalities and are loads of fun to keep in the house. They like to sit on your lap and snuggle. They like to sleep on the carpet. They like to hang out with people and play with toys. Some of them will even retrieve. Up until very recently, our bunnies have had their own room in our house.

About a year ago, my husband proposed the idea of moving our bunnies outside so that we could have a guest room. As an advocate for house rabbits, I was conflicted. I wasn't opposed to the idea of rabbits living outside. In fact, I was certain there was a way it could be done. However, having them outside brings up many issues that need to be addressed in the name of health and safety: predators, insects, burrowing, heat, cold, rain, attention, stress. All things that need to be resolved if bunnies are going to live and thrive outside. I told him I would be willing to do it if we could find ways to deal with all these problems.

So we began a quest to find a safe way to have our bunnies outside and still part of the family. We found a custom-built chicken coop that we had to have important from England that looked like it would do as a starting point. It's about 4 feet by 2 feet and has a nesting box where we put hay and the litter box. It has a built-in play yard (not very big, but they frequently have free run of the whole back yard when the weather is nice, more on that in a minute), and a roof. We put it in the shade of a tree in a corner of our yard that gets almost no direct sunlight. My husband dug down about 3 feet all the way around the perimeter and burried rocks and cement edges to curb burrowing. Once every few months, we spray the whole thing down with citronella oil to keep the bugs away (we have a serious fly problem where we live, and there are numerous nasty diseases that bunnies can get from mosquitoes). The floor on the main level is dirt which we cover with bark mulch as needed, and the upper level has a wood-and-metal floor that we cover with a towel on one side, and a tray that forms the litter box on the other. Every few days the upper level gets stripped and cleaned with vinegar and high-power water spray. When the days are hot, the bunnies get ice packs. But these are no ordinary ice packs. They are 2-liter bottles of frozen water we keep on hand in our chest freezer. The bunnies get one bottle during the day, and if the evening is still warm enough to need one, we swap the daytime bottle for a fresh, frozen one. And voila! Cool in the summer, warm in the winter, dry in the rain, protected from predators and insects, bunny proof. If the weather's nice (not too hot, not too cold), we let them have free run of the back yard to eat as much grass as they want. This means we have to make sure and keep the grass free of mushrooms, and make sure all the plants we plant are non-toxic.

Sound like a lot of work? It is! But we've been surprised how happy our bunnies are with this arrangement. We still see them every day (we have to feed them, don't we?) which gives us a chance to check them over and make sure they're healthy. They eat a good diet thanks to the weather-proof containers we found for hay and pellets. Sure we have to clean more often than we did when they were inside, but that's part of keeping them healthy. And yes, we have to make more of an effort to spend time with them, but what family member isn't worth a little bit of extra effort? There's also a lot of maintenance involved in their new custom home: hinges get loose, wood has to be water-sealed, screening has to be replaced, mulch, mulch, and more mulch. And we have to keep an eye out for crafty bunnies who find ways to dig under the barrier we placed. So every once in a while we head to the garden store for more river rocks. It's all worth it to keep our bunnies safe and happy.

I used to believe the only acceptable place to keep a rabbit was in the house, and there are many rescues and other organizations that feel the same way. My own experience has led me to change my view to include outdoor habitats as long as they're done well. There's a right way and a wrong way to keep rabbits outside, and doing it right is complicated and labor-intesive, but it CAN be done.

So to the rabbit rescue who outright refused to adopt to us because we keep our rabbits outside: that's okay. We found a bunny buddy at the animal shelter, and we'll still buy our hay and pellets from you. And to the volunteer who gave us a condescending lecture about myxomatosis: I'm an RVT. I have 8 years of experience with small and exotic animals and I worked for 2 and 1/2 years under one of the best rabbit doctors out there. Your policy is, quite frankly, insulting to me. To suggest that I can't possibly take acceptable care of my bunnies while they live outside is belittling.

All of this is to say that we recently acquired another bunny. Our older bunny died, leaving his girlfriend behind. Now that we have them outside, it was very important to us to find a new boyfriend for her because we could tell she was clearly lonely. So a few days ago, we headed to the animal shelter and met a black and white mini rex the shelter had named Mickey. He's very sweet, but very shy and nervous. In talking to the shelter staff, we found out he was surrendered by his previous owners just the day before. So we think his nervousness may very well be temporary. He's had a lot of upheaval in his little life in the past few days: his family moved, he got sent to the shelter, and then brought back to our house where his new girlfriend promtly tried to kill him.

A special note about bunny fights: they fight dirty. There are no ground rules, and no gentlemen's agreements. They bite, pull hair, and go for the genitals. They growl, chase, circle, and kick. And the fur flies! And it all happens so fast that breaking it up can be difficult.

We brought our female bunny with us to the shelter so she could meet prospective boyfriends. We figured we'd go with the one she didn't try to kill on sight. She's a little pushy and she likes to get her way. The reason her last relationship worked so well was because her boyfriend let her push him around and stayed out of her way. They met up, and sat next to each other in my husband's lap. Looked like we had a winner.

There are many approaches to teaching a pair of bunnies to get along. We have had the best luck with what I call the Car Ride Method. Throw both bunnies in a carrier and take them on a long car ride. The car ride is stressful and bunnies' natural tendency is to look for another bunny to snuggle up to when they get nervous. So you create an environment where the other bunny's presence is soothing and positive. Then when you get home, they view each other as good as opposed to threatening. After we take them on a car ride, we set them up in a pen (in the house for this part). We put them both in the litter box together, side by side, and sit with them for an hour or two, making sure they stay next to each other and no one bites anyone else. Eventually one or the other will being grooming the other bunny. This is a very good sign. Bunnies, much like primates, use grooming as a social activity. They will groom each other as they lie next to each other and rest during the day. Once we've gone a reasonable amount of time without any fur flying, we start making the pen smaller and smaller, forcing the bunnies to be in closer proximity to each other. When the pen is as small as it will go, we leave the bunnies together in that tight space for a few days, monitoring them closely. They can't get away from each other, and being is such a small space forces them to buddy up again, just like in the car.

Then we move them into their permanent environment (in this case, their custom house in the yard), and watch them. It's very important to wait on this step until you're fairly confident the bunnies have worked out who's the dominant one, and the submissive one has figured out what to do: run away, bite back, groom, ignore, whatever works for them. Because we can't monitor them as closely when they're outside as we can when they're inside, we wanted to be sure we wouldn't get up one morning to find an injured bunny in the cage.

And the good news is, it worked! They're still sorting themselves out a little bit, but they're both eating and drinking and seem to be tolerating each other very well. Hooray for orchestrated stress!