Creme Brulee Hot Chocolate.

Get you some.

That is all.

Before the whole Mom drama happened, I was participating quite successfully in NaBloPoMo and asked you nice folks to suggest topics you wanted to hear about. Poor (no blog) Mindy must have thought I forgot about her.

I didn’t forget, Mindy, I just needed more than 2 brain cells to answer your emailed question. Well, I don’t have two brain cells, but I have two minutes to myself, so I thought I’d give it a shot.

Mindy wanted to know more about Judaism. Hmmm. Well… um… here goes…

I guess the easy answer to comparing Judaism and Christianity is the whole Old Testament / New Testament thing. You guys have a new one, and we don’t. See? Piece of cake!

But that, of course, is too simple.

I found an explanation in a book several years ago that really crystallizes it nicely. Stay with me here.

“There is a commonality to the motivation of Jews and Christians to love and obey G-d: salvation. There are differences in the perspective of how and what the salvation entails. Both Jews and Christians see G-d as “Savior”. For Jews, that saving grace is our survival in spite of external oppression and enemies. For Christians, that saving grace is Christ’s sacrifice to save each Christian’s soul from its own inner tendency toward sin. In the Christian view, the world is redeemed as each individual’s soul is saved through Jesus Christ. In the Jewish view, we are redeeming the world by our own efforts.”

(Which is why for the life of me I don’t understand why the majority of Jews vote democrat. But that’s another post altogether.)

There is also a difference in how we view “The Big Plan” – or the difference between Pre-Destined and Pre-Determined. Christians are largely taught that G-d has a plan and whatever His will is, will be. Jews are taught that there is, indeed, a plan that G-d has for people and that, if you lead a life based on the Ten Commandments and the teachings of Torah (the five books of Moses – our holiest writings), your life will follow that great plan.

But, G-d has only laid out the world. It is up to us to lead our lives and make decisions. In this sense, our life only follows “His plan” if we make the right decisions. His hand in our life is different than in the Christian faith. G-d created a wonderous world and gave us the rules and path for the best life possible. But it’s up to us to make it happen. It is our responsibility and accountability. I cannot hand over my decisions or their consequences to G-d. He is more parent than pilot in that way.

It is very hard to be Jewish. This religion asks a lot. It is very clear on when to forgive, how to repent, how to judge – in fact we are commanded to judge for the sake of the community – something the Christian faiths wrestle with and often teach is a bad thing. But it is also a very rewarding way to live. We feel a great responsibility for the world – possibly because throughout history there have been so many that wanted us gone. And some took one hell of a stab at it.

I believe that Jews and Christians can live in a world and do good things together. I believe we share many common beliefs. But, as mentioned above, the way we view the world and how we live in it are very different. This is why I don’t understand interfaith marriages and the decision to “raise the kids with both faiths”. It is, quite frankly, impossible. And it is, unfortunately, diluting both religions and doing a disservice to the children in generations to come.

And so, there you have it. Cliff Notes Judaism from the mind and perspective of Pammer. As with any religion, there are varying degrees of observance, but that is a topic for another post. I hope this helps, Mindy. And thanks for making me think a little. Even if it didn’t help this no-sleep induced headache.

Things that happen when you speak too soon:

1. Benjamin screams at 1am and for an hour at 4am.

2. You give in to the screaming at 5:03am and pick him up already.

3. You realize the kid hasn’t eaten enough earlier that day and feed him thereby undoing all the good work you spoke about waaay too early.

4. You oversleep because you were up at 4am and forgot to reset the alarm clark after your husband left for work.

5. You stub your toe (again!) on a huge chair that you should know is there because it’s been there for 5 years already.

6. You curse the chair out loud and with great profanity.

7. You realize the very organized day you had planned is completely shot to shit.

You are not thankful at this moment.

I didn’t know that getting my balls back was a line item on my holiday wish list, but apparently it was. And a young associate of our pediatrician gave them back to me.

You see, young Benjamite had his check up last week. You knew this. He is EIGHTEEN POUNDS. You knew this too. (Sorry for the all caps, but it still astounds me.)

What you didn’t know is the part where I asked the doctor WHY THE HELL ISN’T HE SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT ALREADY OH MY G-D?!

“Um, an 18 pound baby should be sleeping through the night….”

“Ya think?!”

“Can he fall asleep without you rocking him?”

“Yep.”

“Then he’s only waking up because he’s trained himself to do that. And some how he can’t put himself BACK to sleep.”

“And?”

“And you’ve been mistaking that for a need for food and feeding him thereby exacerbating the issue by letting him suck on something to soothe himself back to sleep.”

“Ah ha. And so now?”

“Now it’s time for you to let him cry.”

“Not a problem.”

Let me clarify. Not a problem for ME. A HUUUUGGGGEEEE problem for Husband. You see, he’s a woos. I love him, but this is not his forte.

“Be prepared for him to cry for up to an hour and a half.”

“Okey dokey. Are we supposed to go in and check on him or something?”

“Well, you can, but usually that only makes them madder.”

“Right.”

“Good luck!”

“Thanks, honey, but this has nothing to do with luck. This is about SLEEP.”

So, we did it. Thanksgiving evening. We let the boy cry. And Husband only had to take one Xanax. Benjamite cried for 27 minutes the first time, then slept for six hours. Then he cried for 24 minutes and slept four hours more.

For those of you playing the home game, that’s TEN FUCKING HOURS, people!

TEN.

Almost in a row.

Can you hear the giddiness in my voice? That’s rest, people. Rest and an almost clear head. I don’t know what to do with myself. Perhaps I’ll actually write something interesting and amusing. Well, perhaps I’ll just try to write more often.

And how was YOUR long holiday weekend?

Wishing you and yours a terrific Thanksgiving, a long turkey-induced nap and a happy, healthy holiday season.

Love,

Pammer

Somebody stop me.

Now.

I am about to go to the grocery store. The day before Thanksgiving.

But. I am going to the grocery store AFTER I take The Swimmy BACK to the pediatrician. She (I’m betting) has an ear infection. This will be the third visit to the pediatrician in four days.

I’m kinda tired of that waiting room.

In other news….

Benjamin had his four-month check-up yesterday. He weighs eighteen pounds.

EIGHTEEN.

He is also 27 inches long now.

TWENTY. SEVEN.

I believe he is about to be recruited by Texas to play back up quarterback.

I told the doctor about the whole not sleeping and constant eating thing and he suggested we throw some cereal in his bottle before he goes to sleep.

“Um, doc, you do realize that every parenting book tells you NOT to do that.”

“Yeah, but he’s the exception.”

“Of course he is.”

Well, we did that. He drank six ounces full of cereal.

AND STILL ONLY SLEPT FOUR HOURS.

Sigh.

Well, off to the doctor and then to stab myself with a rusty spoon before walking into the grocery store of hell.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear Benjamin,

Well, you will notice that Mommy is posting this a little late this month. Sorry about that, but we were a little pre-occupied with some stuff your Dodi was going through. Let’s just say that it was a brutal couple of weeks and we are all VERY relieved that this letter to you isn’t going to be something much more devastating to pen.

While Dodi was in the hospital, I took several pictures of you and The Swimmy up there to put in her room. She spent many, many hours looking at your pictures and decided you look like her.

I’m not arguing and I suggest you don’t either.

This month has been all about you and your Daddy. The two of you have the best time together and when Daddy comes home and plays with you, you smile with your whole face. You especially love when Daddy does the “Little Dude Dance” with you – then your smile so hard it’s as if your face might pop off at any moment. Although Dodi swears you look like her, when you and Daddy are nose to considerable nose, you do kinda resemble each other. And for some reason, you try to eat Daddy’s nose each time he comes in for a kiss.

Truer words were never written. Even in chalk.

You are getting really good at sitting up now and only sometimes launch yourself backwards at warp speed when you get overly excited – usually because your sister is doing something hilarious in your eyes…like…uh… smiling at you. You continue to be completed enthralled with The Swimmy and try desperately to follow her around the room with your eyes and head when she is off singing and dancing and generally goofing around. Get used to it, you will forever be following her around – it’s a little brother thing.

We’re going to try to get you eating “real food” (if you can call rice cereal and pureed bananas “real” – yuck) again this month. We tried once, and you were a good sport, but you just weren’t ready. We, your parents, however, are kinda ready for you to be full enough to sleep through the night. Immediately. So, tomorrow, we when start again, EAT, my son, EAT.

This? This is what you people think is worth giving up a bottle for? Would YOU eat this shit? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Tomorrow is your four-month check up with the pediatrician. He will tell us you weight eight gagillion pounds (which, duh, look at my tired arms, man) and are happy and healthy and then he will stick you in your enormous thighs three times. I will apologize in advance for purposely taking your precious, toothless grin away for a short time, but it’s for your own good.

We will then ask the genius doctor how we get you to stop waking up at 2am to eat (YET AGAIN) and he will look us in the eye and say, “Um, stop giving it to him,” and we will say, “Yes, we know…” and get ready for you to cry for three days. What a lovely, long holiday weekend this will be. Sigh.

Little Man, we all have a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. A. LOT. But most of all, I am thankful to have you and to know you. And I am thankful that Dodi will get to do the same.

Yes, that is your Dodi dressed up as a pumpkin, just like you. This is an annual occurrence to the point that the kids in her neighborhood call her “The Pumpkin Lady”. We just call her waaaay too into Halloween.

Month Four. Done.

Love,

Mommy

Hi, Playgroup Dropout readers! Welcome to OutsideVoice. The Swimmy’s pretty damn cute, huh?

Yeah. We like her, too.

So, my Friday is more Fabulous because it appears my mom has turned the corner. Cautiously. But turned the corner nonetheless.

But I will tell you that Thursday did not start out Fabulous (yes, capital “F”). At 7:00am on Thursday my dad called and said I’d better come to the hospital – things were not looking good and by the sound of his voice and the words he spoke, I knew what he meant.

I’m convinced that the rest of Thursday morning and the drive to the hospital were done on autopilot. I have no solid memory of what I handed off for work or how I got to the hospital safely. Must have been that “unconscious consciousness” thing.

In any case, I arrived at the hospital prepared for the worst. Instead, I found, well, not the worst. In fact, I found pretty damn good. I found the following phrase from one of her (very serious and not so touchy-feely) doctors,

“I believe we have turned the corner.”

And THEN I found this other phrase from the pulmonologist,

“There is a significant improvement in her chest x-ray.”

Well, fucking-A, Boy, Howdy! You’re not kidding, right?

Nope. They weren’t kidding.

We said nothing to anyone because we were trying to be cautiously optimistic. Each hour here in ICU really does bring something different (and I’m not just talking about the food), so we didn’t want to start jumping up and down until we saw some kind of trend that proved the statements were, uh, true.

But then, there was the most telling milestone. Better than any clinical finding or x-ray. This kind of thing should be in the textbooks that medical students study.

She made a sex joke.

Yep. You got it.

Now, to the cousins that are now reading this site, you know how completely NOT SICK-LIKE that is. And? How completely out of character. Because while Mom has a very twisted sense of humor (especially about anyone farting), I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard her talk about sex. Ever. In 36 years.

Must be the oxygen.

Either way… We’re better, bitches!

Happy Fabulous Friday! And thanks to all of you who have sent your thoughts and prayers to me and my family. Each and every one was felt and appreciated. And to thank all of you, here is some more Friday cuteness.

You know, to get you through the weekend.

This was quite a day.

I spent the day at home with The Swimmy today because she woke up with the seasonal cough, sore throat, stuffy head. Because of that, I couldn’t go up to the hospital because I was too afraid to bring any new germs into Mom’s ICU room.

About 8am, I was waiting for my dad to call with the update and I just kinda felt it wasn’t gonna be great news. You’ll read I was right in a moment, but here’s what happened after he and I got off the phone. I laid in bed for a moment digesting the latest findings, a bit heavy hearted (and a little too emotional because I am in the middle of the second period I’ve had since Benjamite was born – great g-ddamned timing). I sighed deeply, turned my head to look out the window at a lovely tree and saw?

Two squirrels fucking.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Okay then.

When we started this Battle, a doctor said to us Mom either has a recurrence of breast cancer that may have metastacized to the bone, or multiple myeloma – pray for the breast cancer. We were given two awful scenarios – and we prayed for the lesser of two evils.

Well, we lost that coin toss. And headed to Little Rock, Arkansas.

Mom had a rough night last night. Very restless and couldn’t sleep. She’s disoriented because she’s been in the hospital for so long and days run into nights and nights run into days. The medicine, and previous lack of oxygen, makes her hallucinate a little or have portions of conversations that she “imagines” are happening. What is frustrating to her, is that she realizes this is happening and it makes her feel out of control mentally. I imagine that’s what a beginning Alzheimer’s patient must experience.

She finally went to sleep at 5am, after they did the daily chest x-ray to see how her lungs are doing. Today’s x-ray showed no progress in her lungs – again, good and bad. But, it also showed a slight enlargement in her heart – a concerning clinical finding.

We called our cousin, a noted cardiologist in these parts, in for a consult and he said it could be the beginnings of congestive heart failure. And here’s the kicker – that’s the good news. Once again, we’re presented with a couple of shitty options – one that sucks and one that sux and is treatable.

They’re going to give her another round of lasix (diuretics) to see if we can get some more improvement in her lungs like we did the other day. If that works, we might be able to stay on that course (assuming her body can take more of that consecutively). If it doesn’t, we have to put a catheter / probe up around her heart to do a little measuring of some pressures to see if we’re faced with congestive heart failure.

So, we pray the lasix works. If not, we pray for congestive heart failure. ‘Cause it just gets worse after that.

I used to love Vegas. I loved the gaming, the risks…But I’m getting sick and tired of thinking about odds, choices, percentages, statistics… So if the House always wins, who gets to be the house in this scenario?

I’d like Mom and Dad to catch a break. Let THEM be the House for once. Let them hit it on the river card. Let them catch eight the hard way. Give ‘em Blackjack.

Please.

There. I asked nicely. ‘Cause I was raised right.

I have this saying that I seem to use with abandon, “Every day is a new day.” I’m usually using it in a somewhat sarcastic way by giving it as an answer to the question, “How’s work going?”

“Well, every day’s a new day.”

I believe I’ll retire that phrase after this ordeal. Because, not only is every day a new day, every HOUR is a new hour. Seriously.

When I arrived at the hospital this morning, the news was that her saturation rate was 99%. All night. That my friends, is almost progress. I say almost because in medicine, it’s never just one indicator that allows you to declare victory. Well, rarely one. (A biopsy is pretty damn definitive – either way.)

So, with oxygen going full blast, her sat rate had increased. Good and bad. Good that it increased and held. Bad that the only way she stays at 99% is by full-throttling the oxygen and that if she takes off the mask, it drops to a scary 85% almost immediately.

But I’ll take that.

Then, we wait for the (now) daily chest x-ray. If it’s worse, we know what that means. But, it comes back and we’re told by one doctor, “It’s about the same.” For many, this would be cause for concern. Given the aggressive nature of the lung issues, the fact that nothing had progressed any further is okay. Later, a pulmonologist will tell us that he believes the x-ray shows a roughly 15% improvement. Not huge, but an improvement.

I’ll take that, too.

Yesterday they gave her medicine called lasix which is essentially a diuretic that helps the body get rid of excess fluid – because they thought part of the problem is fluid in her lungs, not just pneumonia. She basically peed off three LITERS of fluid yesterday and today continued to “output” a ton of stuff. Could this have helped her lungs? Don’t know. Hard to say, but it does mean her kidneys are functioning well.

Yep. Take that, too.

Today they let her eat real food. And she did. She even commented that this particular hospital has the best “institutional spaghetti” around. It’s delicious. And she gobbled it up in hundreds of tiny bites. You could see her perk up a lot after she ate. Like the food actually gave her some energy.

You bet we’ll take that.

But the best sign today was when my aunt noticed someone had left what looked to be a Louis Vuitton bag on a desk outside my mom’s ICU cubby / room for quite some time. She couldn’t believe someone would just leave a Louis Vuitton purse out in the open like that – completely unattended. Without missing a beat my mom and I replied in tandem, “It’s not real.” Even through oxygen-starved moments of dimensia my mom could make the knowledgeable fashion faux pas call.

Bring that shit on.

We aren’t declaring victory and we aren’t out of the woods by any means. But, sometimes it’s the little things. And who knows, the little things could lead to more little things. I’m not greedy. It doesn’t have to fix itself in 24 hours. I’ll be patient.

But tomorrow? If there are more little things? I’m hoping to say we’re on the first stone on the long path to victory.

And I’ll take that all day long and twice on Sunday.