I haven’t written over here much in the past couple of weeks because…well, I’ve been grieving.

Her name was Josie and we only had her for one week…

But, in that one week I fell head-over-heels in love with her.

She came to us as a foster pup for Tucker’s Eighth Grade Community Service project.

Originally Tuck wanted to work at a nursing home or senior center, playing checkers or reading to shut-ins, but rules and restrictions made it unbelievably impossible to find an applicable situation.  Andie also had to complete community service hours this year, and she discovered a small dog rescue in the next town over where she went once a week to “socialize” the pups; i.e. sit on the floor and play amongst a pack of puppies!

“I’m always looking for foster families if you guys are ever interested,” Heather, the director of the shelter mentioned a few times.

Tuck was reluctant at first, knowing a puppy is a lot of work, especially in the early morning hours when his teenage body clings to the mattress for any extra minutes of sleep.  But with a deadline looming, he ultimately agreed to head over to the shelter and pick out a pup.

Upon walking in the door, he immediately saw Josie.  “That’s the one,” he said, but I encouraged him to take his time, get to know all five of the puppies who’d just come two-thousand miles from the “high-kill” shelter in Arkansas.  (“High-kill,” Tucker discovered through his research, meant that dogs brought to the shelter by their owners were euthanized in three days and those found on the streets, five.)

We stayed an hour, sitting on the linoleum floor, puppies nipping at our ears, but Tucker never swayed from his certainty about Josie.  We left with a big bag of puppy chow and the crate in which Josie would sleep.

I won’t go too far into the details, but let’s just say, Tuck got a lot less sleep than usual and cleaned up his share of “accidents.”  I, on the other hand, discovered just how wonderful it felt to be needed; to have to plan my daily schedule around a puppy’s needs to be let out several times throughout the day.  As Meg has gotten older, we’re down to just one walk a day, but with Josie, we were taking three.  And rather than walking alongside Meg in silence, I laughed out loud as Josie tumbled over snow banks, and I squealed words of praise every time she peed or pooped, mimicking her mentor teacher, Meg.

I know what you’re thinking, So why didn’t you just keep her?  Believe me, we talked about it.  And we totally could have, but the thing is, I believed (and now I know first hand) that it would be so much easier to keep her than to let her go to another family who’d have the chance to love and adore such a wonderful puppy.

It was the Saturday after we brought her home, we were at the kid’s last ski race – a big festive, end of ski season party on snow – and Andie was walking Josie in and out of the pop-up tents, around beach chairs and grills, proudly announcing to anyone and everyone who cooed over our newfound pup, “She’s a foster dog. You can adopt her.”  And before I knew it, another ski family from another mountain had fallen in love with her.

All their references checked out and a few days later their application was approved.  I’d already known, when Mom fell to her knees on the snow at that ski race and held Josie to her chest, that she’d adore her as much as I did.  Still, it didn’t make it any easier when the entire family arrived on a late Wednesday afternoon, having driven nearly two hours from their home in Massachusetts, with a new pink leash and lots of squeaky toys in hand, ready to take Josie home.

I waved and watched them drive out, Josie looking back at me from Mom’s lap in the front seat.  The tears totally surprised me, but I just couldn’t stop them.  They came hard and fast and from some place so deep, I knew they were about more than just the loss of that sweet, sweet pup.

Enough time has passed to understand that as I enter this knew phase of parenting, especially with Tucker, whose voice has gone down deep and whose height has shot up to just an inch or two from mine, that this grieve is about so much more. About those long ago days when I felt so needed, when I held a little one to my chest and napped and felt comforted in knowing there wasn’t anywhere else in the world I’d rather be.

Lee and the kids keep trying to comfort me, reminding me just how chaotic the house was while Josie was with us.  And I nod my head as if I agree, but I know that in fact the chaos was part of the joy.  All the scattered puppy toys and bones underfoot, just like the long forgotten Playmobile, Matchbox cars and wooden train pieces.

Even though it’s been so painful to say goodbye, the amazing part is, I’ve already told Heather from the animal rescue that I’ll foster another pup.  “The longer you do it,” she told me, “the easier it gets to say goodbye.”

Time will tell, but in the meantime, I will delight in every photo Josie’s new family sends my way – Josie on the end of her pink leash being walked by her adorable girls, Dad giving her her first bath, asleep on a pile of fuzzy pink blankets – and know that I am willing to open my heart and love again…and again…and again.

Am I alone in grieving my kids growing up or have you experienced some of that too?

Do you or anyone you know find yourself overwhelmed by fear?  If so, I wrote an article on EMDR therapy that you may find really helpful.

It’s posted today over on the Preemie Babies 101 Website. Please know that EMDR is not just for parents of premature babies.  EMDR is wonderful resource for anyone working toward overcoming trauma.

Here’s a bit of the article. If you want to read more, please click the link below to read the rest.

“I entered our local grocery store, only to have my eye catch the front page of a Boston newspaper. A photo of a large hypodermic needle and the big, bold letters across the front page read “Swine Flu…” but before I could read the rest, my knees buckled and I had to hold on to a nearby display rack to keep from falling over.

“I can’t live this way anymore,” I hissed at myself. Then I stood up straighter, pulled my shoulders back and said it again. “I can’t live this way anymore.”

I turned around and left the store, dialing the phone number of my friend. When I asked if she could help me find a good therapist (she works as a grief counselor) she suggested I look into EMDR therapy.

And I did…”

A Need For Change: EMDR Therapy

If you want more information or have further questions about my experience with EMDR, I’m happy to answer as best I can. Either leave a comment over on the preemiebabies101 blog post, here on this post, or you can email me at premature journey@gmail.com.

With blessings,

Kasey

Do you know anyone who has an upcoming surgery?  Perhaps my husband’s story will help…

Three days ago I was sitting in the hospital waiting room while my husband, Lee was having the ACL and meniscus in his knee repaired.

As you may know from my book or blog, I believe illness and injury, though an unwelcome guest, can be opportunities for personal growth.  It’s been amazing to follow Lee on his journey, as he’s gone from seeming incredibly vulnerable, to information gathering and eventually empowered and certain.  As much as I wanted to insert myself in his process, I had to repeatedly remind myself that this is his journey and for him to learn all his lessons, I could support him, but not do the work for him.  (If you have a child undergoing surgery, as a parent, you can do the following recommended exercises on your child’s behalf, as we did for our daughter.)

That being said, when we first learned he needed surgery, I left Peggy Huddleston’s book, Prepare for Surgery, Heal Faster on his bedside table.  It was a few nights later when I found him already in bed half-way through Chapter One.  “You’re so subtle,” was all he said. I hid my smile behind my hand.

And my smile continued to grow as I watched and witnessed Lee accept and embrace the suggestions in Huddleston’s book as his surgery date approached.

He reached out to the people he works with, the guys he mountain bikes with, and all his ski racing buddies to create the suggested “support group.”  “Hey if you think of it,” he would say, “send some positive energy my way Monday morning at 7:30.”  Later, on our drive to the hospital he confessed that wasn’t easy for him.  “To put myself out there like that, to ask them to think of me, was really hard,” but after a moment he added, “But I’m so glad I did because it was very well received and they felt included in my process.”

The other big take-away from Prepare for Surgery, Heal Faster was the healing statements.  These are intentions written out by the patient and read by someone in the operating room as the patient goes under and comes out of anesthesia.  Huddleston talks in her book about the research that has proven that even when a patient is anesthetized, he/she is still hearing what is said during surgery.  She sites examples from hospitals in Boston, New York, Atlanta and London who’ve all shown that “patients who had positive statements spoken to them during general anesthesia recovered more quickly with less pain and complications than the patients in the control group, who were not given the statements.”

In the pre-op room, Lee mustered up his courage to hand the sheet of loose leaf paper on which he’d written his statements to the anesthesiologist and ask that they be read during surgery.  I watched Lee relax into the bed when the anesthesiologist said, “Yeah, I’ve seen this several times now. Must be somethin’ going around.”

Prior to surgery, we learned that Lee had the choice to use one of his own tendons to replace his, or one from a donor.  Based on his age (46) it was repeatedly recommended he use the donor option.  It was about a week before surgery that it really hit home for Lee that his new tendon would be coming from someone whose life had been cut short.  The last of his healing statements reflects that.  With his permission, these are the statements he wrote:

• I look forward to this procedure and wish for it to go smoothly, efficiently and as simply as possible in a safe and clean environment.
• My immediate post-op recovery will be pain-free, and set the stage for a pain-free rehabilitation.
• All medications from surgery will transfer easily out of my body.
• My body’s response will be swift, thorough and strong.
• I express deep gratitude to the donor of this tissue and intend that this tissue will be welcomed and accepted as a part of my body.

I can happily report that three days post-surgery, Lee is doing wonderfully well.  He’s off all pain meds, making good progress on his physical therapy and already making plans for next ski season!

I wrote this a while back when my book just came out, but thought today was a perfect day to share it again.

10 Lessons from Having a Preemie (Hatherleigh Press, 2012)

1.) You didn’t do anything wrong.  It is completely normal to feel guilty, ashamed and terribly afraid after giving birth to a preemie, but It Is Not Your Fault. You might never know Why your baby arrived early and sometimes you have to let go of the Why in order to move forward.

2.) Not everyone is a “baby person” and nurturing is not automatic for every mother, even mothers of full term babies.  It’s ok if you feel this way; many women do, but don’t dare speak their feelings out loud.

3.) Speak your truth. Don’t let your fears and anxiety breed in the dark.  Bringing your deep felt emotions to light keeps them from growing and festering inside you.

4.) Motherhood can be lonely, even for mothers of full-term babies. Ask for help.  When others offer help, accept it.  By receiving with openness and grace, you are in fact giving in return. To show your vulnerability is to be at your greatest strength.

5.) Create a vision of your baby in the future and hold on to that vision.  Write a list of all your “some days” – walking on the beach, eating ice cream cones on a hot summer day, flying a kite, lying in the grass looking for shapes in the clouds…

6.) Don’t believe everything the doctors tell you!!!  Create your own expectations for your child and don’t allow your child’s potential to be limited by anyone else.  Use your voice.  Speak up for yourself and your baby.  You are your baby’s voice.

7.) Cover your baby’s isolet with a dark blanket.  If your NICU is too bright or too noisy, speak up.  Your baby will grow and heal best in a dark womb-like environment.  Post-NICU, explore alternative therapies to compliment traditional medical treatments, ie Reiki, energy healing, cranial sacral therapy, Brain Gym

8.) If you can’t shake your deep anxiety, it’s highly likely you’re suffering from PTSD.  Posttraumatic Stress is very common among preemie parents. (Resources to help – EMDR, Support groups, Peer to Peer support through Hand to Hold, therapy, writing)

9.) Take care of YOU.  Like the oxygen mask on an airplane, you have to breathe first before putting the mask on your child. It’s ok to take time for yourself and let someone else care for your baby.

10.) Choose love over fear.  It’s the hardest thing in the world to love when you’re so afraid you might lose, but our babies came here to be loved; to love and be loved.  And remember, no matter how bad things get, no matter how lonely you feel, You Are Not Alone.  Someone has walked this path before you and someday you’ll be on the other side sharing your story.