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L aura Whitney was my friend.
Laura was a young lady who never
went on a date or piled into a car with other teenagers and went out for pizza. She's never owned a car, much less driven
one. She cared nothing for designer clothes, nor was she concerned with the everyday cares of most teenage girls.
Laura loved paper. Colorful paper.
She loved scotch tape, and staples, and markers and crayons. She would work hard
and cut designs out of contstructionpaper and put scotch tape all over her creation.
She loved scotch tape.
Laura loved.
Laura loved me and I loved her.
People thought she couldn't talk but she could. She didn't
talk much away from home; she acted a bit shy until you knew her.
And those who knew her were blessed with a devoted
friend who didn't hesitate to love, to hug, and to give.
I imagine some people pitied Laura because she was
different physically and mentally, but there was no need. Laura had joys in simple pleasure. she knew how to display love
without embarrassment or hesitation.
Don't pity Laura.
She had the gift of love.
I sat behind
Laura and her mother, Sue, last
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Sunday morning. Laura sang and searched the
scriptures, although I'm sure she couldn't read them. When
the time came to give, Sue gave Laura her dollars and with each dollar hand to her Laura said, ""Thank you,"
and happily put them in the plate when it came around. sue and Laura were good friends.
Don't pity Laura.
She loved and she was loved.
Laura had Myatonic Dystrophy, along with some mental deficiencies. she used
a wheelchair and walker. Her frail body had a continual battle with pneumonia and other difficulties.
Laura died
today.
I lost a good friend.
She gave me lots of her prized stickers last week. She gave me a piece of orange
construction paper, cut into a design, full of staples and covered with scotch tape.
She gave me her hand to hold.
My dear Laura is no longer under the curse of disease. Her spiritual body is strong. Her mind is clear. She sees a
light more colorful and more brilliant than all her pens, and markers, and brightly colored construction paper.
Don't
pity Laura.
Laura loves and is loved by the greatest love of all, her God of love.
by Pat Gates
written
February 1995
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 The Heartache of Miscarriage
This month this page is dedicated to those of you
who have lost your child in the womb or at birth. I have not experienced this so I have included writings from women who have
(bottom of page). After reading their thoughts from an internet support group, I have realized I haven't understood the
extent of heartache these mothers go through, not only in their loss, but what they have to experience. It would be profitable
to all to read the comments below and get on the internet to learn more about these mother's needs. For those of you who have lost a baby, my heart goes out to you. Perhaps reading the thoughts
and feelings from other mothers who lost their babies in the womb may help you as you hear from others who understand what
so many of us don't.
One thing before we continue... PLEASE! Don't tell me God gave me a dead baby or a sick baby because He knew
I could handle it! It not only doesn't comfort, but it says something about God He has never revealed about Himself! The Bible does not say God selects from a group of babies in heaven and hands them
over to the women that can handle losing their child. This, along with congenitally ill children being given by God to mothers
who can handle the pain, is not a Bible-based teaching and should not be believed among Christians. I know it is, because
I've heard it many times. Not only is it not Bible-based, but those who say such things lack knowledge and understanding
of God's promises. Spend some time in a children's ward
at a teaching hospital and you will see the many babies and children who are deserted by mothers who "could not handle
it." Did God make a mistake? Of course not! It is not God's
will that any woman should miscarry. His plan was to be "fruitful and multiply" and He does not wish for such pain
as miscarriage or the death of a young child. Losing a child and congenital illness, most of the time, is a result of "time
and chance," not due to God's will nor the sin or mistakes of the mother. It is part of living in a world that was
messed up by mankind a long, long time ago. Please let's
speak as the oracles of God and not see our Creator as one who is dealing out babies... well babies to those who can't
necessarily handle motherhood and ill babies to those who can. This is not scriptural. It comes from the mind of man. Mothers
who have lost their babies, in and out of the womb, do not need to be told it was the will of God and for the best. And they
certainly don't need to be told God gave them this ill child because they were strong enough to handle it, as I have been
told about my heart child. Believe me, it isn't as comforting as you may think it sounds. Babyfactory.jpgThink about what this comment is saying. Either it says there is a baby factory in heaven and some
are stamped "perfect" and some "defects," and God picks and chooses from the lot, or He creates the disease
in the baby, on purpose, because He knows the mom can handle it. We must THINK and not just follow what someone happens to
say sometime that sounds reasonable to our less than perfect minds. Be
it far from us to speak for God and inscribe actions and thoughts to Him that He has never revealed about Himself!
-Pat Gates
Thoughts concerning miscarriage: A mother who miscarried commented: You know, so many people ask me, "What's the
best thing to say to someone who's miscarried?" The answer is quite simple: "I am so sorry for your loss."
Please, don't say anything that dismisses the fact that a woman and her family have lost a baby they already loved, but
never held. Please don't make her feel like the baby she fell in love with, had plans for and dreamed of, was a 'nothing'.
Feelings of women who had a miscarriage. I found a support group at http://miscarriagehelp.com/index.php?itemid=119
and read the comments from women who had lost babies. I've learned more about the grief and anguish women go through...
some of which I never thought about: they grieve the loss of a loved child, there hopes and plans are extinguished in an instance,
the unhelpful and hurtful comments from friends, family and even their doctors, the emotional pain of either the D&C or
a miscarriage at home, repeated losses, the feelings of guilt of what they may have done wrong, the feeling of inadequacy,
thoughts about God, and the feeling of loneliness and the list can go on and on. For
those of you who have lost a baby, my heart goes out to you. I want to try and be more helpful in the future to friends and
family who may lose a baby... I'm sorry for my ignorance in the past. For
those of you who have not miscarried, I would recommend reading the comments from these mothers who have in order to understand
a little better what they go through. None of us truly knows if we haven't experienced it, but listening to them may help
us as we comfort these mothers. -Pat
______________________________
♦ I was six months pregnant when my baby died. I still can't believe
it. Why? I started setting up a nursery. Now it's like a tomb. They induced labor only to have me deliver a dead baby
- my sweet baby and I still have nightmares every single night - when I actually sleep. I miss my sweet baby boy and I never
got the chance to know him. We named him Joseph Andrew Taylor, had a funeral. We haven't placed a headstone yet, but will.
Can you even believe I am talking about my baby who died? It JUST DOESN'T SEEM REAL! My insides are ripped apart and my
heart feels like it'll be broken forever.
♦I
have a friend who miscarried and I tried to be as supportive as I could. I realize now, that no matter how supportive I was,
I could have never known how deeply she hurt until it happened to me. Now I feel like I wasn't there enough for her, and
even said things that were wrong. After about a month of her being so depressed and crying all the time, I told her that she
should try to move on with her life and it was 'meant to be'. Wrong thing to say because it's been said to me
and it doesn't help at all. I've since talked to my friend and told her that I was sorry if I didn't seem supportive
enough. She said I was and couldn't have known what to say because there really isn't much you can say. Mostly, listening
is important. Caring. Not acting like it didn't matter. It DOES matter. I've never felt a hurt so deep in my life
and I've felt some pretty deep hurts. ♦
I feel a twinge every mother's day or when I hear someone say "you're lucky...you don't have kids" or
"you're not a mother?" ♦
I lost my baby at 9 weeks. I was so hurt when the ER doctors called my baby "tissue"... I guess it's easier
for them. I do feel sad and empty, but I also feel hope. Hope is what is getting me through this. ♦ I miscarried about a month ago. I was almost four months pregnant. I can't even
describe the pain I'm in, and it seems to be getting worse, not better. I feel like I'm obsessed with the baby I lost
and to make it worse, I feel completely selfish because a girlfriend of mine just told me she was pregnant and I can't
be happy for her. She's my friend, so I put on a happy face, but inside, I felt like dying. I pray for her to have a healthy
pregnancy, and never mention my miscarriage to her, although she knows. She even said that she was afraid to tell me because
of what I've been through, and I felt horrible about it. How can I be truly happy for her, (which I am), without letting
my own grief and kind of a resentment get in the way? I'm really struggling with this. ♦ Everyone thinks that I should be ok now they say "what you don't know won't
hurt you" the problem is I did know that baby and made plans for her and still I dream every night about her carrying
her, nursing her, seeing her smile. I hate to even fall asleep. ♦ I remember the day distinctly when I was told just one day after my D&C to "grow
up and get over it". When I miscarried, all the hopes, dreams and wishes I had for my baby vanished, too, in one horrible
instant. ♦
One of the most devastating things of a miscarriage is nobody understanding you. Nobody knows the pain it causes unless they
too have been through one. Most people expect you to move on a week later. People expect you to forget about it and to move
on, but its not that easy. Here it is 5 months later, and I still can't forget about it. ♦ At one a.m, I called the OB at the hospital, and he told me that he suspected I
was really just starting the actual miscarriage and I had a long night ahead. He was right. Finally at about 4 am, I passed
a huge blob of tissue...like a grapefruit. I put it in a bag, and am afraid to look. Is it the placenta? The sack? Is the
baby in there? I'm afraid if I do find the baby, I'll be traumatized forever. And if I don't look, I'll feel
guilty forever. I don't want my husband to think I'm a freak if he comes home in a while with our two little boys
and finds me digging through it. I'm just so scared and sad and wondered if anyone has any thoughts! ♦ I chose to go home and let
the baby pass without a D&C. I had to let my baby fall into the toilet. I was able to tell what it was and I was so freaked
out that I just flushed. I can't get over that I did that. I don't know what else I should have done, but it just
felt wrong. Now I'm trying to recover and move on, but I'm just so sad. (A
response was given from the support group leader to the note above) -- Going home to let the baby "pass" wasn't
right or wrong- it was what your heart told you to do. I understand why you'd be 'freaked' when you saw your baby
in the toilet- what a nightmare. Please be easy on yourself. Would I have done the same thing in flushing? I can only guess
I would have. Such trauma - and I wish you all the love and healing in the world. I honestly don't know what else you
should have done; and I ask that you don't beat yourself up for something that was probably instinct and a normal, gut
reaction. I chose the D&C route under the advice of my doctor- or the hospital doctor at the time. He wasn't my regular
doctor. In my case, I think I chose on trauma over another...It's what my heart told me to do, just as yours told you
something else. We are all different, yet live the same, terrible pain after miscarriage no matter how our babies are lost
to it. NOTE FROM PAT: One terrible thing these mothers
go through that I never thought about is how they lose their baby. Keeping in mind, the two last paragraphs, I learned that
some mothers have a choice after their baby dies, if they want a D & C or pass it naturally (and often that means in the
toilet). I believe, as the woman said in the last paragraph, either way is very traumatic. Some women in the group remove
the baby from the toilet and have a funeral for it. The woman who leads this group (the one in the above paragraph) seems
to have a very good understanding and a lot of heart when she responds to these grieving mothers. Also, as mentioned, many
women have nightmares for a long time after they lose their baby. Let us use our hearts and not be judgmental when it comes
to comforting these heartbroken mothers. ♦
The following are thoughts from a psychologist who sometimes writes to this group (she also had a miscarriage): First, let me say this is a very difficult time of year for many. We may think that the
majority of the world loves the December Holiday Season...but many have suffered loss and find this time of year to be extraordinarily
difficult. Having been a Psychologist for 28 years I've heard so many stories of wanting this time of year to pass quickly. I feel physical and emotional pain. I feel numb - I lost my baby, my hopes, dreams, prayers.
I feel that I failed. I am not sure where to turn. YOU did not fail.
I felt the same way and was assured time and time again that there was nothing I did, nor was there anything I could have
done about my miscarriage. Basically, I couldn't have prevented it and it wasn't my fault. Ii
took a while to believe it. I questioned everything...wondered if I'd done something 'wrong' to make my miscarriage
happen. When I did this, I was only torturing myself, and I pray you don't do it to yourself. You
know, it's been fifteen years since my miscarriage, and I still cry sometimes. That doesn't mean I live every day
as I did right after my D&C. But, there are moments that bring memories to the surface, painful ones, and I can't
help being human. ♦
They scheduled the D&C for Thursday, that was the most horrible four days. Nobody came bye to visit except this one couple
who worked with my husband, I had never met them but they cared enough to come visit with us. They did not try to say things
to make it better they just wanted us to know they were sorry for what we were going through. None of our Family and Friends
came by. Then there was Thursday. My husband, mom, three members of my congregation, and a gal pal were all there for me.
I woke up in recovery, the first thing I was aware of was that I was crying for my baby. As I became more awake I stopped.
when I was brought back to the room in the one day surgery unit every body left but my husband who took me home and stayed
with me. No body came to visit, a few people sent cards, and one of my best friends called me every day, without her I would
have never made it. She had lost her second child at 6 weeks. (The
support group leader's response) I am very glad you had a friend who called you so often, and am very sad you
were left alone most of the time- except for your husband. While I'm aware that people don't often know WHAT to say
or HOW to be there for a woman who has lost her baby to miscarriage, they must realize just BEING THERE shows tremendous support,
caring and love. Please, to anyone reading this who doesn't have the right words to say to a friend who has just miscarried:
Don't stay away- you don't have to SAY anything. Just being you and showing up to sit in silence is a strong means
of support. The woman who has miscarried takes great comfort in you just being around. Believe me, there are not many words
that are 'right'. However, the wrong words certainly can be fit into these phrases: "You can always have another"
"Miscarriages are so common" "It was God's will" "Something could have been wrong with IT so
you're better off"- Please, for the sake of the one you're trying to support, don't say these catch phrases
which so often accompany the aftermath of miscarriage. ♦ I lost that baby in March at 5 weeks. We were advised to wait 3 months to try again.
In July, we conceived and lost that baby at 6 weeks. After that third loss, my OB grudgingly referred us to a fertility specialist.
My OB wasn't good at handling recurrent loss. She basically told me that I was making a mountain out of a molehill and
all women lose this many pregnancies, most just don't know it, because it happens so early. Well, good for those women!
But I KNOW I am pregnant when I miscarry and these are still babies! ♦ Your babies, my baby, all of our babies were HERE but not seen or held. They are
missed and loved and there's nothing wrong with that. From the moment we find out we are pregnant, many of us fall in
love with our babies. That very same love forever ties our hearts to the babies we lost. A
point you brought about I think is worth repeating is how you "don't want people to feel awkward around me because
just having people around is sometimes all you need." I think people
sometimes avoid women after they miscarry because they're either afraid of saying the 'wrong' thing, or don't
know what to say, period. Well, you don't HAVE to say anything if you're supporting a friend who has miscarried. How
'bout just kicking back and watching a movie in each other's company? Perhaps having dinner together, or doing something
you both enjoy. Establishing a sense of 'normalcy' doesn't mean the friend, or the mother, is denying the miscarriage
and all the pain. It means only one things when a friend is with her friend who miscarried: SUPPORT, COMFORT, AND THE KIND
OF LOVE ONLY FRIENDS HAVE FOR EACH OTHER. It can be one of the most healing 'miracles' out there...believe me. ♦ The doctor is making me get
my levels checked to be sure they are going back down every other day and I have to sit and wait in a room with pregnant women,
little babies and stories of happiness and idea sharing. I am happy for them, but not where I want to be 3 short days after
this tragedy in my life. Everyone says the most stupidest things. "It's better this way." "What do you
think you did?" "How did it feel?" "It was meant to be." ♦ I'm in so much pain, I can barely see what I am writing. A week ago, I had my
third miscarriage, or spontaneous abortion like the doctors call it... No matter the name it hurts. Even after the physical
pain is gone, the heartache is still there. I was over 12 weeks pregnant, we had waited for the 3 month mark to tell our friends
and family. Yet, once again we had to share the bad news. The doctors were happy in an odd kind of way, "Now that you've
had your third spontaneous abortions we can conduct different tests..." Yeah sure, you can poke me, examine me to make
sure I've eliminated everything inside my uterus, yet the pain and the tears are not always visible on your monitors. ♦ I had a follow up appointment
today, and it was torture sitting in the waiting room with all of the other moms to be. The ones who were rubbing their big
pregnant bellies, and looking lovingly at their ultrasound pictures, while gently rocking another child in a carrier at their
side. I'm so happy for these women, for their success, yet so upset for myself, for my loss. My miscarriage is complete,
and now I have to repeat followups every week to monitor my hcg levels. Seeing all the pregnant women with happy pregnant
faces week after week, while I silent sob and try to hide, wiping away the tears that pour from my eyes, and suffocating the
vocal pains that emanate from my heart. ♦
A first suggestion is to not try to ignore your loss. In fact, I would suggest that if you haven't already that you create
some obvious place in your home in memory of your child. You don't have to scream to the world what this recognition is
for....but you will know. You could have an area set aside with a candle and something that ties to your feelings about your
special little one. We can never pretend that we're not feeling the pain of the loss....so honor that special baby in
some way. Also, let me say that grieving is like sweeping a very dirty
floor. It takes many times of going over and over your feelings in order to lessen the intensity and acute feeling of the
pain of loss. You are not being a "broken record" as you repeat numerous times what you are feeling. I do believe
it is essential to keep pouring out your feelings. This is the manner in which the floor becomes more and more clear of debris. And, you will never forget that special little one. So, if you begin to feel better for
short periods of time, this is not an indication that you are forgetting. My second son left the Earth in 1972 and periodically
he comes to mind. But, the depth of the pain...believe it or not....will improve. And,
finally, you are not an incapable woman just because you did not carry your baby to term....or the baby did not survive. This
is no reflection on you. I certainly thought this for quite a length of time.
The following two poems on this page were written by
Ruth Miller, a Christian in Lakeland, Florida. Ruth sent this note, along with the poems: "The first one was written
to a young couple on the death of their first child at 21-22 weeks gestational age. I remember at the memorial service, they
had a beautiful silver picture frame on one of the tables. Instead of a picture in the frame, there was a white sheet of paper
with the notation in black, “We were expecting a baby but God sent us an angel instead.” I am not sure on the
exact wording but that just stuck in my mind. This first poem is about Garbiella and the thought that Ben and Alexandra can
rest assured that she is in the arms of Jesus and in the midst of the beautiful angels in heaven. The
second poem is something I wrote for her on finding out she was pregnant with her second child, a little boy. She is about
at the 22 week mark again and so far, things are going very well for them.
My Thoughts for Ben
and Alex The Lord Giveth and He taketh away, But why us, sometimes
we say.
We know not why -- no rhyme, no reason, But every soul does have
their season.
A little soul we have here still, Residing peacefully in
her cocoon,
We plead to know, O Lord your Will, And pray we’ll be
enlightened soon.
Our faith in you, O Lord, Is strong, steadfast and sure,
We know that You will guide us, Our situation to endure.
We believe Your love is there, More abounding than we know,
And
we understand that You will guide us, And keep our spirits from sinking low.
Strengthen
us in our tears, Guide us in our fears,
Uplift us in our sorrow, Help
us through each ‘morrow.
And with this little soul we’re molding,
In our hearts, our soul and mind,
Should it be, this place she’s
holding, Is just special for a little time?
We think about her life to
come, And contemplate our joy,
But while inside her little home, Can only
with her future toy.
This little soul needs so much help, Much more than
we can give,
Her life is up to You, Yourself, As just to how she’ll
live.
If it be Your Will to hold her, In your strong and so soft hands,
Then we’ll send her on her journey, So her soul with You will stand.
She’ll not be from us far away, Just right inside our hearts,
We just have to enter there, And look back on former thoughts.
We’re
returning Gabriella to You, For her care ‘till we arrive,
“Cause
You know everything to do, So her soul with You will thrive.
Yes, our
hearts are deeply saddened, And our eyes are closed with tears,
As we
return this blessed bundle, To keep You company through our years.
We
know we’ll get to see her, In the joyous bye and bye,
When our years
here have grown dim, And take our journey through the sky. Written to Ben and Alexandra Heiss
On
the birth & passing of their daughter,
Gabriella Grace, June 6, 2006
By Ruth Miller ©2006
A Special Prayer for
an Unborn Child Our bountiful Lord in heaven, we come to You
today,
With many tears of joy (as the snowflakes in a storm).
My body says we’re blessed again with a baby on the way,
We
know it’s You who’ve given us this one to keep so warm.
We
accept this gracious blessing from you,
With such wide and open arms,
And pray that all the things we do,
Will
keep this child from harm.
We pray that during this special time,
As our love grows for this soul,
That
we’ll be strong, and keep in mind,
Responsibilities that will come
and go.
We pray for the strength to know what to do,
As this child begins to grow,
We know
that we can count on You,
To guide us through this though.
We will just take a day at a time,
And
savor this progression of life,
We are so excited, almost sublime,
We’ve been given a child to lead to your light.
We
pray so much for a healthy one,
The choice, boy or girl, is of your selection,
For our prayers to You, is that when all is done,
We
have guided this child towards heaven.
We know a lot has to be said and
done,
In the years this child will grow,
But
we will give it a loving home,
And teach him Your ways to know.
We know You have blessed us ever so much,
Because
this was at the top of our list,
We can’t begin to thank You enough,
But again, all things as You wish.
Yes
we’re so happy with this blessing You sent,
And ask You to be close
during this time,
We anxiously look forward to the upcoming event,
When this child is born with everything fine.
Thank
you again, our most gracious Lord,
For showing us your compassionate love,
We pray for the guidance from Your word,
So
at his time, he’ll meet you above. Written to Ben & Alexander
Heiss
(on their second pregnancy)
Ruth
Miller
October 26, 2006 // ©2006
"Matt is two-and-a-half and has had a number of
surgeries to correct heart problems. Just last week after his bath he looked in the mirror and started rubbing his chest with
a towel. At first I didn't know what was wrong because I hardly notice the multiple scars all over him. I saw him look
at his brother's chest and it was clear that he noticed there was nothing there. He continued his search for answers by
pulling up his Dad's tee shirt and looking down my blouse. Not until then did I realize what was wrong with him. He looked
so sad and started rubbing again. All of a sudden his brother took one of his toy trains and started rubbing up and down his
scar. He then told Matthew how lucky he was to have his own set of railroad tracks to play on. This brought my husband and
I to tears. I guess we all have our own ways of looking at things." --Dawn
"The hardest thing was to be able to be with my 5 year old son as he was going into the operating room for correction
of a serious cardiac defect. I wanted so much to not cry but couldn't stop the tears. He looked up at me with his sweet
innocence and said 'Mommy, everything will be okay.' When he was finally released from the hospital he was given a
boxed lunch. As we were travelling home (4 hours away) he asked me if he could have his lunch and I said 'sure'. He
said 'Mommy what kind of sandwich is that?' and I said 'turkey'. He again looked at me and said 'Mommy
IT IS JUST LIKE THANKSGIVING. We sure have a lot to be thankful for, don't we mommy?' We CERTAINLY did!" --Terry
WHEN YOU VISIT When you visit
Bring bubbles.
Blow them around my head
and laugh with me while I try to pop them.
When you visit
Bring crayons.
Let me draw you a picture
and listen to me while I tell you the
story
behind it. When you visit
Bring your favorite teddy bear.
Perch him by the pillow right next to mine
and tell me why you love him so much. When you visit,
Bring your "thinking cap."
Strap it on tight, as I will mine
and create
a daydream we both can share. When you visit,
Bring your
magic wand.
Tap our heads with the gold star
and become a little fairy with me for the day. When you visit,
Just bring you, that's all I need.
And if you could spare
a plate of your mom's
double fudge brownies, too.
by Jenni I wrote this poem for anyone who visits a sick child in the hospital. People are
often so preoccupied with thoughts of how to act and what to say to a sick child that they forget one important thing. Before
children should be looked at as "sick" , they should be looked at as "children" who want to be just like
their friends and do the sorts of things that their friends like to do. They want to talk about school, baseball, and barbie
dolls--not about being sick. -Jenni
thoughts and poem
from http://www.lehman.cuny.edu/faculty/jfleitas/bandaides/
The Mother Who Would Not Give Up
My doctor told me I would never walk
again. My mother told me I would. I believed my mother.
- Wilma Rudolph -
Wilma Rudolph was born into a large family -- she was the 20th of 22 children! Her parents,
Ed and Blanche Rudolph, were honest, hardworking people, but were very poor. Mr. Rudolph worked as a railroad porter and handyman.
Mrs. Rudolph did cooking, laundry and housecleaning for wealthy white families. In 1940 millions of Americans were poor -- out of work and homeless because of the Great Depression.
The Rudolphs managed to make ends meet by doing things like making the girls' dresses out of flour sacks. Wilma was born
prematurely and weighed only 4.5 pounds. Again, because of racial segregation, she and her mother were not permitted to be
cared for at the local hospital. It was for whites only. There was only one black doctor in Clarksville, and the Rudolph's
budget was tight, so Wilma's mother spent the next several years nursing Wilma through one illness after another: measles,
mumps, scarlet fever, chicken pox and double pneumonia. But, she had to be taken to the doctor when it was discovered that
her left leg and foot were becoming weak and deformed. She was told she had polio, a crippling disease that had no cure. The
doctor told Mrs. Rudolph that Wilma would never walk, but Mrs. Rudolph would not give up on Wilma. She found out that she
could be treated at Meharry Hospital, the black medical college of Fisk University in Nashville. Even though it was 50 miles
away, Wilma's mother took her there twice a week for two years, until she was able to walk with the aid of a metal leg
brace. Then the doctors taught Mrs. Rudolph how to do the physical therapy exercises at home. All of her brothers and sisters
helped too, and they did everything to encourage her to be strong and work hard at getting well. Finally, by age 12, she could
walk normally, without the crutches, brace, or corrective shoes. It was then that she decided to become an athlete.
Wilma's
life is a story of achieving against the odds. Her first accomplishments were to stay alive and get well! In high school, she became a basketball star first, who set state
records for scoring and led her team to a state championship. Then she became a track star, going to her first Olympic Games
in 1956 at the age of 16. She won a bronze medal in the 4x4 relay. On September 7th, 1960, in Rome, Wilma became the first American woman to win 3 gold medals in the Olympics.
She won the 100-meter dash, the 200-meter dash, and ran the anchor on the 400-meter relay team. This achievement led her to become one of the most celebrated female athletes of
all time.
Wilma
wrote in her biography, “Every Saturday when I was a kid my mom would take me on a bus from our home in Clarksville,
Tennessee, to a Nashville hospital 60 miles away for treatment on my leg. Then, during the week my brothers and sisters would
take turns massaging my leg. If it wasn’t for my family, I probably would have never been able to walk properly, no
less run.”
-selected
A mother's love is the fuel that enables a normal
human being to do the impossible.
~Marion C. Garretty
I love my mother as the trees
love water and sunshine - she helps me grow, prosper, and reach great heights. ~Adabella Radici
A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy
and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert
us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate
the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. ~Washington Irving
Who ran to help me when
I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My mother.
~Ann Taylor
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"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!"
They did shout and
plead,
"There's just too much against you now
This time, you can't succeed."
And as I start
to hang my head
In front of failure's face.
My downward fall is broken
By the memory of a face.
And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvenates
my being.
A children's race, young boys, young men,
Now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear;
It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope,
Each thought to win that race.
Or tie
for first, or if not that,
At least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side,
Each cheering
for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they
went,
Young hearts and hopes of fire.
To win, to be the hero,
That was each young boy's desire.
And
one boy in particular,
His dad was in the crowd.
Was running near the head and thought,
"My dad will be
so proud."
But as he speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to
win,
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself,
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the
laughter of the crowd,
He fell flat on his face.
So down he fell and with him hope.
He couldn't win
it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished
To disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up
And showed
his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
"Get up and win the race!"
He quickly rose,
no damage done --
Behind a bit, that's all,
And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself,
To catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs,
He slipped and
fell again.
He wished that he had quit before
With only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner
now,
I shouldn't try to race."
But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father's face,
That steady look that said again,
"Get up and win the race."
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So he jumped up to try again--
Ten yards behind the last.
"If
I'm to gain those yards," he thought,
"I've got to run real fast."
Exceeding everything he
had,
He regained eight or ten.
But trying so hard to catch the lead,
He slipped and fell again.
Defeat!
He lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
"There's no sense running anymore--
Three strikes
-- I'm out, why try?"
The will to rise had disappeared,
All hope had fled away.
So far behind, so
error prone,
Closer all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought,
"I'll
live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad,
Who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up!"
an echo sounded low,
"Get up and take your place!"
"You were not meant for failure here,
Get
up and win the race!"
So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been.
Still he gave it
all he had
And ran as though to win.
Three times he'd fallen stumbling,
Three times he'd rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win,
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed
first place.
Head high and proud and happy;
No falling; no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed
the line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer
For finishing the race!
And even though he
came in last,
With head bowed low, unproud;
You would have thought he'd won the race
To listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said,
"I didn't so so well."
"To me you won," his father said,
"You rose each time you fell."
And when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The
memory of that little boy
Helps me win my race.
For all of life is like that race,
With ups and downs and all,
And all you have to do to win--
Is rise each time you fall.
"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!"
They may shout in my face.
But another voice within me says,
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"
author unknown
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Melissa's Story
In April of 1998,
Melissa was a typical, high school senior preparing for the Senior Ball, graduation, and life's many opportunities when
she was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic Syndrome, a rare bone marrow malignancy. She had just been accepted to the University
of Pennsylvania where she dreamt of pursuing a career in advanced practice nursing. Sadly,
Melissa Marie Sengbusch died on June 22, 2000 at age nineteen after living with cancer for two years. She became yet another
statistic in the tragedy we know as childhood cancer. The way in which she lived life and ultimately faced death is a story
of extraordinary determination and celebration of the human spirit. Myelodysplasia
strikes fewer than five in one million Americans each year. Statistics continue to be discouraging with survival rates averaging
only about twenty percent. Following diagnosis, Melissa was no longer typical but was determined to minimize its impact on
her life. Burdened with weekly blood tests and disquieting uncertainty, she told no one about her illness as she continued
to finish high school. She wanted no special treatment, no extra accommodations. She just wanted to be a normal kid living
a normal life. With deep disappointment, Melissa was forced to defer
enrollment at UPenn and began intensive chemotherapy on July 28, 1998. Despite the debilitating effects of her treatment,
Melissa's spirit never faltered, her focus never blurred, her passion for living never dulled. She was determined to stay
ahead of the game. Over the course of her treatment, while undergoing aggressive chemotherapy, total body radiation and other
serious medical procedures, she enrolled in five courses at the University of Rochester. Weakened by weight loss, nausea,
and other side effects, suffering the insult of hair loss and the trauma of brain seizures, she would complete all courses
with a 4.0 GPA. Her chemotherapy continued through December 1998. By
February 1999, Melissa was officially declared in remission but the celebration was short-lived. Within six weeks, a biopsy
showed she had relapsed and bone marrow transplant was now the only viable option. A desperate donor search, including a local
donor drive, was begun - to no avail. Time was running out but Melissa was still living her life. Knowing she would once again
lose her hair, she laughed and said, "If I'm going to lose it again,
I may as well see how I look as a blond," and bleached her hair. A cousin was finally identified as the best possible donor even though the match was far
from perfect. The transplant was scheduled for June 21, 1999 with sobering expectations that Melissa would suffer serious
complications due to the unmatched donor. To everyone's delight, Melissa breezed through transplant, leaving the hospital
in three and a half weeks instead of the anticipated six to eight. She was going to be well. She was sure of it. However, a cerebral infection resulted in a severe seizure in the fall of 1999 leaving Melissa
with no speech and little neurological functioning on her right side. A nightmarish period followed with Melissa unable to
speak, walk, or even feed herself. A brain biopsy confirmed the preliminary diagnosis of toxoplasmosis, a rare parasitic infection.
After three weeks of intensive therapy, she began to regain functioning. Barely able to walk, speaking with slurred speech, unable to read because of double vision,
and unable to write, Melissa declared herself fit to return to class at the U of R. For the next six weeks, her father accompanied
her to every class, leaving her wheelchair in the hall, so she could walk into the lecture hall unassisted. By mid-semester
she was going by herself and achieved A's in Organic Chemistry and Political Science. By
December, everyone believed she would prevail and plans were made to finally go away to college. On January 5, just five days
before leaving for UPenn, Melissa had what was supposed to be a final bone marrow biopsy. Within one hour, however, the cruelest
blow of all was dealt. Once again, Melissa had relapsed. There were no options. There was no hope. There was nothing left
to do. Nothing except live - which Melissa continued to do with passion. Throughout all the challenges, Melissa viewed herself
as always living, never dying. She knew she would eventually die, as would we all. While she valiantly fought the disease,
she did not fight death. She accepted that she could not know the when or why. But until she died, she intended to live. She decided to go to UPenn anyway, saying, "If
I don't go now, I never will." So off she went to the university
she had so longed to attend. For eight short weeks, she reveled in just being a "college kid". She went to class,
ate in the dining hall, studied with her friends in the dorm and even went to a few fraternity parties, quickly earning the
respect and admiration of all who knew her. While there, she underwent an experimental treatment that offered some small hope,
leaving the hospital on pass to attend class. She required transfusions every day, often twice daily, frequently sitting in
the Emergency department at 2:00 a.m. doing her homework so she would be prepared for class in the morning. By spring break, Melissa had become very sick and had to return to Rochester. A biopsy showed
that the experimental treatment had had no effect on the disease now ravaging her system. Melissa now made her final and most
courageous decision - to stop all treatment. She had come to accept that her time on earth was very limited. With continued
chemotherapy she knew how sick she would be and opted for quality of life versus quantity. Impressed
by her courage and determination, the University of Pennsylvania presented Melissa with her Bachelor of Science in Nursing
degree, a rare tribute bestowed upon those deemed worthy of being a Penn alumna despite being unable to complete their coursework.
In Melissa's honor, the University established the Melissa Sengbusch Inspiration Scholarship for which Melissa proudly
established the eligibility criteria. In the three months until she died,
Melissa never stopped living - a "joyous, turn your head to the sky and shout" kind of living. She took a glorious vacation with her family to the Grand Canyon, rode a hot air balloon
over the Arizona desert, planted an herb garden, crocheted an afghan and took a pottery class at the local art gallery, all
while writing profound poetry and prose in her journal. She said goodbye to her friends and family. She made plans for her
death and burial, donating her body for medical study. Before she died, she asked a promise of her mother. "If you have learned anything from me through all of this, do something with it to
make a difference - to make things better." Melissa's Living
Legacy Foundation is dedicated to Melissa's ever-present spirit and is committed to "making things better" for
other teens living with cancer. http://www.teenslivingwithcancer.org
used with permission
______________________
Melissa's Mom & "Teens Living with Cancer" http://www.teenslivingwithcancer.org The
introduction for Teens Living with Cancer describes the site as: "A site for teens with cancer who have lots of living
to do! You'll get straight information - we know what it's like. All pics and stories are of "real" teens
with cancer. You can connect with others - like yourself. Your friends will see what you really need. Your family will learn
how to get a grip." With this website and being the director of
Melissa's Living Legacy Foundation Melissa's mom, Lauren, has done exactly what Melissa wanted and is helping other
young people who have been diagnosed with cancer. Check out the Teens Living with Cancer website and if you know a teenager
who is living with cancer, you may want to give them the URL: http://www.teenslivingwithcancer.org I admire people who use their loss for another's gain and that's exactly what Lauren
is doing -- Melissa would be very proud of her mom. I want to add one more thing about Melissa's mom that I was impressed
with. I wrote her, asking permission to use the article about Melissa, and I told her my son was a patient of the University
of Penn doctors. Lauren was headed for the college in Philadelphia this weekend and she asked if there was anything she could
do for my son while she was there. We've never met before and I had only emailed her once, but here I was a stranger and
she offered herself for my son. What story does that remind you of? It
reminds me of the Good Samaritan. We expect friends and family and our local congregation to help, but here was a good "Samaritan"
who offered her services. Lauren, if you read this, again, thank you. Not only is your daughter an inspiration, but so are
you. Let's all do better and reach out to others in need and let
us also keep that determined spirit, like Melissa, and strive to LIVE! -Pat
How To Care for a Seriously Ill Child
Taking care of a chronically ill child is one of the
most draining and difficult tasks a parent can face. Beyond facing your child's physical challenges and medical needs,
you will have to deal with the emotional needs your sick child may have and the emotional impact that the prolonged illness
can have on the entire family. Luckily, this tough balancing
act doesn't have to be accomplished alone: support groups, social workers, and family friends often can lend a helping
hand. Explaining Long-Term Illness To Your ChildHonest communication is crucial to helping a child adjust to a serious medical
condition. It's important for a child to know that he or she is sick, and will be getting lots of medicine. The hospital
and the medicine may feel frightening to your child, but they are part of what it takes to helping your child feel better. As you are explaining the illness and the treatment to your child, it's important
to clearly and honestly answer your child's questions, and provide the information that he or she will need to know in
a way he or she will understand and can respond. The aim is not to frighten your child, but to give your child the words to
communicate information and concerns to medical professionals and others. To maintain your child's trust, it's also important to accurately explain and prepare your child for any
treatments - and possible discomfort that might go with along with those treatments. Avoid saying 'This won't hurt,'
if the procedure is likely to be painful. Instead, tell your child that a procedure may cause some discomfort, pain, pressure,
or stinging, but then reassure your child that it will be temporary and that you'll be there to support him or her while
or after it's done. Many hospitals offer parents the choice
of talking to their child about a long-term diagnosis alone, addressing the child with the doctor present, or including the
entire medical team made up of doctors, social workers, and nurses. Your doctor or other medical professional may also be
able to give you some advice on how to talk to your child about his or her illness. Tackling
Tough EmotionsYour child is going to have many feelings about
the changes affecting his or her body, and should be encouraged and given opportunities to express any feelings, concerns,
and fears. It's a good idea to ask your child what he or she is experiencing and listen to everything he or she has to
say before bringing up your own feelings and explanations. This
kind of communication doesn't always have to be verbal. Music, drawing, or writing can often help a child living with
a life-threatening disease to express his or her emotions and to escape through a fantasy world of his or her own design. Your child may also need reminders that he or she is not responsible for the illness.
It's common for kids to fear that they brought their sickness on by something they thought, said or did. It is important
to reassure your child that this is not the case, and to explain, in terms that he or she can understand, what caused the
illness. (You may also want to reassure your child's siblings that nothing they said or did caused your child's illness.) For many questions your child asks, there just aren't going to be easy answers.
And you can't always promise that everything is going to be fine. But you can help your child feel better by listening
to his or her feelings, making him or her understand that it's okay and it's completely understandable to have those
feelings, and assuring your child that you and your family are going to be there to make him or her feel as comfortable as
possible. If a child asks "why me?" it's okay
to be honest, even if the answer is "I don't know." It's a good idea to follow this up by explaining that
even though it's unknown why the illness occurred, the doctors do have treatment for it. (If that is the case.)
Your child may say "it's not fair that I'm sick." Acknowledge that your child is right, that it's
not fair. It's important for your child to feel like it's okay to feel angry about the illness. Your child may ask: "am I going to die?" How you answer is going to depend
on your child's age and maturity level. It's important to discern, if possible, what specific fears or concerns your
child may be having, and to address those concerns specifically. For example, your child may be actually worried about being
in pain. If it is reassuring to your child, you may refer to
your religious, spiritual, and cultural beliefs about death. You may want to stay away from euphemisms for death such as "going
to sleep." Saying that may cause your child and siblings to fear going to sleep. Regardless of your child's age,
it's important that he or she know that there are going to be people who love him or her and who will be there for as
long as they are needed, and that your child will be kept comfortable. Just like any adult, your child is going to need some time to adjust to the diagnosis and the physical changes he
or she may be experiencing, and it's likely that your child is going to feel sad, depressed, angry, afraid, or even denial.
It's a good idea to think about getting some professional counseling help if you see signs that these feelings are starting
to intefere with your child's ability to function, and your child begins to seem withdrawn, depressed, and show radical
changes in eating and sleeping habits that aren't related to your child's physical illness. Childhood
BehaviorAlthough kids with chronic illnesses certainly require
extra "TLC," special medical requirements don't eliminate the routine needs of childhood. The foremost - and
perhaps trickiest - task for worried parents is to treat a sick child as normally as possible. Despite the circumstances,
this means setting limits on unacceptable behavior, sticking to a regular routine, and avoiding overindulgence. This may seem impossible, particularly if you are experiencing
feelings of guilt or an intense need to protect your sick child. But, spoiling or coddling a child can only make it harder
for him or her to readjust once he or she is ready to return to daily activities. When your child leaves the hospital for home, normalcy remains the goal. Your child may want to visit or stay in
touch with friends through visits, if possible, or through email, the phone or letters. Dealing
with SiblingsFamily dynamics can be severely tested when a
child is sick. Clinic visits, surgical procedures, and frequent checkups can throw big kinks into everyone's schedule,
and take an emotional toll on the entire family. To ease these pressures, reach out for any help you can get to help keep
the family routine as close to normal as possible. Friends and family members may be able to help handle errands, carpools,
and meals. Siblings should continue to attend school and their usual recreational activities; the family should attempt to
provide some predictability and time for everyone to be together. Flexibility
is key. The old 'normal' may have been the entire family around the table for a homecooked meal at 6, while the new
'normal' may be take-out pizza on clinic nights. Also,
you may want to talk with your other kids' teachers or school counselors and let them know that a sibling in the family
is ill. Those school personnel may be able to keep a look out for any behavioral changes or signs of stress among your children. It is common for siblings of a chronically ill child to become angry, sullen, resentful,
fearful, or withdrawn. They may pick fights or fall behind in schoolwork. In all cases, parents should pay close attention,
so that the siblings don't feel shunted aside by the demands of the sick child. It may also help your sick child's siblings to be included in the treatment process whenever possible. Depending
on their ages and maturity level, visiting the hospital, meeting the nursing and physician staffs, or accompanying their sick
sibling to the clinic for treatments can also help make the situation less frightening and more understandable. What they imagine about the illness and hospital visits are often a lot worse than
the reality. When they come to the hospital, hopefully they'll develop a more realistic picture and see that, while unpleasant
things may be part of the treatment, there are also people who care about their sibling and try to minimize discomfort. Lightening Your LoadAlthough
no magic potion exists to reduce the stress involved in caring for a child with a long-term illness, there are ways to ease
the strain. - Break problems into
manageable parts. If your child's treatment is expected to be given over an extended time, view it in more manageable
time blocks. Planning a week or a month at a time may be less overwhelming.
- Attend to your own needs. Get appropriate rest and food. To the extent possible, pay attention to your relationship
with your spouse, hobbies, and friendships.
- Depend on friends.
Let them carpool siblings to soccer or theater practice. Permit others - relatives, friends - to share responsibilities of
caring for your child. Remember that you can't do it all.
- Ask
for help in managing the financial implications of your child's illness.
- Recognize that everyone handles stress differently. If you and your spouse have distinct worrying styles, talk about
them and try to accommodate them. Don't pretend that they don't exist.
- Develop collaborative working relationships with health care professionals. Realize you are all part of the team.
Ask questions and learn all you can about your child's illness.
- Consult other parents in support groups at your care center or hospital. They can offer information and understanding.
- Explore support groups for parents who have children with the same or similar illness.
- Keep a journal.
- Utilize
support staff offered at the treating hospital.
Kid-friendly
websites that help your child understand what is going on in his/her body may be a good idea. Don't force these on the
child, but if your child is showing interest and asking questions about his illness or disability, these may be helpful. Be
sure to look at these sites before you show them to your child.
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