Therapeutic Thursday: Question Answered: Do I Need Therapy?

There are seemingly simple questions which have complicated answers. When I am asked these types of questions my anxiety peaks a little, my heart beats a little harder and I get a little sweaty. I think, Do you really want to sit here and listen to me long enough to really understand the answer? Are you willing to listen with an open and non-defensive heart? Because I don't want to waste my time and energy for the outcome to be that you are mad at me for telling you the truth.*

I tell the truth. I'll tell you the truth, unless of course I assess that you can't handle the truth. If you are a client of mine I teach you to handle the truth, so I never back down from a question like this. If you are a client of mine, however, you've already come to the conclusion (or someone else with authority in your life has) that you need/want therapy. It's not so easy with you, my friends, family, neighbors, ward members, etc., because in these relationships I need you. And if you get mad at me for telling you the truth, I am punished by you withdrawing. I marvel at the human ability to be resilient, AND the human lack of ability to accept the truth. (BTW, this is call DENIAL).

One may argue that the truth I am telling is an opinion. That may well be. An educated and experienced opinion is valuable nonetheless. For example, if it is my physician's opinion that I should stop smoking in order to avoid tragic health problems like cancers and lung and heart disease than I would be FOOLISH to not consider her thoughts on the matter. The truth is, they cannot predict for certainty that I will develop such health problems from smoking, but they KNOW FOR CERTAINTY that I am risking them. Hence, the truth I tell folks.

Why is it that needing therapy is such an insult anyway? (Hint: that's a trick question to get you thinking). In my favorite case the client, in the final months of therapy, emphasized over and over how grateful he was for the opportunity to become healthy, and hence experience happiness he never thought possible. He felt relief. For example, I have asthma. It's been quite persistent and severe in the past. In the throws of an asthma attack the only thing I can think of is getting enough air to survive. I'm not thinking about what's for dinner or what's on TV later, I am thinking, Deep, slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths. When I was prescribed my first emergency inhaler when I was 13 years-old the first time I experienced the rapid effects of the medicine loosening up my bronchial passageways hot tears stung my eyes...I had never experienced such physical relief in my life. I, for the first time, knew I was in control of my asthma rather than vice versa. Emotional relief is possible too, I know this to be truth. WARNING: self-disclosure ahead: I've also experienced this type of relief via my own experiences as a therapy client.

I fully understand why it feels like an insult to need therapy. Accepting that truth is to accept that you are less than perfect, to accept that life has not gone the way you hoped. You question your capabilities, you worry you are inadequate. You feel ashamed, unworthy. You worry that those around you can see those secrets you've been hiding. You don't want to talk about those at all (or even think about them). You would do almost anything to never think/talk about those secrets, including put off the therapy. You may be worried discussing such things in therapy will make you feel worse. Here's the truth: it will, temporarily. Because digging something out that has been buried for so long is a painful process. Long term, you will feel relieved. I PROMISE, and so do my clients who have trusted themselves enough to embark on the process.

I had a client say this when I informed them that they had completed therapy, "I can't stop coming, you're the only one that knows my secrets."

"They are no longer secrets, " I replied. This is true even if they choose to never tell another. By talking about it you allow yourself to regain control of it. If you are avoiding talking about it, it is controlling you. This truth is the most basic psychological principle, by the way.

Finally, a teenaged boy came in to session one day furious. He wouldn't tell me the problem and I spent the next 30 minutes staring at him, his anger impeded his ability to redirect his attention to other topics. After awhile I said, "If you're not willing to talk about this or any other issue than I'll end session and save your parent's money and everyone's time." He then told me that he was angry at another boy at school who was calling him 'jelly bean' (due to my client's head shape). He ranted on for a time until I said, "Wait a second, turn your head to the side...okay to the other side...Yeah, he's right. Your head does look like a jelly bean." Of course you can imagine his face reddening but before he could storm out of my office I added, "A jelly bean-shaped head is a good shaped head. You can choose what you find insulting." If someone suggests therapy, it is not an insult, at least you don't have to see it as insulting. Therapy is an opportunity. And some would say, the best opportunity of a lifetime.

The following lists those behaviors which cannot go another day without therapeutic intervention:

-Thoughts/behaviors of physically harming self

-Thoughts/behaviors of physically harming others

-Psychosis

-Abusive behavior: verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, and/or sexual abuse

-Substance abuse/dependence

-Violating the rights of others

The following lists those issues which are causing more damage than one would suspect and I would recommend therapy to begin ASAP:

-Abuse victimization, past and/or present: verbal, emotional, physical, and/or sexual

-A traumatic even where you felt completely out of control of your mortality

-A depressed mood lasting two weeks or longer (inability to be motivated, experiencing little or no life satisfaction)

-Anxiety impeding regular daily tasks and/or relationships

-Few or no satisfying interpersonal relationships

-Eating problems

-Encopresis in children (pooping inappropriately)

-Enuresis (wetting bed/pants after previously being trained)

-Gross personality change in a child lasting more than two weeks, no identifiable trigger

-Sexual behavior concerns in a child

The following lists those issues which would benefit from therapy sooner rather than later:

-A mildly depressed mood lasting more than a year

-Life changes which have caused emotional strife/anxiety

-Loss, grief

-Difficulty being successful academically or at work

-Anger management problems including: name calling, belittling, aggressive words, aggressive behavior, impulsive behavior (not thinking through potential consequences before action), destruction of property

-Chronic opposition and/or defiance in a child older than age 5 (Parents, be ready to do more changing than the child)

The following lists issues which are not appropriate for therapy, unless you are willing to pay $120 per hour:

-Children not doing their chores

-Children ignoring their parents

-Children talking back to their parents

-Pet behavior problems unrelated to children's/owner's behavior problems (I wish I was lying)

*I am amazed how many people put me in this position to only punish me for being honest.

Dad, about boundaries, it's at least a 12 week course.

Manipulation?

I've noticed that Hippo has already started tuning me out. I can't believe this has started already, seriously. I did every 'good' parenting strategy I could think of to get him to put his toys away before bath tonight to only rip his dump truck out of his hands while he cried hysterically (it's a large mechanical truck which would likely kill him if he took it into the bath if you were wondering why I just wouldn't let him have it in the bath) and threw himself on the floor.

I've taken to getting him to listen to me by pretending one of his toys is talking to him. When he came to visit me at work today I used a puppet to talk to him and he was completely engaged for nearly ten minutes. It was incredible. So, tonight, when he was throwing a different fit unrelated to the dump truck situation I took a Little People Fireman and began talking to him in a funny deep voice. He began calming down when suddenly he hit the fireman out of my hand. It ricocheted off my face. Hippo has been on and off again aggressive to L and I throughout his life--never to anyone else--and this is concerning to me, as well as unacceptable. Instead of putting him in time out I pretended to have the fireman cry and say, "It hurts when you hit me." Hippo's eyes widened and he looked between the fireman and me and began crying so hard he couldn't catch his breath. Clearly he felt remorse (and I celebrated silently to myself). The fireman quickly recovered and told Hippo he forgave him, and then gave Hippo a hug and a kiss.

I learned to talk to toddlers this way from my sister. I went to the zoo with her and her oldest son years ago and she used a hilarious voice to pretend she was the big horned sheep we were viewing to talk to her then three year old. He was captivated. Maybe I'll have the fireman ask Hippo to clean the bathroom tomorrow.

Therapeutic Thursday/Saturday: Justification

I intended to post this Thursday, the flu got in the way.

Recently one of my couple clients came into session and related a VERY large fight they had which escalated to the point of her threatening to never allow him to see their children again and him swearing at her/name calling in front of their children. Can you just imagine the finger pointing that was going on in front of me. I said nothing, instead I wrote this on my office white board:

Others' bad behavior is never a good justification for our own bad behavior.

The fact that they were able to discuss this with each other, take personal responsibility for their bad behavior, and make plans how they will avoid such bad behavior in the future has given me/them a glimmer of hope that maybe their marriage will work out after all.

It turned out, this statement was applicable in nearly EVERY other session I had that week.

No wonder our world sucks so bad, is what I thought after that long week.

When we believe we are justified in aggression, violence, threats, verbal assault, insults, contempt/sarcasm, hatred, and other negative behavior after someone has 'wronged' us we are WRONG! Every time. No exceptions.

What ever happened to patience, turning the other cheek, and asserting our thoughts and feelings in a calm and rational manner? Or setting boundaries with the people who will not stop wronging us despite our healthy attempts to redirect them?

If you are like me and have messed up, have reacted to--instead of responding to--someone wronging you, take responsibility. Don't justify yourself.

Hint: Valid efforts to change your behavior in the future is the remedy--make a plan for new/different behavior when something/someone challenging crosses your path. Follow your plan. I know, this works for me (I know A LOT of challenging people...see post below).

Therapeutic Thursday: How To Be A Crappy Client

Nearly two years ago I had my last prenatal visit. I was 39.75 weeks pregnant and it was a Wednesday morning and I was wearing a green shirt I purchased from Target (I'm trying to remember what shoes I was wearing and it bothers me I can't recall. Very strange as I plan my outfits around the shoes I want to wear).

After the checkup my nurse midwife asked if I wanted to be induced, right then. I said, "YES!" very eagerly. She laughed at my enthusiasm and said, "Well, I know you've been uncomfortable." I fake-laughed my agreeance. My eagerness had nothing to do with my discomfort and everything to do with the fact that I a day full of crappy clients scheduled that I would rather birth a child than endure.

In order to become a crappy client you can do one of the following:

1. Swear at your therapist. The mother of all swear words followed by "you" is a therapist favorite.

2. Bang your head against your therapist's office wall. Throw in pulling your hair out and throwing the chunks extruded onto your therapist's office floor as an extra bonus.

3. Blame your therapist for the bad things that happen in your life, including being sent to jail after you: use drugs, assault a police officer, destroy property, refuse to comply with your court orders, etc.

4. Scream a lot in your therapist's 7'x7' office, with the door closed.

5. When you cry, howl.

6. Don't attend your scheduled appointments and DO NOT call ahead to cancel.

7. Arrive late to your scheduled appointments and then become belligerent when your therapist ends session at the scheduled time.

8. Threaten to sue your therapist for the following reasons: your therapist abiding by mandatory reporting laws and HIPPA laws.

9. Abuse your children and then blame your therapist when your children are removed by State Authorities.

10. Use drugs right before your scheduled session.

11. Do not shower within 24 hours of your scheduled appointment.

12. Wear pants/shorts with a hole in the crotch and sit spread eagle across from your therapist.

13. Blame your therapist for your lack of progress.

14. Take none of your therapist's advice/suggestions and complain that you are not making progress.

15. a. Blame your therapist when your marriage ends because you cheated on your spouse.

b. Blame your husband's therapist when your marriage goes array after your husband cheats on you.

16. a. Bring your infants/toddlers to session.

b. Pretend not to notice the smell of feces when your infant/toddler defecates during session.

17. Lie, compulsively, to your therapist.

18. Remain in denial for significant amounts of time, especially if someone else is picking up the bill.

19. Develop a crush on your therapist, making your therapist feel severely uncomfortable.

20. Do not pay your bill, owing your therapist up to $450.

21. Act as if your therapist should treat you for free, or nearly free.

22. Threaten to kill your therapist, your child's therapist, or your spouse's therapist.

23. Threaten to harm your therapist's family, especially their children.

24. Leave disagreeable messages on your therapist's voicemail, even threatening messages.

25. Call your therapist incessantly. Or call your therapist over menial things, like scheduling, when your therapist employs an assistant, with a separate phone number listed on your therapist's cards which they have given to you on several occasions, to do such menial things.

Yeah! Tractor!

He's saying, "Yeah, Tractor!" at the end of the clip. Hippo wants me to tell Grandma and Grandpa Sajovic "thanks for the awesome tractor!"

Merry Christmas!

Two thousand nine began with me cutting my hours to part time at the mental health center where I’ve worked as a youth psychotherapist for nearly five years. Part time has allowed me to build a much different life than I’ve ever had before. My new life is filled with playing with and teaching a toddler, continuing old and exploring new hobbies, hanging out with old and making new friends, and building a private practice.

Luke continued working as a Critical Care Nurse in the Neuro-Intensive Care and the Burn Trauma Units at the University of Utah Hospital. Most exciting, he was accepted to Oakland University’s (Michigan silly) Advanced Nursing program, to become a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist. We’re still waiting to hear from a few other schools but it looks like we will be moving in the fall. We are DREADING selling our house.

Henry continues to ‘light up our lives and fill our nights with song’ (or crying). Actually he has been sleeping through the night for way over a year. He turns two in March.

Henry speaks non-stop (mostly about tractors and trucks), he loves music of all genres and likes to sing and dance. A few months ago I thought it would be funny to teach him the Flashdance “She’s a Maniac” rapid foot dance and it has, very unfortunately, become his favorite song. He demands to watch the music video 10+ times per day. It’s driving us nuts.

I know every parent brags about their children and thinks their children are the best/cutest/smartest in the world, but Henry really is incredibly smart. He can identify the difference between letters and numbers—knows how to count to three, knows the first several letters of the alphabet (he even sings the ABC song), and knows many colors.

Henry is social with adults and children, befriending people at the store, at church, or anywhere we go. He gets excited about being out and about; he often begs to leave the house when we spend too much time (a couple of hours) at home. He loves spending time outside even in the bitter cold, visiting his “mamma” and “pop-pop” (grandma and grandpa) and all of his aunties and uncle next door, “helping” mommy clean and daddy fix things, and feeding “cows” with Pop-Pop. Mostly, he loves his “kitty.” He loves the cat so much it is adorable. He has never been rough with her (though the reverse is not true) and loves to kiss her, hug her, pet her, follow her around, toss cat toys to engage her, talk to her, etc. I have several names for her and he has learned them all.

We hope 2010 brings you peace and joy.

Love,

Myndi, Luke, and Henry

He was prepared to tell Santa "Ho ho ho" (sung to the tune of "Up On the Housetop") and to ask for a "fire truck" but at the last minute he chickened out. Between us, I think he will still get a fire truck.

A Thrill of Hope The Weary World Rejoices

I listened to Josh Grobin's, then Pavarotti's, then Il Divo's version of "O Holy Night" tonight in an effort to find the spirit of Christmas within myself. It wasn't until I heard the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's version accompanied by the Orchestra at Temple Square, during the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional, that I found it. "O Holy Night" is popularly sung with exuberance and power, highlighting the singer's voice training; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's version tonight was sung like a lullaby, which seems more appropriate. They captured the mood I would be feeling if I were there, in the stable, on that Holy Night.

(I love the orchestra's accompaniment--the strings, specifically the violins and the harp, were beautiful.) (The link above is the closest I could come up with, still good if not the version I heard tonight.)

It's been a rough few weeks, professionally and hence, personally. I have some difficult new cases, difficult new developments in some old cases, and general sense of malaise.

Being a witness to my clients' lives is always an honor, especially when they trust me enough to allow me into their deepest secrets and most painful moments. I marvel over the human spirit's ability to survive in the face of extremely horrific events. But, my marveling doesn't protect my spirit from damage. Hearing that one child has been a victim of so many traumatic events makes me look at the world through a troubled lens at times, like now. I know my spirit will mend, with time--and watching my client(s) heal--just like my body heals. Times like now, however, during holidays where I should feel cheery make tempering being a professional therapist and a human being difficult.

And, most difficult to write about, I am grieving my grandmother this year. She is no longer the woman who will usher in the Christmas season by having us over to decorate her tree and sit on Santa's lap. She will no longer hang mistletoe from the doorway between her front room and dining room. She won't make the most lovely Christmas ham I've ever tasted, or make the crescent almond cookies, or her Chex Party Mix we call 'snacks' in my family. No longer will she sit quietly, and very happily, while her family jibber jabbers about nothing in particular. My cousin, and BFF, will never again try and fit ourselves into her rocker at the same time, or gossip in her back room.

Every time I drink Cranberry juice, which she always served on Christmas, I will be reminded of her. Also, when I smell the yellow Vaseline Intensive Care hand lotion. I like the subtle smell of moth balls, because of her house, and how that smell would linger on my clothes after I'd been there. I will always be reminded of Saturday mornings and eating waffles with Grandma Hazel when I smell or hear brewing coffee. When I see my elongated dimples in the mirror I will continue to feel blessed I look something like her; she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in real life. I remember thinking, when I was a little girl, how lucky I was that God sent me to my family so she could be my grandma. I though, if I hadn't come to this family I wouldn't even know her, and how tragic that would be (I think I cried just thinking that I might not have known her). I consider her one of my life's greatest blessings and an exemplary example of extraordinary humble womanhood.

Finally, the cold that I could feel developing for the past three to four weeks, arrived in full force just as Hippo developed a heinous dry cough. And my house is a pigsty and I don't feel like doing anything about it.

And, there are a lot of events coming up which require a cheerful mood...

This thought, during the devotional, helped: maybe I was in the choir of angels in the field proclaiming glad tidings the first Christmas night. And suddenly, a thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, came over me.

Post Edit: Ending my brief tribute to my grandmother where I did left me feeling unfinished, and she deserves so much more. There are so many other memories, as she was an active member of my life until she developed dementia--which begs the thought of how I can be an active member of her life at a distance of 800 miles and with limited resources? Where is the place to record her legacy?

I'm Thankful

That a few weeks ago when I spilled 3/4 of a gallon of white paint on our cement porch and had to wake L up from his preparatory nap (for a graveyard shift) to help me clean up the mess, he didn't even act annoyed. Not even once.

And how did he know that gasoline would help remove it?

He's A Maniac

Hippo loves music, loves to dance. He's getting pretty good don't you think? Don't mind my poor singing.

He loves the music video so much he'll point to the computer and say, "Maniac?"

Assorted Hippo Moments

This was quite fun for Hippo, and quite a mess for me. He is wearing a headband.

Hippo, and we, LOVED these cowboy boots. It took all of our willpower to not buy them.

Hippo thought this 'coon' skin hat was so cool he should have been employed by the outdoor store as a live model since many people stopped to admire him and his hat. It took no willpower to NOT to buy this.

Haircut

Hippo has arrived at a stage where he is too busy to hold still for a portrait photo and so I don't have any good pictures of his complete haircut.

It Has Started

He's began demanding things. Like, to wear these sunglasses to dinner the other day.

This Is As Good As It Gets

This is the very best he can climb. He falls off by the time he gets to the third step.

Indian Summer, Premonition, and Forward Thinking

Hippo still loves tractors. Until this weekend he has been able to either ride a tractor or inspect one thoroughly nearly every day through the spring, summer, and fall. Our Indian Summer is officially over, it snowed two inches this weekend.

How can you resist a pile of leaves like this one?

Each year, since 2001, November 1st hits and L wakes me up at the crack of dawn rummaging around in the basement to find a shotgun to clean to prepare for the pheasant hunt. Unfortunately, this year he got one.

Unfortunately, this is not the end of this unfortunate story. That morning, November 1, 2009, I awoke to L madly rummaging around for a shotgun, and piling on layers of warm clothing. He excitedly reminded me he was off to hunt. I rolled my eyes, and rolled over back to sleep. I then dreamed a disturbing dream: L shot his first pheasant in more than eight years, he called me up to exclaim the exciting news to the only person in the State of Utah who abhors hunting (except the ones in Sugarhouse) and to tell me that he is not coming home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermists for a consultation over his recently shot game. Then, I dreamed he displayed the stuffed bird on our mantle for everyone who entered into our home to exclaim over as I looked on in horror.

I woke up and quickly forgot the dream. I began my daily routine and at about 11:00 am L called to say that he had shot his first bird in more than eight years and he wouldn't be home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermist for a consultation.

If you think you know where this is going...

I told him that I would divorce him if he came home with a stuffed bird. OR, he could spend his Christmas money on the project just to have it burned, by me, the second he left the stuffed bird unattended.

Needless to say, a stuffed bird has not been placed on our mantle.

What will we do when we no longer have a farm to roam? We met with a real estate broker this week. Selling our home is a large bite to swallow and warrants its own post, to come.

Therapeutic Thursday: Fear

Who says therapy has to be all talk?

This was very validating to me.

I've written about my extraordinarily wise mentor in the past. After a 30 minute soliloquy about feeling afraid she responded to my long non-inclusive speech by saying, "You can't be brave without being afraid." I've spent a lot of time and energy thinking about that since. Maybe Legacy can relate...

The Dancing Monkey Goes Trunk-or-Treating

One of the lamest things about Utah is "trunk or treat." This is where, instead of the traditional trick-or-treating, church/community members gather in a large parking lot and hand out candy out of their trunks. Popular thinking, around these parts, is that trick-or-treating is dangerous. It's rather curious that the entire neighborhood, that knows each other well, shows up to participate. It makes no logical sense to me.

Being the chronically annoyed folks we are, L came up with a gory alternative to the "trunk."

We really stole the show. As you can tell it was a smash hit (har, har) that had everyone coming back to our parking spot several times over--hence, why we ran out of candy within 10 minutes of arriving.

You may be wondering why we would participate if we think trunk or treating is so lame. Because what is the point of going trick-or-treating with a 19 month-old? We will definitely be trick-or-treating when he is old enough to be as excited about candy as Jerry Seinfeld (seriously, if you haven't heard this bit you are not experiencing all Halloween can be). For more go here.

This is a picture taken while we were driving the tractor home, with our dead guy on the hood. We couldn't resist driving around the neighborhood, though, and to see unsuspecting stranger's faces...priceless.

The following picture is from our city's Halloween bash last weekend. It was super fun until I saw an old, very dangerous, client and I grabbed Hippo/Monkey and got out of there as soon as I could. He got his face painted--a snake.

Is There Anything Cuter Than A Dancing Monkey?

Therapeutic Thursday: Healing, One Type Of

In eight years, working with a particular dangerous clientele, I have heard some disturbing things. I understand it comes with the territory and I am not naive enough to say, "I've heard it all," or even, "Nothing shocks me anymore." I hope that I will never say things like that. I hope for my sense of humanity and sanity I will not hear it all. I hope to always be shocked by the shocking; to not lose a sense of horror when something is horrifying. To do so, I believe, would be a level of acceptance and we, as the world, cannot be accepting of some things--the things that hurt others.

Every once in awhile, despite the experiences I have had, I hear something that revolts me so thoroughly I have difficulty maintaining composure. Maintaining composure during therapy is quite important. It is most important during the first therapy encounter (or intake) as the therapist must build a sense of rapport and trust with the presenting client in order for the therapy that will follow to be effective at all.

Yesterday I found myself in one such appointment. I met with a young women who believes her child (under the age of 12) needs counseling. When asked why she believes her child needs counseling she related an appalling story where her child had hurt another child. I usually type, verbatim what the parent says, while they talk and I found myself so stunned I couldn't type. I could feel my eyes bugging out and wondering if, the details of the story continued as graphically as they had started, I would lose my lunch.

I told her I was more concerned than I have ever been about a child, on the first appointment. I didn't get the sense that she was as concerned, which heightened my concern, and horror, tremendously.

Thank goodness, when the appointment was over, my boss with 25 years of experience treating the same clientele was in her office and I spilled my guts blinking rapidly back tears which felt like skewers on the back of my eyes. She gave me needed direction and told me what I had already done was exactly right. When a crisis arises it is human to need reassurance and wisdom's guidance.

Then, she asked, "You saw Hippo during the story didn't you?" She was wrong and right. I didn't see him as the victim, per se, but I had a primal rage I had never experienced before in my life--a mother's rage.

Further, I am extraordinarily frustrated at the lack of consequences the perpetrator will experience due to his age, and hence, the lack of justice the victim will receive.

***

Tuesday, in my private practice, I had an intake with a deeply depressed woman. Though the circumstances surrounding her depression are very different from the circumstances that have surrounded my past depression, I was reminded. Throughout that 90 minutes I battled my old demons to listen to hers. I went home feeling exhausted and worried for her...and for me.

***

Needless to say, it has been a troubling week. Driving home yesterday, just hours after the safe and secure facade I had built around myself had been shattered like a broken tempered windshield, I figured I should pray. In the seclusion of the car ride home I allowed the tears to come and pondered my conversation with God. I came up with no words--just feelings, worries. I wondered, how do I have a conversation with God when I have no words to say?

Later, after Hippo was in bed and I pulled up my favorite show, Bravo's Top Chef, I tried to relax and clear my thoughts.

Suddenly, Hippo began screaming from his crib, I looked over and begged L, with a desperate look, to check on him. L reminded me that since he has coddled Hippo so much that if he was the one to lay him back down then Hippo would want to get up and play. So, reluctantly I paused TiVo, climbed up 32 stairs, two flights, and was slapped across the face by the pungent smell of bile as I opened the door to Hippo's room. It didn't occur to me until I put my hand in a wet, warm, and chunky pile that Hippo had vomited for the first time in his life. I screamed. L came rushing in and snatched Hippo out of the crib and ran him to the bathroom and began cleaning him up. "I don't know what to do" I repeated hundreds of times while alternating between pacing up and down the hall and rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

Soon enough I was able to snap out of my panic attack and yell instead, "OH MY GOSH, HE HAS THE SWINE FLU!" repeatedly.

Soon after that, I was able to snap out of the swine flu panic and remove Hippo's sheets, blankets, and mattress pad and disinfect the mattress, crib rails, and carpet. I didn't even dry heave. I replaced the soiled sheets with crisp new ones and retrieved, for L, new pajamas and a clean diaper. We put him back to bed after determining he had no temperature and no other symptoms.

L and I descended 32 stairs, two flights, back to the basement and played Top Chef again, as I snuggled deeply into my Snuggie.

Ten minutes later, Hippo began screaming. We raced, together this time, up 32 stairs, two flights and through one door to discover Hippo vomiting large quantities. We repeated everything we had done merely ten minute before--except this time I did not panic. This time, however, the barf was much more extensive and all over the carpet. After Hippo was cleaned off again I held him against my chest while sitting on the top stair. L cleaned the carpet in the bedroom and in the hall. Hippo leaned his head back to look at me and asked me to rock him. So I did.

And then...

It wasn't a voice, it wasn't a blazing feeling but a thought, an answer to a wordless prayer: IT IS FINE. And, I realized I can and will protect my family. And, by chance if someone is wounded physically, emotionally, or spiritually along life's journey they will be healed. Just like I just was.

Vomit and healing. I would have never guessed. It's been 24 hours and Hippo and I continue to be healed.

***

As to what caused the vomiting? Food poisoning? We threw away several things he ate yesterday this morning and so hopefully there won't be any ralphing tonight. Because I'm healed, and I really don't want to clean anymore puke up (all by myself since L is at work).

Jenny, This One Is For You

Freud says there is no such thing as 'accidents.'

SO, when I analyzed why I kept forgetting your question, "How did L do in Michigan?" I figured I was too afraid to talk about it because I was afraid I'd jinx him.

Well, whether I was right or wrong I was definitely wrong to blow you off, on multiple occasions. You are a good friend and you deserve better.

Soooooooooooo, here's the answer: Apparently it went really well because....

LUKE WAS ACCEPTED TO OAKLAND UNIVERSITY (IN MICHIGAN) TODAY!He will be studying to become a Certified Nurse Anesthetist.

Oakland University made a personal call to tell him the news, isn't that nice? And, when the lady called him do you want to know what she said to him? She said, "We thought you were so great we wanted to offer your acceptance right after your interview!"

Since the Saturday before he left for Michigan I kept questioning whether spending $50 on a Donald Trump brand necktie was really a good idea. It turns out it was a very good idea. AND, do you want to know another good idea I had while aiding L in the application process? It was that he would owe me Manolo Blahniks for all my efforts (and patience). The only problem is, I have to wait until he graduates.

Lastly, I do not want to live in Michigan, so maybe he should owe me the Manolo Blahniks AND Jimmy Choos for being willing to move to Michigan.