Navigating humans

For as long as I can remember, I've struggled with conflict. The idea of having disagreeable conversations usually makes me want to run for the hills, resulting in a shakiness that can easily be discerned. Over the years, I've gotten better about advocating for myself. Swallowing the fright in order to talk through things that are unavoidable. But I'm still awful at the hard stuff. And am particularly bad at fighting with people who refuse to meet me anywhere in the middle or see the pain they've caused.

Which makes this past week all the more interesting. Since the revelation earlier this week, I've been struggling with how to deal with the Beats' teachers. Though I have been communicating with the directors of the center, trying to put a plan in place for actions after the assessments, I haven't been able to even make eye-contact with the ones who filled out the assessments. A part of this is a preventative measure. I'm literally so angry that I'm worried about saying things that can never be taken back. Hence a cooling off period is required. But the root of all of this comes from trust being broken. Forgiving being lied to and betrayed.

As I've been wrestling with this, I've also been reflecting on relationships that ended or where a break was needed. In each, an obvious theme has emerged: empathetic or invested communication. The willingness to hear the other party as well as be heard. And it's that latter part that has had me thinking a lot; the need all of us have to be heard.

I'm no stranger to dealing with "hear me" arguments. Just last week, I had a very frustrated student meet with me as they didn't see the need to complete the assignments required for the course (nor for the requirement of this course in general), with it being clear they are feeling forced to spend their time on something they don't see as worthwhile. Other examples come with landlord disputes, arguments with friends and loved ones and even daily dealings at work or with family. In every case, there's a need to be heard, to give one a glimpse inside their heads or reasoning process.

There's value in being heard. It's a self-preserving act that can offer a lot of insight and if presented well can offer insights into a road forward. The conflict comes, though, when the "being heard" shifts from a balanced exchanged to being more one-sided. The reasons for the shift can range from wanting to appease/not rocking the boat to one party refusing to entertain opinions, experiences or insights that conflict with their own. It's this shift that leads to "us vs. them"/ black-and-white thinking fueling wide-ranging disputes, conflicts and even wars.

In 2012, the university I was working at invited Daryl Davis to speak on campus. Though I was unable to attend Mr. Davis's talk, I remember the outcry that arose around campus of seeing the lecture advertisement posters. Many were upset by the image of Mr. Davis shaking hands with a man wearing a KKK robe, demanding that the posters immediately be removed. The end result was that the posters were taken down, but it was only months later that the conversation was able to be resolved, with some of the students who originally demanding the removal having an "ah-ha" moment about what the imaginary was actually about and the power of the message behind it. As I overheard later in during conversations with colleagues, the intention of "being heard" had resulted in their failure to be open to actually hear.

So what the hell does any of this have to do with my current situation? Well, the root of it is once again in this dynamic. Specifically, as Grey pointed out, likely in an effort of the teachers to help us out. The reason for not communicating any worries or concerns likely comes down to not wanting to upset either Grey or me. But then there's the hurried response of filling out these assessments in order to make sure this process isn't being held up. The problem is, in this assumption of "hearing" us, a situation has been created that has resulted in a lot of heartache. Speaking with the other director yesterday, he acknowledged that though there are some of the things in the assessments are true, others are not and that things should have been done with a lot more care. But instead of pushing back on us, requesting for more time or asking for help, the push was to help us along.

All this leaves me trying to determine how to navigate this situation going forward. But also a general acknowledgement that navigating humans is insanely hard. Sometimes ending relationships has been required as there's no way to resolve the imbalance. But I don't think that's the case in this situation. There's still hope, even though the conversations to restore the balance are going to be painful.

The next hurdle

I've lost track of the number of times I've started this post. Maybe its out of fear of what will come from revealing too much, that will somehow translates to those reading as a justification for infertility or that somehow I'm less deserving to parent. But given the closing of the ear tube chapter and my previous experience with falling outside the norm and how seeking help lead to a much happier outcome, silence no longer makes sense.

So here we go. Please bear with me.

In June, Grey and I sat down to a meeting with the director at the daycare the Beats current attend. We were 3 months into being a part of this new center, but already things were rocky both there as well as at home. Sitting across the table from the director, she told us she had concerns for both kids and suggested it would be beneficial to reach out to special education through the school district to request assessments.

Somehow, I managed to hold back the tears that were choking me, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand and getting the ball rolling on seeking help. But there was so much doubt that surfaced that day as I was told both of them were struggling. Thoughts like "maybe this was why you are infertile" and "you've failed them as a parent" whipped through my brain as I made those first phone calls.

And if I'm being honest, those thoughts still creep in.

After a couple of false starts due to the pending move and them being aged-out of one system, the official requests were put in and all the paperwork was scanned, copied, filled out and sent off. A phone call with the special education director left me feeling hopeful of a process that could work and plans were quickly made for school visits. As of last Monday, following their initial round of assessments and feedback that the Beats had done well, I was feeling hopeful. After all, both of them have also been maturing and we were getting use to the center. Maybe we were turning a corner?

Yesterday, that fallacy came crashing down. After being sent home with teacher assessments (which I don't believe they intended me to review), I found myself in full panic mode. As Grey reviewed the forms, remarking in disbelief what he was seeing, I fired off an email to the center director informing her of my concern and demanding an immediate meeting. I was so upset that I couldn't look at my email until the morning for fear of the response.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep much anyway.

Today has been a hard day. I've done more crying than I have in a long time. I want my kids to be okay and I want to give them the help they need in order to thrive in this world. I'm also acutely aware that no parent reacts well when they hear anything negative about their child(ren). Unpleasant news is probably the hardest thing any teacher will ever deliver.

But I also have been feeling betrayed. I feel I was lead to believe something (that everything was getting better and would be okay) only to have that all ripped away. The foundation I thought was being laid is actually filled with cracks. And I struggle because that foundation is meant for the Beats, resulting in me in a mode where I cannot even interact with their teachers as trust has been broken.

So we're at a point where we're rebuilding. An impromptu meeting with the other center's director helped set us down that road and I'm trying to put a plan into place for going forward. But damn it's all so hard and it makes me question myself and my role again and again. And it makes me particularly testy with anyone who decides now would be a good time to offer advice.

Tonight I'm facing this next hurdle, even though I really don't want to.

Washington Dreamin

It's been a warm few days. Almost as if summer hasn't gotten the memo that it's now officially autumn. But the plants know: the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and the grass is no longer growing in an uncontrollable manner. There's also the betrayal in the crispness of the mornings, signaling the pending transition.

As I watch the leaves fall from the tree in our yard, I have flashes back to autumns in Seattle. The colors present in the trees in late October with a backdrop of green. Memories of hikes on autumn mornings or late afternoon escapes into the mountains to get in a few climbing routes before winter set in.

Washington Dreamin for a chapter of my life that once was. Knowing that though we are building a life here, with a lot of good along the way, that I miss my home. And so with each falling leaf, I dream of what once was and silent say a prayer that one day soon we'll get to go back.

After

They woke up together. The nurse alerting us that He-Beat was awake first, but we could see that She-Beat was waking up as soon as we walked into the recovery room. Immediately Grey and I split up, each of us attending to a kid. Cuddling them as they emerged from the anesthesia, making sure they had access to pain meds and fluids.

This time was completely different from 2 years ago in every way. Instead of awaking crying, they were both quiet, seeming to trust the nurses and all that had happened. But given that the whole day had been different from the beginning, starting with us telling them about the surgery, them being very aware of the vitals that were being taken and, most importantly, going under anesthesia in a calm manner, cooperating with the anesthesiologist by playing breathing games instead of being forced by having the mask held to their faces. The calm beginning and the calm ending.

A fitting ending to a 4 year saga involving ears.

*****************
The saga began when the Beats were about 6 months old and caught their first colds. While most parents in the infant room where freaking out with stuffy noses, we found ourselves in the ER due to abnormally high fevers. "Ear infections" was the diagnosis and us being sent home with antibiotics. We were told it would clear up. It wasn't long before the ER visits became a regular thing.

As time went on, a new problem began to emerge with She-Beat not meeting milestones. While her brother was rolling over, crawling and walking, she was seemingly uninterested in doing anything other than sitting up. I remember expressing concern to her physicians and caregivers, all with the assurance that she just needed more tummy time. It wouldn't be long before she fell outside the normal range and we found ourselves in physical therapy. All the while on the back burner was the concern of continual ear infections.

Looking back, the connection is clear. The accumulation of fluid was giving She-Beat vertigo that no amount of tummy time would cure. But we didn't know that during that first ENT appointment at Seattle Children's. All we knew was there were too many ear infections, concern about continuous exposure to antibiotics, that hearing for both Beats was negatively impacted and that as an aside She-Beat had a gross-motor delay.

If I could go back to my younger, substantially stressed and frightened self, I would hug her. I would hug her so tight, wiping away those tears and allowing her to express all the fears and worries that she was holding close to her chest for fear of sounding petty or jealous of those that were not experience any milestone delays. And tell her that not only was it all going to be okay, but that something amazing was going to happen following a seemingly simple procedure. That these simple medical devices were about to change our lives for the better and that the journey we would be taking as a family was going to make all of us stronger.

It was just a matter of surviving the scariness that came with surgery. 7 surgeries total by the time we would be all done.

****************
As I sat in the waiting room, waiting to be called back to the recovery area, I found myself scrolling through old photos from the day of their first surgery. My uncle and aunt had been kind enough to accompany me to the surgery center to help keep the Beats distracted before surgery and then be in the recovery room. There were a series of photos that made my heart skip beats, but there's one of He-Beat with Grandpa T that particularly stuck: A "before" photo that has forever been etched in my brain.

30 mins later, with them sitting side-by-side in a wheelchair to be wheeled out of recovery to the awaiting car, I would capture my "after" photo.

Before and after. And a story in between.

#MicroblogMondays: Round 3

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Tomorrow the Beats have surgery to remove their ear tubes. It's been 2 years since their last set has been placed (and 2 years since She-Beat's cholesteotoma surgery) and as the tubes haven't fallen out (T-tubes rarely do), its time for them to be removed.

Despite this being routine, I'm nervous. Nervous for the anesthesia, nervous about them cutting into both my babies. Nervous about the risks involved and the what ifs. Sure, this isn't major surgery and it could be a lot worse (as someone who clearly has never gone through this kindly reminded me this morning). And this needs to be done. Plus we have a good surgeon doing these surgeries; something I spent close to 3 months navigate insurance in order to secure.

Still, what if something doesn't go as it should? What if this time something happens that's different? 

And why can't I just trade places with both of them, having the doctors cut into me instead? All for the same benefit to them, but any and all risks being on my body instead.

Just add vodka

My career is on a rollercoaster at the moment. There are many, many high moments, where everything is exciting and there seems to be so much potential. But then there are the lows. The emails that start out with "We're really interested, but . . ." Or the seemingly simple tasks that turn into mountains in almost a flash.

Yesterday was filled with those lows. After spending the morning nursing a migraine, what should have been a simple experiment proved far more complex. Hours later, with no clear answer in sight (I think the issue is the filters, but need to test), I got an email that basically killed with grant writing endeavors for a program I want to get off the ground. The cherry on top was running into someone who was an undergraduate while I was a graduate student. Turns out he has not only finished his PhD, but is now the founder of a start-up in the same facility the community lab is housed. Clearly I have been slacking for the past 6 years.

Evidence of complete failure

I know, I know: "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade" (thank you Dale Carnegie). And really, there's a lot of good that is still happening, even though I feel completely out of sorts with it all at the moment.

Still, sometimes (often times), I just want to add vodka. Anything to dull the pain that is in my head, blurring out the anxiety that comes from realizing that the clock ticking.

Through his eyes

He-Beat has discovered the camera on my phone. It always makes me laugh to find these crazy surprises later on, seeing how unfocused they all are.

Still, it's interesting to see the world through his eyes.