WHO ARE YOU TEACHING TO DANCE?

The Sun Comes After the Rain
photo by Kat 2007

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

“How do you keep going?” Toby asked me when I took care of Husband after hot pulp from a paper mill digester had spewed over his body. At the time, I didn’t think about it. I did the necessary—took care of two elementary aged girls, four-year-old son and of course, a man in horrendous pain.

“How do you keep going?” Laurie asked me twenty-three years later when Husband suffered a nervous breakdown. I answered her with a lot of screaming and yelling. Laurie had become my ear, my listener and walking buddy. Several times a week she picked me up, we drove to the river and walked the boardwalk. I bawled, complained, yelled, cried and finally wound down before Laurie drove me home. By the time I arrived home, I once again committed myself to love and take care of the man I didn’t understand.

“How do you keep going?” Debbie asked me ten years later when doctors diagnosed Husband with a rare cancer, pseudomyxoma peritonei, which originated in his appendix. I shrugged, knowing I wasn’t coping well, but hiding my fear and anxiety from family, friends and Husband.

The obvious answer to each question was, “I pray for wisdom and peace every day. I ask the Lord to give me the strength to get through the necessary and have enough energy left over to have fun.” But now I understand more than the obvious.

When Mom took care of me through six months of breast cancer treatment, I realized why I could keep going—because Mom did. From my childhood I'd watched her take care of others. She modeled the role of caregiver before me.

All of us are teaching others to laugh, live and love whether we know it or not.

Still Lionhearted, Kat 

IMPORTANT LETTERS BEHIND MY NAME

Nazarene Bible College, Colorado Springs, CO

God doesn't call the qualified, HE qualifies the called.

I’m a graduate with degrees. My college education consisted of two years of college courses teaching me to be the preacher’s best wife and three years of training as church pianist.

Mrs. G. B. Williamson and Nazarene Bible College honored me with a PW—Preachers Wife Certificate . Someplace I still have it, although it never hung on the wall. Those years of training served me well during our years of ministry. 

My apartment complex neighbors in Colorado Springs can attest to my earning every bit of my HPC—Hymn Playing Certificate. Every day I practiced for hours in our apartment complex. Four years later when our second church needed a pianist, Husband said, “You have the degree, you can do it.” And I did.

There are those other degrees I hold also. My PHT came with great honor when Husband graduated. I had worked at JC Penney, babysitting, teaching cake decorating and typing for five college students by the time he graduated. I earned every letter of my PHT—Put Hubby Through.

I think the hardest earned degree is one Husband said I earned—my DDSHK—Doctrine of Divinity from the School of Hard Knocks.

One of the toughest assignments arrived at my door when circumstances said, “To graduate from this SHK course, you will work 24/7, exercise the patience of Job, and develop a new measure of grace and forgiveness. When you graduate, your title of “Caregiver” will be imprinted on your heart and soul forever.”  

Still Lionhearted, Kat 

Retro Piano Keys--They look like my old upright piano keys.
www.freedigitalphotos.com 

Who Are Your Neighbors

When we moved into our home eighteen years ago this month, our neighbors across the alley introduced themselves. Gladys and Bob, both about 80, filled us in on the history of the neighborhood. How everyone had lived in the area for over forty years except the young couple to the east of us. “They aren’t too friendly,” Bob said. “Police are over there too many times.”

His last statement didn’t seem to bother husband, but the thought of the police being their often didn’t give me much comfort.

Winter came early and husband shoveled snow. He started at our driveway, then the alleyway for Bob and Gladys and our vehicles, on around the corner for Lillian’s, the widow next door. He finished up by coming down our front sidewalk. Bob let husband use his snow blower. That made the clearing out the white stuff easier.

The snow seemed to hang around forever that year. Often Gladys and Bob asked us in for coffee and cookies after the snow removal.

When spring came husband and I introduced ourselves to our neighbors—all but the young couple next door—although their children talked to us, the parents did not. Husband said not to worry about it, but I invited the kids into our house several times. The ten-year-old boy I’ll call Jim had a reputation for destructive behavior in the neighborhood. I figured if we became friends, maybe he wouldn’t destroy our property. (I’m being honest. I really did think friendship might work miracles.)

So when I second-handed I found clothes and toys for the three kids next door. One day after I delivered a sack of goodies to their house, the father followed me out into the yard.

“Don’t do that again,” he snarled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t have kids here and I enjoy your children’s visits. These cost me little or nothing and I just wanted to share.”

“Well, all right.” And with that he stomped back into his house.

I backed off the gift giving for awhile.

In May 1996 my father and mother drove to Omaha from Oregon. Dad cut down several trees in our yard and when he had to “limb” the trees and haul the wood to the street, he asked Jim to come help him. Dad could talk about anything and he and Jim became friends. Buddies. Dad called Jim “Butch.” Have you ever noticed a nickname gives you a warm-fuzzy-special- type of person feeling?

The middle of June my parents left Omaha to drive back to Oregon. Thirty-six hours later my father was killed in a car crash. When we received the word, we alerted our neighbors and told them we would be gone for a period of time—we didn’t know how long.

When husband and I walked next door to our “unfriendly young couples” house, the house where the police still visited too often, we wondered what kind of response we might get to our news.

The children cried when they heard that Grandpa Orin died and that Grandma June was in the hospital. The father also had tears in his eyes. He looked at me and said, “I’m so sorry to hear the news about your dad. He was a good man. He was really good to my son. We’ll watch your house for you, don’t worry about anything.”

And we didn’t worry about our house or anything in it while we were gone. The effort to befriend children opened the door to touch a heart and possibly build a neighborly friendship.

Most Patients Need a Medical Advocate

Enjoy a Threesome

My sister Karla has suffered with a knee problem for over a year. She’s had surgery. Been on crutches. Walked with a cane. More surgery—the doctor scraped the bone. No relief from swelling or pain.

She’s seen a family practice doctor, a surgeon, an orthopedic surgeon, an infectious disease doctor. She’s spent time in the hospital with IV’s and at home with home health and more IV’s. I can’t remember how many doctors have tried to drain the fluid from her knee. Several put the icky fluid in a Petri dish to grow—trying to find the cause of the problem.

Nothing grows.

When Karla’s knee swelled to horrific proportions, the orthopedic doctor said, “Probably more surgery, but I’m sending you to a rheumatologist first.”

My sister Karen and Lil, Karla’s friend, accompanied Karla to the new doctor appointment. All three ladies fell in love with the doctor.

“He’s just wonderful. He said he has absolutely no idea what my problem is, but he didn’t recommend surgery again.” No wonder Karla liked him.

Lil and Karen are still Karla’s advocates. Between the two they remember everything Karla complains about between appointments and then share the details with the doctor.

At the last appointment the doctor asked Karla why she didn’t call him when she had a problem. She shrugged. The doctor turned to Lil and Karen. “Here’s my card. If she says anything about the pain, swelling or whatever….call me. We are going to figure this out—together.”

My two-cents: Never be ashamed to ask someone to attend a doctor visit with you. 

What I Learned from Breast Cancer

In April 2009 I did the squeeze, squash yearly mammogram thingie. The radiologist said he saw no problems and in a few days I received the card. The card that confirms there are no problems. But in June I found a red spot on my left breast.

I ignored it like you do a mosquito bite. When it didn’t go away, husband and I talked about it. Like, after all, what could it be? The yearly mammo didn’t show a problem. By late July husband gave me the ultimatum, “You will call a doctor tomorrow.”

Tuesday morning I saw our primary care doctor. She sent me to a surgeon at a cancer center that afternoon. Husband became my number one advocate and cheerleader—until he died right after my fifth chemo.

Crawford's Smoothie

REMEMBER, AS KATIE FROM NO NAME NUTRITION SAYS, THIS IS JUST A SUGGESTION. 

It did work for husband. He had lost from 240 to 153 while struggling with Psuedomyxoma Peritonei (PMP). A few weeks after his surgery at Creighton University, I drove husband to No Name in West Omaha. Katie looked at husband and said, "This is what I'd do...." So we followed her advice and husband started to gain weight.

Protein Smoothie:

:
1 Cup rice milk
1 banana
1 heaping teaspoon ALL ONE POWDER multiple vitamins and Minerals.
1 Tablespoon Udo oil
1 heaping scoop of rice or whey protein*
2 Tablespoons hydrolyzed collagen protein*

Pour the rice milk in a blender, add banana and pulse. Add powder and UDO oil. Then the proteins. If you use the Tablespoon for the oil and then the hydrolyzed protein, the hp will come off the spoon easier.

Not sure husband’s tummy could stand the oatmeal in the beginning, but eventually he added about 2/3rds cup steel cut or hard oats and then blended on high.

About the time Katie suggested the above smoothie a doctor listed a similar recipe in a Sunday Parade. His didn't have the extra protein, but he added all that other stuff and feeds it to his kids every morning.

Also, husband used Barley Max. Sometimes he added 2 spoons to his shake. Healthy, healthy stuff.

*I use rice protein --I'm allergic to so much stuff. Husband likes vanilla whey.
Hydrolyzed Collagen is by Twinlab LPP regular (contains predigested whey protein)"

*Use rice or almond milk (not soy. Soy is too hard to digest and remember, no dairy.)

God Knows What He is Doing

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12

While in Nebraska, a doctor diagnosed Pastor Gene with dementia and suggested he leave the ministry. His wife wanted to live closer to family and preferred California near their oldest son. When a church in that area heard that Pastor Gene was moving to their community they asked him to consider being their minister.  

“I’m too forgetful,” Gene said.

“We all forget things, we want you to come,” each board member reassured him. 

For three or four more years Gene served as minister. He remembered God’s Word well and the congregation appreciated his messages. He also visited shut-ins, presided over the board and put out the usual fires between musicians.

One Christmas the changes in the platform, the added tree and decorations, confused him. He had no idea what to do. Von whispered directions to him, “Stand up…..preach now….pray a closing prayer.” That night Gene cried.

 

“Von, I didn’t know where I was.” They made arrangements for retirement. Still, he drove a car.

 “Kat, pray,” I heard the panic in Von’s voice. “Gene is lost. We have an APB out on him.” 

For the next 23 hours police and neighboring communities searched for Gene. Von called, “A policeman found him on the freeway. He was supposed to pick me up from Walmart. He got on the freeway and drove until the car ran out of gas. The police took him to a hospital. He’s fine physically.” 

A couple days later I called and Gene answered the phone. “Sounds like you had a great trip, Gene.” 

“Yes, I did. I left home with $3.00 in my pocket and when I came home I had $3.00 in my pocket. I was having a good time and didn’t even know it.” He sounded like the old teasing Gene I’d known for years. “You should see the picture they put out for me. It’s pretty good. I should smile more often,” he said. 

Later that week Gene gave Von the car keys. “You can’t believe what a relief that was. I dreaded telling him he couldn’t drive,” Von told me.

Not long after that horrific experience, Gene handed his car keys to Von.

“That incident convinced Gene he should never drive again. It was such a great blessing for us (the family). That trip helped us avoid the drama of taking his keys,” Von said. “God knows what He is doing,” she added.

I wonder how many Alzheimer and dementia caregivers question that phrase, “God knows what He is doing?” The journey with Gene stretched Von’s faith, yet she knows God walked beside her, every step of the journey.