Archives for January 2011

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Make A List, Check It Twice…

January 23, 2011 By

They should provide customized checklists when they issue children to parents.  I mean, think about it.  We pop out these babies, and we follow the generalized instructions in baby books, which pretty much say the following:

  • Whenever the baby cries, shove a nipple in its mouth.
  • Rest when the baby rests.
  • Establish a consistent bedtime routine.
  • Don’t let the baby sleep on his tummy.
  • Cover a baby boy’s willy with a washcloth during diaper changes to avoid being peed on.

There is very little consideration given to the fact that:

  • said nipple is attached to a human being who is capable of feeling physical pain from literally being sucked dry, and besides, baby bites on nipples can really hurt, even when no teeth are present;
  • when the baby is resting, Mom actually has time to take a shower or, you know, eat;
  • babies will throw up on parents who try to impose routines that they don’t like;
  • if the baby is very determined to sleep on his tummy, there’s very little you can do about it;
  • baby boy willies can be very wayward and have a mind of their own.  Kind of like grown-up mens’ willies.

And that’s before you even get into the individual differences between regular babies.  I’m sure new parents would appreciate knowing up front that their child will barf all over their nice new couch, that their daughter will like peas until the age of four and then start throwing them at everyone, and that Junior will be sent to the principal’s office on the first day of Kindergarten.  Don’t you think our lives as parents would be much easier if we knew ahead of time what contingency plans should be made?

Things get even more complicated when you add a child with special needs into the mix.  While I would certainly want the ability to eliminate the things that George finds frustrating or distressing, I would not want to change who he is (who would?  The kid is SWEET!). However, it would have been good to know some things about him right from the beginning.  My checklist for George would include the following:

  • He’s going to bang his head when frustrated, so you are going to have little dents all over your drywall.
  • Baby-proofing devices will not even slow him down, so don’t waste the money.
  • By the time he is five, there will be no such thing as a “good place to hide stuff”.
  • He will find out the password to your YouTube account simply by watching you type it in.  Very visually oriented, these autistic kids.
  • He will be freakishly good on the computer, and he will be counting backwards from 100 in increments of 3 by the age of four.
  • You will need several large boxes to store all of the Mr. Potato Head stuff, but you won’t mind because Mr. Potato Head will prove to be a major catalyst for speech.
  • He will use Lego for stimming.  You will have to make sure you have plenty of the long Lego pieces in pink and yellow.  If you don’t have the same number of pink and yellow Legos, there will be meltdowns.
  • He’s going to know how to fix your DVD player!
  • He’s going to rip down your mother-in-law’s wallpaper and write his name in Magic Marker on her couch.

And what about James?  What would his checklist say?  Let’s see…

  • He’s going to be obsessed with cars so you may as well start collecting them now.
  • He’s going to come flying out like a cannonball at birth and he’s going to just keep going.
  • If he’s anywhere near water and you’re within a thirty-foot radius, you will get soaked.
  • He’s going to go to the emergency room five times in his first four years.  He’ll just be that kind of kid.
  • Don’t let him anywhere near the diaper cream.
  • Don’t let him anywhere near the talcum powder.
  • Don’t let him anywhere near the toothpaste.
  • Be prepared for the fact that he will publicly ask his Granny if she has a willy.

The checklist would also say that the boys will fight like cat and dog but they will be the best of friends, that George will make off-the-charts progress after his autism diagnosis, and that parenting would be the best thing to ever happen to me.

I love my boys.  They are a joy and and adventure.

Filed Under: babies, parenting, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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We Apologize For The Interruption…

January 22, 2011 By

I find myself unable to write today.  It’s not that I have nothing to write about.  Material is plentiful – I just spent the day at a phenomenally good autism conference, at which I learned a lot and met some valuable contacts who could potentially help me to help George to help himself.

But that will be another post for another day.

Today my mind is in a dark place, one that I really don’t want it to be in.  I cannot write about this dark place, and because I am currently consumed by it, I cannot write at all.  I need to focus my energy on snapping out of this funk.  In an attempt to lighten the mood, however, I will share a picture that makes me laugh every time I see it, no matter how bad I might be feeling.

This is a picture of George when he was a few months old.  You gotta admit, the facial expression is priceless.

George, thinking - what, exactly?

I will be back tomorrow…

Filed Under: Photography, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , ,
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Getting Roped In

January 21, 2011 By

"Peep And The Big Wide World" by George

A few months ago, George went through a phase of tying one end of a rope to his ankle, and the other end to the ankle of a willing or not-so-willing participant.  He would then insist that the other person walk with him to wherever he wanted to go. He didn’t care what the other person was doing, so frequently I found myself trying to cook dinner or do the laundry with a kid attached to my ankle.  He also didn’t mind who the other person was, as long as they had two legs and the ability to walk.  Guests to our home would discover that there was suddenly a child at their feet tying up their ankles.

The rope wasn’t always a rope.  Usually, it was a bathrobe cord, which meant that every time I needed to put on a bathrobe, I would stalk around the house cursing while I looked for a cord to tie it with.  When I got the brilliant idea of hiding the bathrobe cords, my mother-in-law’s measuring tapes started disappearing, much to her consternation.

Initially, we weren’t sure what all of this ankle-tying business was all about. The whole thing loosely resembled a three-legged race, but we couldn’t think where George would have been exposed to that.  We’re pretty sure they don’t do that kind of thing at the therapy centre.  Lord, can you imagine trying to do that with a bunch of kids who all have autism?  But we went with the three-legged race thing because we just couldn’t think of what else it could be.

At around the same time, both of the boys were discovering YouTube videos featuring Peep And The Big Wide World, a children’s TV show that remains a firm favourite with both of them. You should listen to the theme song – it is very catchy.  I have to confess that I find the show itself kind of catchy.  Shut up!  I know I’m 41 but I can still be a kid, can’t I?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqikhlUodC8]

To provide context for the rest of this story, I have to give you a brief outline of the cast of characters in this show.
Peep – a baby chick who has just emerged from his egg, who is very curious and wants to explore the world that he finds himself in.
Chirp – a baby robin who has a strong sense of fairness, and frequently finds diplomatic solutions to a problem.  Her biggest ambition is to be able to fly.
Quack – a purple duck who I think actually looks more like a grape with legs.  He is obsessed with wearing a hat (a characteristic he shares with George), and he is very vain and bossy.  He thinks the sun shines out of his you-know-where.

So anyway, one evening I happened to be passing the kids’ computer while they were watching a YouTube episode of Peep.  And all of a sudden the whole rope-around-the-ankle thing fell into place.  In this particular episode, Chirp and Quack somehow find their legs joined by a rope, so they have to go everywhere together.

All of this time, George had been replicating this episode.

Can we take just a moment to consider the significance of this?  George was engaging in PRETEND PLAY!  For a child with autism, this is through-the-roof HUGE! What made it even bigger was the fact that it was pretend play that required a partner.

Hmmm.  Pretend play that incorporates social interaction. To borrow a phrase coined by my online autism support group, Holy Moly Shit! This represents an exciting chapter in George’s development.  He has outgrown this phase now, and he has not engaged in much pretend play since then, but it’s the potential that strikes me.  The fact that he CAN.  If it’s happened once, it will happen again.

Shortly after the ankle-tying phase came to an end, George drew his first real picture (i.e. the first picture that actually depicted something other than scrawls and scribbles).  I was most amused – and highly thrilled – to see that the picture was an illustration of George’s favourite Peep episode.

This kid astounds me. From time to time, he does these amazing things to remind me of what he can achieve if given the opportunity.

Archimedes said it best: “Give me a place to stand and I can move the earth.”

Filed Under: autism, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Giving Blood, Giving Life, Giving Hope

January 20, 2011 By

I sit in the chair across from the nurse, anxiously waiting for that tiny little needle to pierce the end of my finger.  Has it worked?  Has my healthy eating, strict regimen of iron-enriched vitamins, and consumption of gross vegetable juice made my blood as healthy as it needs to be? If I am turned away now, I will be pissed off.

I am lost in my thoughts, willing my blood to cooperate, trying to analyze everything I’ve eaten in the – OUCH!  Holy crap!  For a tiny little needle that HURTS!

Not as much as the big fat needle going into my arm is going to hurt.

Not as much as the multitude of agony that Captain Snuggles has endured over the last five months has hurt.

It’s a tiny little needle, don’t be such a baby.

The nurse puts a little smear of blood onto a slide and feeds it into a machine.  She tells me that the number has to be 125 or higher.  We wait for a few seconds, the machine beeps, and…

…154.  YES!  As I follow the next nurse into the next screening area, I imagine my healthy blood cells, marching around my body like sergeants, getting ready for deployment into the next human body that needs them.

Screening goes well.  My temperature is good.  My blood pressure prompts the nurse to tell me I must work out a lot.  My heart rate is slightly elevated because I am excited to be doing this.  No lesions or bruises on my arms, all of my questionaire answers are acceptable.

I am deemed Fit To Donate.

I am taken to a row of folding chairs, where I take a seat and wait my turn.  I know that my friend extraordinaire and maid of honour Michelle is a short way behind me in the process.  I look for her and she is not in the room; she is probably in the screening area telling the nurse whether she has ever taken money for sex or taken cocaine intravenously.

As I am waiting, a man starts to pass out with his blood in mid-flow.  The kindly woman seated beside me looks at my “First Time Donor” sticker (which I feel entitled to since my one and only donation attempt, over 20 years ago, ended in disaster and could not be completed) and says, “Don’t look at him.  He’s a man.  Us girls can handle this!”

I am led to one of the stations, and as I take my seat in the thing – it’s not a chair; it’s not a bed; what’s the word for it? – I imagine those blood cell sergeants lining up in my arm, getting ready for their marching orders.

Michelle takes a seat on one of the folding chairs, which means I can talk to her instead of looking in the direction of the nurse who is taping tubes to my arm in an ominous manner.  I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and – the needle is in!  Those little sergeants have started marching!  I imagine the blood cells in the Captain’s body straightening up and getting their act together (because let’s face it, they have been slacking off in the last little while).  I imagine them coming together, strong and whole, forming a line of defence against illness and infection.

As my blood flows out of me, I imagine Captain Snuggles getting better.  I picture his broken body healing, becoming whole.

My actual blood will not get to Captain Snuggles.  But it will get to someone who needs it.  Captain Snuggles, through his suffering, will have saved a life.  Many lives, since I am now committed to being a regular donor.

It takes less than ten minutes.  When the needle is removed, I sit in my thing-thats-not-a-bed-or-chair for the prescribed five minutes.  There is more fiddling with my arm and bandages, and then I am permitted to go and sit down in the cookie and juice room (no caffeine for first-time donors!)

As I sit there drinking my orange juice and eating my cookie, I imagine where my blood will go from here.  Samples will go to the lab for testing, and the donation will be added to the blood bank.

I imagine it being transfused into someone’s broken body, transforming the probability of death into the possibility of life, into hope.

I imagine the joy of some family, in some hospital, when they are given the news that their loved one is going to make it.

I imagine Captain Snuggles healing and becoming whole.

I imagine myself someday saying to him, “Thank you.  Thank you for making me a better person.”

Filed Under: Blood donation, life, Medical, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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With These Shoes I Thee Wed

January 19, 2011 By

In 102 days – or 3 months and 12 days – I will be getting married.  I’m OK with this.  The list of things to be done between now and then is staggering, but as long as there are more than 100 days to go, I will feel as if there is plenty of time.  Lots of time to get the wedding dress finished and make sure all of the bridal party have their outfits sorted out.  Time to book the DJ and the photographer, and get our invitations sent out. Time to arrange hair and makeup trials, speak to the florist, decide on guest favours.  There is time for us to make up our friggin’ minds what we want the cake to look like (we both want something highly original, but we have differing ideas, and mine is definitely better).

As long as there are more than 100 days to go, there is loads of time to take care of this and everything else that I haven’t even thought of.

On Saturday, when there are 99 days left, I will probably go into total meltdown.  I even know what the meltdown will be about.  It won’t be about all of the stuff I just mentioned, which might stress me out, but I know it will get done on time.  Most of it has been started in some form or another.

It’ll be about the shoes.

On Saturday, I will wake up and realize that I have only 99 days to find, purchase, and break in the perfect pair of shoes.

I hate shoe shopping with a passion.  I find it next to impossible to find shoes that meet both of the following two basic criteria:
1) To be comfortable
2) To be pretty

When I look at the shoes that other women wear, it boggles my mind.  How are these ladies able to squeeze their feet into tiny little capsules that compress their toes and are on four-inch heels, and still walk normally?  If I tried to pull that off I’d stumble around like a drunk giraffe and then fall over in a very undignified manner and twist both of my ankles.

My feet, you see, are too important to me.  I am addicted to running, so I kind of need my feet just for the sake of maintaining my sanity.  I need to take care of them, so my shoes have to be comfortable and stable.  I have to have space to wriggle my toes around.

“Open-toed shoes!” I hear you call out.  Yes, open-toed shoes do tend to be more comfortable for me, and in the summer I wear them a great deal.  Open-toed shoes do have a lot of potential to meet the “be comfortable” requirement.  The “be pretty” requirement is another story altogether.

My feet are ugly. I do not say this with embarrassment, but with pride.  My feet with their calloused heels, and with their blackened and missing toenails, are a testament to my running. They tell the story of many hours of training in the gruelling heat and the biting cold, the accomplishment of personal best times, the amazing feeling of triumph at half-marathon finish lines, and most importantly, the funds raised through my running to benefit people with autism.

Yes, I am proud of my feet in all their butt-ugly glory.

They look crap in open-toed shoes, though.

I am looking at getting running shoes for my wedding.  On Friday (when I have 100 days to go) I will start my quest for running shoes with bling. Shoes that will be comfortable and look pretty, and have the added bonus of reflecting who I am.

Or maybe I should just go barefoot.  No-one’s going to see my shoes anyway.

Filed Under: postaday2011, Shoes, Wedding Tagged With: , , , , ,
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Farewell To A Hero: RIP Sgt Ryan Russell

January 18, 2011 By

Today, in a departure from my usual selection of topics, I want to talk about the police.  Depending on who you are talking to, this can be a surprisingly heated topic.  People go on about police brutality, racial profiling, and all of that kind of bad stuff.  I am not denying that it happens.  Some police officers are total asshats (I saw that word in another blog and liked it, and I’ve been itching to use it in a sentence ever since).  There are the bad cops who will discriminate, abuse, and power-trip from here to the moon.

But for the most part, police officers are the good guys.  The cop who responded when George accidentally called 911 at the age of eleven months was very understanding.  He allowed us to take a picture of himself with George, and with the two firefighters who also came.  We didn’t get hit with a fine, our child was not incarcerated, and everyone went home happy.

Then there was the policeman named Larry who took time for James, who was two at the time and had squealed excitedly upon seeing a real police car.  Larry showed James the car and chatted with him, and by the end of it James was wide-eyed with the wonder of talking to a “real policecar man”.  It may have only been five minutes of Larry’s time, but I will never forget how his kindness made my child happy.

And today, as the city mourns, Toronto’s Finest are burying one of their own, Sgt. Ryan Russell, killed in the line of duty last week.

In a sequence of events that seems so pointless, a man stole a snowplow and for two hours he used it to go on a terrifying rampage through city streets.  He crashed into parked cars, drove into a storefront, and rammed into a taxi occupied by its driver.  As Sgt. Russell tried to intervene, the snowplow was driven right into him and crushed him.  He was taken to hospital, where he died of his injuries.

One police officer taken from us while trying to serve and protect.

One woman thrust into widowhood far too young.

One two-year-old child who will grow up without his father.

An entire city grieving for the first Toronto police officer killed in the line of duty since 2002.

As I write this article, the funeral has just started.  More than 10,000 people are there – friends and family members of the man being honoured, members of the public, police officers from all across North America.  The show of respect is phenomenal.  And that’s the way it should be.  Police officers are heroes.  They deserve recognition and appreciation while they are alive, and they deserve a damned good send-off when they die.

R.I.P. Sgt Russell.  You are a hero and I am shedding a tear for you.

Filed Under: Death, Police, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Farewell To A Hero: RIP Sgt Ryan Russell

January 18, 2011 By

Today, in a departure from my usual selection of topics, I want to talk about the police.  Depending on who you are talking to, this can be a surprisingly heated topic.  People go on about police brutality, racial profiling, and all of that kind of bad stuff.  I am not denying that it happens.  Some police officers are total asshats (I saw that word in another blog and liked it, and I’ve been itching to use it in a sentence ever since).  There are the bad cops who will discriminate, abuse, and power-trip from here to the moon.

But for the most part, police officers are the good guys.  The cop who responded when George accidentally called 911 at the age of eleven months was very understanding.  He allowed us to take a picture of himself with George, and with the two firefighters who also came.  We didn’t get hit with a fine, our child was not incarcerated, and everyone went home happy.

Then there was the policeman named Larry who took time for James, who was two at the time and had squealed excitedly upon seeing a real police car.  Larry showed James the car and chatted with him, and by the end of it James was wide-eyed with the wonder of talking to a “real policecar man”.  It may have only been five minutes of Larry’s time, but I will never forget how his kindness made my child happy.

And today, as the city mourns, Toronto’s Finest are burying one of their own, Sgt. Ryan Russell, killed in the line of duty last week.

In a sequence of events that seems so pointless, a man stole a snowplow and for two hours he used it to go on a terrifying rampage through city streets.  He crashed into parked cars, drove into a storefront, and rammed into a taxi occupied by its driver.  As Sgt. Russell tried to intervene, the snowplow was driven right into him and crushed him.  He was taken to hospital, where he died of his injuries.

One police officer taken from us while trying to serve and protect.

One woman thrust into widowhood far too young.

One two-year-old child who will grow up without his father.

An entire city grieving for the first Toronto police officer killed in the line of duty since 2002.

As I write this article, the funeral has just started.  More than 10,000 people are there – friends and family members of the man being honoured, members of the public, police officers from all across North America.  The show of respect is phenomenal.  And that’s the way it should be.  Police officers are heroes.  They deserve recognition and appreciation while they are alive, and they deserve a damned good send-off when they die.

R.I.P. Sgt Russell.  You are a hero and I am shedding a tear for you.

Filed Under: Death, Police, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

January 17, 2011 By

Before I go into the story of what happened last night, I should set a bit of context.  When Gerard’s Dad died almost eight years ago, we moved in with Gerard’s Mom, who at the time did not want to be alone. We live downstairs, she lives upstairs, and each of us has own own fully equipped kitchen and whatnot, so we can live completely independently of one another and yet still be in the same house.  For a while, things were kind of tumultuous, but now they have settled down and we are all getting along famously.

My mother-in-law – or future mother-in-law, if you want to get technical about it – is making my wedding dress.  The woman is a phenomenon with a sewing machine, and she is going to create something spectacular – far better than anything I would find in a store.  I am not even intimidated by the fact that my wedding is the day after the British Royal Wedding.  My dress is going to be much prettier than Kate’s.

Last night’s drama started because my mother-in-law and I needed a mirror. A full-length mirror that we could prop up against the wall in her sewing room, that would allow me to see the dress in all its full-length glory during fittings.

Gerard and I just happen to have a spare mirror.  I think it was originally part of some long-gone piece of furniture, and for the last three years or so it’s been propping up the wall in an impractical spot in George’s room.  No-one ever uses the thing, so last night Gerard took the mirror upstairs to the sewing room (after the work-in-progress that is the dress had been securely hidden away, of course).

To say that George got upset would be like saying Donald Trump has a little bit of spare cash.

The kid exploded.  This small change to his immediate environment made him go into utter meltdown.  He was frantically running around in circles, screaming, “Put the mirror back!  Put the mirror back!”  It wasn’t angry, tantrummy screaming.  It was the kind of screaming borne of frustration and anxiety.

You see, George doesn’t cope with change.  When the slightest thing changes – a lightbulb burning out, the laundry hamper in the wrong place, the cordless telephone not in its docking station – he gets really stressed.  A few weeks ago we thought our dishwasher was leaking, so we pulled it out to take a look, and this sent George into such a flurry that it was days before he would set foot in the kitchen again.

The mirror being taken away sent him right over the top, in a way that nothing else has before.  I’m guessing it’s because the mirror was in his room; that it was his own space being violated.  It’s not that he looks in the mirror, it’s just that he’s used to it being there.  And when something he is used to is taken away, it represents a wrinkle, an interruption of stability.

At some point during this wild, frenzied activity, George ran up to his Dad sobbing, and beseechingly wailed, “Put the mirror back, please!”  He turned and looked at me, and in his eyes I saw utter desperation and fear bordering on panic.

Some people might argue that we should have stood our ground, that “giving in” to George would set a bad precedent.  They might say that the only way to get George to cope with change would be to desensitize him to it, to expose him to change and weather the storm, no matter what.

But you know something?  Sometimes, it just ain’t worth it.  Nothing is worth seeing your child in that much pain and anguish. Gerard and I agreed that we would just pay twenty bucks for a new mirror, and he went back upstairs, retrieved the mirror and put it back in its place.  When the mirror had been restored, we picked George up from where he had been cowering on the couch, and took him into his room.  He refused steadfastly to look at the wall, but he must have seen the mirror in his peripheral vision, because that heartbreaking wailing came to an end.

At that point, the stress of what he had just been through must have caught up with him.  All of a sudden, he jumped up off his bed, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.  A lot.

I wanted to cry.  My poor beautiful boy was in such a state of stress that he actually threw up?  That is awful. Do you know how stressed you have to be for it to make you physically ill?  No mother wants to think of her child going through that level of anxiety.

I gently cleaned my son’s face and dried his tears, and then I turned out the lights and hugged him as lay in his bed.  Right before he drifted off to sleep, I asked him how he felt.

“Happy,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes.

That’s all a parent really wants for their child.

(Photo credit: Flickr Creative Commons Attribution License)

Filed Under: anxiety, autism, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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15 Random Facts About Me

January 16, 2011 By

Today is one of those days where I don’t really have a topic in mind, so I will steal an idea from a Facebook note I was tagged in, and tell you fifteen facts about myself.

  1. When I was in 5th Grade, my teacher hated me because I was left-handed, and she once kept me after school trying to force me to use scissors with my right hand.
  2. I am adopted.  I was lucky enough to wind up with fantastic parents, and about 15 years ago I got in touch with both of my biological parents.
  3. Based on behaviours in George that I recognize in myself, my developmental history as a child, and some difficulties I experience to this day, I am pretty sure I am on the autism spectrum – an undiagnosed Aspie.
  4. 16 or 17 years ago, I accidentally disturbed a bees’ nest and got stung 67 times.  I am now terrified of bees.
  5. I am allergic to mangoes, which is a pity because I actually like them very much.
  6. At the ripe old age of 41, I have finally realized that I would actually like to be a full-time writer.
  7. I have this weird recurring dream in which I am chased by a giant teapot.  Seriously.  You can’t make this shit up.
  8. Despite my constant whining about my commute, I kind of like my daily subway rides.  It is the only time I get to sit down and read a book.
  9. I bitterly regret not flying to South Africa to see my Dad before he died six years ago.
  10. Every year at Roll-Up-The-Rim time, I drink way too much coffee.  I always think that by the law of averages, if I buy enough coffees, sooner or later I will win the car.  In ten years of trying, I’ve never won anything more ambitious than a donut, but I am an eternal optimist so I will keep trying.
  11. My first pregnancy ended in a loss early in the second trimester.  I always think about that lost life, and how if that pregnancy had worked out, I would not have George today.
  12. I buy lottery tickets every week, because someone wins the jackpot – why shouldn’t it be me?  A few weeks ago, I won $120.
  13. I hate olives and eggplant.
  14. There is only one brand of shoes that I will run in: New Balance.  When I’ve tried other brands I’ve always regretted it.
  15. I think Barney the Dinosaur is the most annoying children’s TV show ever made, followed closely by Max and Ruby.

 

Filed Under: postaday2011, Random Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Making The Giving Worthwhile

January 15, 2011 By

On Thursday morning (at 11:30 a.m. EST if anyone wants to be that precise) I will be donating blood.  I am greatly looking forward to it, and if you’re reading any sarcasm in that sentiment, none whatsoever is intended.  I really, genuinely, truly am looking forward to sitting in one of those reclining chairs while a unit of my blood is transferred from my body for the purpose of saving a life that needs saving.

I am excited to be doing this.  I am excited to be doing something, giving of myself in some small way, to help other people.

The last time I tried to donate was about twenty years ago.  I passed the initial iron test and got settled in one of the reclining chairs in the clinic.  The entire process from that point on was an absolute disaster.  The nurse – a kind, gentle soul who felt terrible about the pain she was putting me through – had to poke multiple holes in both arms before she could get the blood to flow.  When it did flow, it was painfully slow, and when about third of a unit had been taken from me, I passed out. I was sick for days after that, and when I went to my doctor, he advised me not to donate blood while my health was in such a fragile state.

It just wasn’t the right time for me to donate, back then.  There was a whole mess of crap happening in my life, and the stress of it all took its toll on my health.

Now things are different.  I am fit and healthy.  I am not under constant stress, I sleep as much as two kids and a hectic schedule allow me to, and my running regimen pretty much forces me to eat more or less healthily.  I am ready to put the memory of my last donation attempt behind me and try it again.  I am confident that the results will be far, far better.

I’m doing what I can to make sure, though.  My main objective over the next few days is to ensure that my blood is whole and healthy, that it can indeed be used to help someone who needs it.  If I show up on Thursday to give my pint of blood in honour of Capt. Snuggles, and they turn me away because my iron is too low, I will not be happy.  I have to do whatever I can to make sure that does not happen.

I share these tips for the benefit of anyone reading this who might be interested in donating blood (Michelle, maid of honour and friend extraordinaire, has already said that she will try to join me on Thursday).

  • For several days prior to donating, eat foods rich in iron.  Breads, meat, fish, chicken, fruit, raisins, nuts, dark leafy greens.  This is especially important for the ladies, whose iron levels tend to be less stable.
  • Be aware that many foods rich in iron are also high in fat, and a high lipid content can also result in you being turned away.  For 2-3 days before you donate, focus on a low-fat diet, but keep on consuming iron-rich foods that are low in fat.
  • Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.  If you don’t drink enough fluids, the nurses will have a hard time finding your vein, and once you are hooked up, your blood will flow slowly and the process will take longer.  Limit sugar and caffeine in your beverages, since these slow the absorption of water.
  • Get enough sleep!  This will not necessarily change the quality of your blood, but it will make your recovery a lot easier.
  • The day before, load up on iron-rich foods, but ones that are low in fat.  Drink lots of water and go to bed early.
  • The day of, have a good breakfast so that you have the calories to start regenerating your blood.  Eat fruits with a high water content, and drink water and energy drinks (this can also give you one last iron boost before you go).
  • Try to eat either a meal or a snack right before you go.  You don’t want to donate on an empty stomach.  Take a bottle of water with you.
  • After you’ve made your donation, sit down and rest, and have a snack to raise your blood sugar.  Many clinics provide juice and cookies – if you don’t have a snack of your own on hand, accept the juice and cookies!
  • Light to moderate exercise several hours after you donate will help raise your energy levels.  I’m not talking about a five-mile run, I’m talking about an easy walk.

Many of these are good inroads to a healthy lifestyle, and following these steps will help make your blood healthy and vibrant.   If you are medically able to donate blood, I appeal to you to please consider it.  It really could be a matter of life and death for someone.

I am humbled and kind of ashamed that it has taken this – the life-threatening tragedy of a little baby – to spur me on to do this.  Ultimately, it is Captain Snuggles saving lives here, because he is the reason I am doing this.

Click here for Amy’s latest update on Capt. Snuggles.

Filed Under: Blood donation, Giving, postaday2011 Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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