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 |  My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT March 27th In your entry today, write about one of the most frightening moments of your life. I'm a mother and as such the most frightening moments in my life involve my children. Oh, there are numerous times my heart blocked my throat and all I could see was the immediate incident with all its unknowns. Adrenalin has bolstered me more times than I care to count. Who needs a stress test? I suppose the times I felt powerless to help my offspring were the most frightening. Events unfolded that I had no control over. One such incident happened almost sixteen years ago. My daughter-in-law, Terrilynn was rushed to the hospital in pre-mature labour with her second daughter. She had only celebrated her own birthday the day before and did not expect the arrival of Emily until late January. This was October. She underwent an emergency caesarian and Emily became a resident of the neo-natal intensive care unit. All I could do during that stressful day was fret, pace and care for my eldest granddaughter. I offered words of encouragement during one rushed phone conversation with my son. Events played out without my being able to comfort with hugs and my physical presence. I had no idea what was happening and what the outcome was. I had no experience with caesarian births and my mind raced with worry. The what-ifs and the unknowns were frightening. Was Terrilynn okay? How was Emily? How could I make this better? How was Chris coping? How dare this happen to my son and his family! Until the moment Emily arrived home Christmas Eve, every day brought more stress and worry. As a preemie, she battled to stay alive. She had to learn to breathe and to suckle. Luckily, she had no other health issues that might require surgery. This wee babe needed to gain weight and thrive. She needed to grow into her skin, literally. The first time I saw Emily in her incubator, I stared in wonder. She presented as a loose suit of skin, translucent skin exposing the outline of her tiny skeleton within. She was delicate and unlike the robust babies I'd known. I like to tell Emily that she was the length of a pencil, a new pencil, not a stubby. Fast forward many years and Emily caused another scare. I rushed my grandgiggle and her mother to the emergency room after a neighbour's dog attacked. Terrilynn and I were the frightened ones while Emily seemed to enjoy her experience. As the doctor stitched her cheek, Emily strained to see the procedure and she never shed a tear. The resultant scar eventually faded, but as it healed Emily liked to show it off. That silly Emily now muses about a fracture. She would like to break her arm just to feel what it's like. This 'wish' may be because my son is all too familiar with his own fractures. So far, she remains unenlightened. |
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