The Night I Let Him Live

Back in 2005 we flew down to Florida to witness my youngest sister-in-law get married to a wonderful man.  Flying a family of 5 (2 with disabilities) is never easy. Throw in weather, mechanical failures, and medication limits- and one never knows what to expect.  Listening to your husband when he tells you to leave your cell phone at home (because we didn't have nationwide coverage) is JUST PLAIN STUPID!

John, I and the kids were all flying out together at 7:30am that morning.  John's parents were leaving from the same airport around 10:00am the same day.  Fog was our first obstacle.  We were delayed long enough to greet Grandma and Grandpa at the airport and watch their plane take off.  Around 10:30 we were informed that our plane had mechanical trouble so we were all going to be bused 25 miles north to another airport.

Fine.

Now running 4 hours late, we arrive at the new airport and are told we have to split up on 2 different flights!  Okay.  John took our youngest (Mike) because he has the shortest attention span, and they would take the longer flight with one hop in Atlanta.  I took the oldest and middle because I was 'Super Mom', Andy was tougher to handle, and our flight left first.   

Kelsey, Andy and I boarded our plane with promises to meet up in the Panama City Airport.  John and Mike would have to wait about an hour for their flight also through Atlanta.  Our simple flight to Florida turned into a big delay  in Atlanta, a drop in Alabama and a late night cab ride 2 hours to our final destination in the Florida panhandle.

As the 3 of us sat in Atlanta, I was monitoring the flight boards.  I had just said to Kelsey: "Watch your father and brother come running though here.  Any second now, they are going to come around that corner all in a rush to catch that flight to Florida."

2 seconds later- my prophecy was fulfilled.  John and Mike came flying around the corner.  He took one look at the 3 of us and asked "What are you guys doing here?"

All 3 of us burst into tears. 

He apologized for making us cry but he only had a few seconds to talk.  I said "I don't know what time we were going to arrive, everything was messed up", and he said "Oh babe, I'm sorry.  We have to go...we'll miss our flight.  Call me when you know what is going on." 

And they were gone.

By the time I had a definite arrival time for Florida, it was well after supper time, Andy's meds had worn off, and I had no way to call the family to tell them where the heck we were or when to pick us up.

By the grace of God himself, I had to forethought to jot down John's sister's home phone number and shove it into my purse before we left Wisconsin.  Having never been in jail, I wasn't exactly sure how to make a collect phone call.  All I could remember was a very irritating commercial for 1-800-CALLATT.  A very nice lady helped connect my call to Florida.  I quickly told John's sister that they should expect us at Panama City Beach Airport sometime after 1am. 

Sadly, we didn't discuss the different time zones I had traveled through.  Jen and her groom were not sure if my 1am arrival accounted for those time zones (it did), so they sat at the airport from 11:30 until we arrived at 1:20am.  Keep in mind, they were getting married in less than 24 hours...but they let everyone else go to sleep and they waited for us at the airport.  Bless their hearts!!

Most people had been very kind and understanding of my situation. We took turns watching each other's luggage for food runs and bathroom breaks. We chatted amongst ourselves, and moaned about the delays and inconvenience. Andy was exhausted, out of medication, bored, and not interested in sitting still for more than 2 seconds at a time. I had bought him 2 Beanie Babies, a second coloring book, 2 meals from McDonald's and he was done!

There were about 18 of us trapped together that trip.  All trying to get to the same airport in Florida.  When we arrived in Dothan, Alabama- we still had a 2 hour drive South into Florida.  The van waiting to transport us only held 7 of us.  Some would have to wait another hour for a second vehicle.

Most people told me to put my kids into the first van; they could wait for the second vehicle.  I thanked them all for their patience and kindness.  I think I hugged a few of them.  I put Kelsey and Andy into the center seat of that van, and walked to the back to load our luggage.  When I returned to the side door, a strange man was sitting in MY seat.

That man wouldn't even look at me while my exhausted children tried to slide over to make room for me.  Andy is gently patting the space next to him say "It's okay Mumma, we'll make room for you.  Come on Mumma, we want to go see Aunt Jenny's wedding." 

I was dumbfounded.  He had to know that he was sitting next to my children.  Surely he had heard me apologize to one person or another for my poorly behaved, unmedicated, autistic son!!  What the heck was I going to do?  The van was full!  So I told my kids to get out and that we were going to have to wait another hour for the next vehicle to take us south. 

Suddenly, two sweet, kind, wonderful women that were sitting in the back of that van stood up and said "Take our seats.  Some people have no manners or common decency!"  (I'm still suprised she didn't clip that man in the back of the head as she exited.)

As I hugged them through tears and stifled sobs, they told me "Don't you worry about a thing honey.  We aren't in a rush, and you need to get those little ones to see their Aunt Jenny's wedding."

They told 'seat stealer guy' to move his ass to the back of the van and make room for me to sit with my children.  How that man moved without ever looking up from the ground is beyond me.  I was so shocked by the kindness these 2 women had shown me, I could only wipe my tears of gratitude  as I climbed into the van. 

I think I quietly cried and sniffed all 2 hours of the drive south.  I was tired, wired, stressed and never ever going to travel again!!  Kelsey and Andy snoozed like angels for most of the ride.

The bride and groom greeted us warmly at the airport.  They had been kicked out at midnight because the airport had closed up for the night.  They assured me that they had enjoyed their 2 hour wait outside the building, and not to give it another thought.

When we finally got to the hotel, John and Mike were sound asleep.  I tucked my two kids into bed, and finally joined John in our bedroom.  He was sleepy but managed to ask "How did it go?  What time is it?"

I sat straight up and said "It went horrible.  Everything was messed up.  Kelsey was extremely helpful and tolerant.  Andy was a beast.  His meds wore off before we even left Atlanta!"

And here is where I want credit for not killing John...

He rolls over in bed, opens one eye and says "Well you had all the medications in your purse- which you carried with you the whole time.  Why didn't you just give him another dose?!"

I sat out on the balcony for 2 more hours before the urge to kill was reduced to a level that only made me want to pull out his fingernails with my tweezers.

The rest of the trip was great. Mike and I got a flu bug, but he recovered overnight and never missed a beat.  I spent one whole day hugging the toilet and trying to wash bedding.  I still hear about the wonderful trip everyone took to Shell Island to see the dolphins that day. 

Jen and Alex are still happily married, I'll never stop thanking God for sending me those angels who got out of the van for me, and that collect phone call that lasted 2 minutes- $22.54!!!

We haven't traveled that far as a whole family since.  I'm not certain we ever will.

Crime and Punishment

Andy is 20 years old; he's 5'11"tall and weighs a tad bit more than I do.  He's bigger, stronger, but not exactly smarter than me- Thank goodness!  Don't get me wrong- he's one smart cookie- but he's not "Mother of 3 kids" smart.

Andy has gone through cycles of behaviors over the years.  His level of naughtiness depended on is age.  His level of defiance has increased with his size.  Sometimes he only needed to be threatened with "Wait until your father gets home".  Recently he evolved to losing his TV, computer, or his beloved chicken nuggets for a certain period of time. 

Andy use to comply with my demands simply because I was the mom.  Slowly, he grew to dislike and balk almost any request I made:

Me:  Andy, would you please pick up your dirty laundry?

Andy:  MOOOOooooooom! 

Me:  Andy, you need to take a shower.

Andy:  Are you KIDDING me?!

I could go on and on and on....

No matter what- if my husband had to intervene- compliance was guaranteed.  One word from John and Andy snapped into action.  Usually with a gusto and positive attitude I could only hope for. 

Lately, Andy has decided that Dad isn't in control either.  I've lost my back up!  John lost the ability to jokingly say to me "I don't know what you're complaining about.  He likes me just fine!"  He is now feeling as powerless as I do.  (Ha- take that Super Daddy Man!)

About a year ago, Andy became mad at me while I was in his room.  He yelled, carried on, and finally backed me into the hallway- slamming the door in my face.  It was a battle I wasn't prepared for and his size and volume took me by surprise making me back away in retreat. 

He lost all technology for 2 weeks as punishment for being so nasty to me.  It was 2 long weeks of crying, begging, yelling and discussing why he was being punished at all.   It took months for my word to have any meaning again and he repeatedly tried the physical intimidation game.  It felt like I was staring down a grizzly bear with only a feather in my hand.

With time and standing my ground- 8 times out of 10- I'm in charge again.  Andy's older sister and younger brother don't always understand the 'dance' I'm doing.  I try to pick my battles with each of them.  Some things just aren't worth the fight.  Other situations call for confrontation.

More than once Andy and I have gotten into a verbal squabble in front of them.  Both Kelsey and Mike have tried to step in to stop Andy from taking swing at me (or so they think he's going to swing).  I first have to stop Kelsey (or Mike) from intervening. Then I must finish up with Andy, and finally try to patch things up with Mike (or Kelsey).   

If I let Andy win again, I don't know how long it will take me to regain control, power, or authority!  They fear for their mother (it truly touches my heart that they care enough) and they sometimes believe I might let Andy get away with murder. 

He's a 20 year old autistic man.  He is verbal.  He has definitive likes and dislikes.  Most people his age have had significant relationships, driver's license, Independence, and a life beyond high school.  Andy has one more year of school (or vocational training).  Someday he will live outside our home (assisted living facility, group home) and he will have a job that stimulates and challenges him daily.

Andy has typical/atypical growing pains!  (If someone has written a book on this- please send me the title)

Now, how does one get creative with a 20 year old man who wants to have some control in his life?  I've been pondering this for months.  I've decided that the old adage "The Choice is yours- make it a good one" is something I can work with.

Apparently I've been punishing bad choices and behaviors for too long.  It has been probably a decade since I tried to consistently reward the good choices. 

I'm switching things up.  Instead of focusing on the negative- I'm going to encourage the positive.  I'm making a chart to display on the fridge.  I'll place daily tasks, chores, expectations to be marked off by Andy.  I'll set reasonable goals to achieve a reward.  I'll have a variety of rewards to earn.  The boy loves McDonald's, movies, and Schleich animal figurines. 

I'm tired of fighting with him.  I'm sure he's sick of me fighting with him.  Something has to give- but it can't be my authority.

Wish me luck- maybe one day soon he'll appreciate his mother again. If I'm really lucky- John won't be able to mock me with his Super Daddy Man status!

Cancer Sucks

It has been a flurry of activity the past week here. For once- none of it revolved directly around autism.  I've often wondered what God's plan was. Why did I have autistic children? Why me?

I recently had a personal epiphany after 5 days of biopsies, surgeons, oncologists, genetic counselors, and cancer care coordinators. I realized that over 20 years I have developed valuable skills raising my special children that will be hopefully be helpful as I help my husband's family cope with their mother's diagnosis of breast cancer.

Aside from having a very flexible work schedule, and the convenience of his parents living around the block, I have a degree of separation. She isn't the mother I've had all my life, I've simply had the pleasure of having her in my life for the last 26 years.   She is truly a gem of a woman.

I am the daughter-in-law. Not the mother this time. I remind myself of the differential daily. It gives me a level of comfort and apprehension. I want to be supportive and useful beyond running errands and cleaning.  I want to be at every appointment, treatment session, meeting. I want to be the pillar of strength my Mother-in-law was for me back in 1997 when we told her about about her grandson's autism. I don't want to get in the way.  I desperately want to be helpful, considerate, and available to my husband and his family.

When we were going through the discovery years of autism, knowledge was valuable but hard to come by.  Every decision seemed reactionary and not preventive.  We never could anticipate what quirk, habit, or problem was around the corner.   Once it presented itself, we made corrections.  You had the basic generic diagnosis of autism, but every day we created our own definition of what autism was in our household.

Cancer is very similar.  Knowledge is power but not specific enough to guarantee a positive outcome.  You try something and react with medicine and treatments if problems arrise.  You can't predict anything.  You have the generic diagnosis of cancer, but what happens next varied by each individual.

In "autismland" we had specialists, therapists, friends, books, and medications to help.  We learned as we moved forward- what worked, and what didn't work. 

In "cancerland" we have specialists, therapists, friends, books, medications and surgeries (when possible).  We turn to the specialist with their statistics and trials- and pray we are on the right path.

The only difference between Autism and Cancer is that the latter can be....fatal. 

Cancer mirrors Autism in ways I've never anticipated.  Each person has a different presentation, prognosis, treatment, and reaction.  Each person has a different level of acceptance, disposition, outlook, and hope- much like autism.  This applies to the patient and the family.

My mother-in-law makes Pollyanna look like Lurch from the Addams Family!  She could find the good in an axe murder, a hurricane, or an earthquake.  She finds the sunny side to almost any situation and she will support you until you finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.  She makes the world brighter and happier to be in.  She fits every cliche' about looking on the bright side- and sometimes it drives me nuts!

I have two wonderful sister-in-laws.  They both live in Florida.  Mercifully, they were both able to visit this week and be with their mother and father.  They are both fun and loving people.  It is a thrill to sit at the table with them all as they laugh, tell stories, and share their lives.  I hope to be a person they can come to if they have questions they don't want to ask their parents.  I want to be their rock of knowledge and an extension of their love towards their mother. 

Over the years I have learned to challenge experts when I feel it is necessary.  I've mastered the art of thinking 5 steps ahead.  Positive or negative- I try to be ready for every possibility.  I've discovered the confidence to ask questions in spite of the fear of hearing a disheartening answer.  I plow into hard situations like a bull- if you can't help me- get out of my way. 

The internet has made information more available. I find that if you look at 12 different sites you will find 27 different theories or suggestions.  It is that way for autism and cancer. Both are a kind of crap shoot.

My children handled to news of their grandmother very well.  Actually, we've only told Kelsey and Michael.  We won't have to tell Andy until Grandma starts to loose her hair from chemo.  I'm anticipating the first thing out of his mouth will be something like "Grandma, what happened to your hair/eyebrows." 

Michael addressed the elephant in the room the first time he saw his Grandmother in person after we had told him the news.  "Well Grandma, I know you are going to be healthy again, but you are going to look really weird without hair."

We have a long road ahead with Grandma's diagnosis.  She has always been our pillar of positivity and optimism.  As with any family, this type of situation shakes everyone to the core.  I feel the urgent need to be the first to stand back up and offer support to everyone else.  Much like my mother-in-law did for me all those years ago. 

Autism has taught me a valuable lesson...how to be a pillar. 

I now have the answer to "Why me?" 

The answer is: "Because someday you will have to understand 'Why her?' and help them all."

Cancer sucks...

 

Economic woes (and) 10-4=6

In both of our families, teasing is a form of affection.  Old stories of what you have done or said pop up years or decades later.  Someone manages to use it in a way you never saw coming.  I refuse to share some of the stories my family has used against me, but instead I will share two stories of things I have done to my children.

When the economy started to nose dive, the news channels seemed to be constantly talking about companies downsizing their workforce.  Sitting down as a family for dinner one night I started a conversation with...

Me:  Your father and I have been talking.  Due to the economy being so bad right now, we've decided we are going to have to let one of you kids go.

The 3 kids all pondered this for a split moment, John snorted into his glass of water, and suddenly Kelsey and Mike were trying to yell over each other...

Kelsey: (pointing to her brother)  It's gotta be Mike, he was the last one in!
Mike: (standing up from his chair)  Kelsey is the oldest, she's been here long enough!

We all cracked up- except Andy who sat in silence while the gears ground in his brain...

Andy: Huh? 

This is the essence of my family wrapped up in 15 seconds!

On to the second story...

John and I agreed early in our marriage that we would never be that couple who added a year to their wedding anniversary to convince our children that we hadn't gotten pregnant before we were actually married. 

We once went to a surprise 50th Anniversary party.  The couple of honor walked in and were surprised alright- they looked at their children and said it was only their 49th anniversary.  Apparently they had forgotten their fib decades earlier.  As the parents and children stood in front of the crowd- everyone started to do the math...the laughter lasted for 3 minutes!

Kelsey was probably 12 or 13 when the topic came up. She was talking about a recent class where they had discussed pregnancy, abstinence, and birth control.  Then she looked at me and asked:

When did you and Dad decide to have kids?

Me: (GULP!)  Well, your Dad and I dated over 4 years before we got engaged.  We were hoping to buy a house before we had kids.

Kelsey:  But we just bought a house last year?

Me: Yeeees, children are costly, and your brothers' medical bills put us behind for many years.

Kelsey:  Then why didn't you just wait?

(The gig was up, I had to swallow down my parental fears and admit the truth- gently)

Me:  Kelsey, we were married in 1991.  What year were you born?

Kelsey: I was born in 1991 too.

Me: We were married in April- the 4th month of the year.  What month were you born?

Kelsey:  October, the 10th month.

(Pause while she is processing...nope- she isn't getting it yet!)

Me: 10 minus 4 equalssssss.....

Kesley: 6

Me:  Okay, so how many months does is take to grow a baby? 

Kelsey:  9 months

Me:  And you remember that you were very late, in fact you took 2 full days to be induced...

Her eyes got as big as saucers as she realized what I was saying.  She finally realized that I was 3 months pregnant with her when we actually got married. 

Me:  You were the best oops in the world!  Your father and I were so excited, everyone was excited! Actually, you were only my first oops.  Andy was a surprise too.  We hadn't planned to have you two so close together.  But- eh, things all worked out- didn't they?

Kelsey:  Well what about Michael?

Me:  Well Michael was a bit different.  You and Andy were about 2 and 1 years old.  We knew we had wanted three children total...so we decided to try and we got Michael just before you turned 3.

Kelsey: Oh, okay....

Me: So you know what that means?

Kelsey:  No- what?

Me: Well you and Andy were surprises- wonderful surprises.  Michael was planned... so what it all really means is that we really only love Michael!

Kelsey: (laughing) Jeez Mom- I already know that you love him the most!

We got a good laugh over it.  Once again, humor saved the day.  I do love all my kids- planned or not.  I wouldn't trade one of them for the world (most days).  I didn't ruin my daughter with this tease, and I didn't break my promise not to lie about my anniversary.  John's parents celebrate 50 years of marriage in April of 2016, we will celebrate 25 years together 3 days later.  Should be a good party!

Just 'BOOK' em' all...

I was discussing this story with my daughter while she was home from college on Winter break.  Apparently she remembers witnessing this event- but I don't remember her being with us.  The trauma must have been so great that it popped holes in my memory. 

That said- here's another story about swear words....

Kelsey came home one afternoon and reported that our Andy had been observed from a high school hallway swearing up a storm.  Apparently the homeroom teacher had stepped out for a moment, and a group of students thought it would be funny to encourage Andy to say "BOOK YOU" (only he didn't say book). 

Andy is a literal show boat.  He loves attention and laughter.  He doesn't comprehend the difference between being laughed at or laughed with- which is sometimes a blessing.  Those students got a big chuckle out of watching Andy yell those words, and Andy thought he was entertaining the troops.

Kids will be kids, an email was sent to school warning them of the incident- but so far, Andy hadn't demonstrated his new found skills at home.  We had a family discussion at the dinner table about naughty words that night and I assumed it was all over.

A few nights later- Andy, myself (and apparently Kelsey) had to stop at Wal-Mart.   As usual, Andy trotted off to the toy section.  I went off to grab whatever items I needed.  I remember walking through the main aisle glancing to my right, looking for my man-child amongst rows of children and parents.  Eventually I found the boy.

Me:  Andy, come on, its time to go.

Andy:  Not yet Mom.

Me:  Come on, we have to get home.

Andy: NO- 'BOOK' YOU!!

The world around us stopped moving.  I was mortified.  All eyes darted between Andy and I.  I'm certain I turned 7 shades of red (and I'm not a blusher)! I'm almost positive this was witnessed by no less than 30 strangers...but I'm not stopping to count heads.

I took a deep breath...counted to 3, took five giant steps and grabbed him by the sleeve.

Andy: (terror is in his eyes) Mom, don't hurt me!    

Me:  (through clenched teeth)  Lets.  Go.  Now.

For a child that has difficulty interpreting facial expressions, nuances, and body language- he figured out my mood rather quickly.

Andy:  I'm sorry mom,  I'll never say 'book' again. 

I pull him towards the front of the store, looking for the shortest possible checkout line.  He is trailing behind me trying to plant his heels.  I haul him along with his sleeve in a death grip.  I was mad, but Andy was terrified.

I can't remember what exactly it was I so desperately needed from that store, but in the past, I have been known to drop everything because of a melt down, and return later when behavior has improved.  I guess that night I needed what ever I had in my hands because I marched him up to the checkout with me.

Andy is behind me, rattling on like an auctioneer, the panic is building with every word....

Andy:  I'm sorry mom, I'll never say 'book' again.  PLEASE don't tell Dad I said 'book'. 

Me:  Andy, that is enough.  We'll talk about it when we get home.

Andy:  Dad is gonna KILL ME!!  I said 'book'!  I know 'book' is a bad word.  I will never say 'book' again!!  PLEASE don't tell Dad that I said 'book'!!  PLEEEEEASE! (with praying hands and tears)

(My eyes roll to the ceiling, a voice inside my head screams): OH DEAR LORD- PLEASE MAKE HIM STOP SAYING 'BOOK'!!!!

Finally, I turn to him, intent on calming him down...unfortunately, all I see an 80 year old woman in line behind us.  Her eyes are as large as saucers, her hand is over her mouth in horror.

I got nothing.  No words will make this better.  No explanation will take the look of total repulsion off that woman's face.  I resign myself to the fact that one more person in this world will go to bed tonight believing they have witnessed the worst parenting in the world.

You know what- after 7 years- the one thing that bothers me the most about this story is that I can not remember what it was that I was so desperate to buy that night in Wal-Mart!  Not the looks of disgust from the toy aisle, or the expression of revulsion in the check out.  It drives me nuts that I didn't just walk out of that store and wait until later.

Moral of the story-  This too shall pass.  You do the best you can.  Sometimes there aren't enough words to explain it all.  I held my head high, refrained from beating him in the parking lot- and we all moved forward.  (Just 'book' em.  They haven't got a clue)

P.S. His father didn't kill him, and he's never said it since. Another gimmie from God I guess?

Loved and Lost

The question was asked after my last post...Did you get another puppy?

Yep.  Actually- we had 3 puppies.

It was early June when Molly Putzer left us suddenly.  The house was silent.  Our hearts were broken.  The kids were coping.  I was beside myself with grief.  I had not grown up with pets. I had never dealt with this kind of loss before.  She was always there, and now she was gone.

John broached the topic of a new puppy a few days after Molly was gone...

"Maybe we should look for another dog.  It would be good for the kids, maybe help them heal? I miss having someone greet me at the back door every night.  It is too quiet here!"

I looked at him in shock. 

"I thought you didn't want to another dog?  You hated midnight barking, dog dirt pick up, sitters, and fighting for a place to sit.  Besides, puppies destroy things, require tons of attention, and pee everywhere."

He put his arms around me and said "I know all that.  I just want everyone to quit crying!!"

So Kelsey and John started looking.  A few phone calls were made, and 3 days later I was driving 45 minutes North to check out a little miniature pincher they found on the internet.  We told the boys her name was going to be Sophie.  I figured this dog was going to have the name I wanted.  No one was even getting a vote this time!

 

Sophie was 8 weeks old, smaller than I expected, full if vim and vigor and all teeth.  She was smart, busy and quickly trained to potty in a litter box in the bathroom.

 

Two weeks after we brought her home we suspected she was having seizures.

 

Okay- no problem.  This isn't rare.  She bounces back within minutes.  Give her some medication, adjust the levels, move on. 

 

She didn't follow my plan.

 

Under the advice of our local vet, decided to take her 2 hours away to Madison.  The university has an awesome veterinary school and they had an opening the next morning.  Kelsey, my credit card and I took off early the next morning with Sophie dozing on my lap.

 

She had a seizure in the lobby while we waited.  I took her up to the desk and suddenly 3 nurses came out running. They took Sophie back into the clinic area.  I turned around to see my 20 year old daughter in tears. 

 

I hate feeling helpless.  I hate seeing my children cry when I am helpless- even more.

 

Her seizure had ended before they had a chance to really observe her.  Being in a teaching veterinary school has it advantages.  Very eager students and tons of people who love animals.  They especially love puppies! 

 

After a thorough exam, we were given options.  All of them costly.  We decided she would stay the night, MRI, spinal tap, blood draw, and liver biopsy.  How could we give up now?  She was so young, it might just be epilepsy, or it might my some catastrophic metabolic disorder. 

 

I came home with a credit card almost to the limit, no puppy, and no answers. 

 

We would have to wait for lab results, but they decided to treat her for epilepsy while we waited.

 

We picked her up the following afternoon and tried to carry on but Sophie never recovered.  Her seizures continued to ramp up until it looked like she was having one constant seizure.  I knew we were in trouble when the head of Veterinary Neurology called me back.  The kind hearted woman on the other end of the phone told me there was nothing more they could think to do.  Sophie was on enough seizure medication to put my husband in a coma, we had rugs, runners, blankets, and pillows everywhere.  All she wanted to do was lay in my arms and snuggle. 

 

Probable diagnosis- metabolic disorder.  Genetic and deadly.

 

We had her for just short of 2 months before she was put to sleep in my arms.  She was wrapped in the little lap blanket we had shared for last month.  I took her in alone- it was my choice and I couldn't bare to watch my family cry over her too.  I haven't been able to put her remains under the arborvitae tree she loved to play in.  She is currently resting on the mantle.

 

I'm glossing over most of the details in this story because- quite frankly- it is simply to painful.

 

After a week of deep, dark depression- John took me out to breakfast.  He pulled out my iPad, and showed me a picture of a puppy.

 

 

 

 "She's a chocolate and tan female miniature pincher.  She's in Minnesota.  The breeder will meet you halfway." he told me softly.

 

I cried, I looked at the photo, and I cried harder.  I wasn't ready.  I had lost 2 dogs in less than 2 months.  I could not do this again!  The kids were on a roller coaster of emotions- especially Michael.  He had taken all of this extremely hard. 

 

We all sat down that afternoon and talked about it.  It would be hard, but this puppy came from a reputable breeder.  We could wait- but it would be almost a year before this breeder had another litter.

 

Andy chose the name Izzy. 

 

Michael and I drove 3 hours to meet our newest member.  She was docile, gentle, meek, and tiny!  After a few weeks, I emailed the breeder thanking her for the millionth time.  In passing I mentioned that we may be contacting her in a few years about getting a second puppy from her.

 

She wrote back-

 

"I still have her brother.  He's very sweet too.  He likes to be held like a baby."

 

Oh boy...what have I done now?!

 

Being a complete chicken, and not wanting to face my husband- I sent him a text....

 

"The breeder wrote me back.  Izzy's brother is available.  :)"

(I hoped the smiley face would soften the blow)

 

I didn't get a reply.  I waited 3 hours until he came home for lunch.

(Not a good sign)

 

He walked into the back door, and said "Show me the picture."

 





 

 He knew it was a done deal. 

 

A week later Milo joined his sister.  Although they had been apart 2 months, they seemed to immediately remember each other.  They cuddled up on the blanket together 10 minutes after we got him home.  They are now inseparable!

 

We now have 'Dumb and Dumber', 'the kids', or 'the twins'.  One puppy was interesting but 2 puppies are awesome.  They fool constantly, follow me every where, have a toilet paper obsession, and are 82% potty trained. I haven't used the bathroom without 2 witnesses to cheer me on since we got them.

 

John says they are the best stress reducers ever.  He claims that Izzy is his princess, and Milo is a dirty old man.  He refuses to acknowledge that Izzy chewed up 2 pairs of his slippers- he insists that Milo forced her to do it.  (Milo didn't puke and poop leather laces for 2 days!) 

 

Its been 7 months since we started the roller coaster.  We've loved and lost, loved and lost, and loved again.  Izzy and Milo are healthy and happy and so is the family. 

 

Milo and Izzy

Christmas 2012  





Molly Putzer- the autistic dog

When we finally purchased our first home, the kids were excited about many things. Kelsey was guaranteed to attend the same middle school as all her friends, the boys would no longer need to share a bedroom, but best of all- we could have a dog!

We gradually unpacked everything and I finally felt settled in enough to start looking. John was gone off for a golf weekend that July weekend. The kids and I noticed an advertisement in the paper for an adoption event at a local pet store for the upcoming Sunday afternoon!

This was it- I felt it in my bones- we were going to find a puppy today. I shamefully admit to getting the kids all excited and riled up about the idea. How could John deny 3 little faces greeting him at the back door? That poor man walked into a hornets nest of excitement with only a slight hang over to defend himself with. (Yep- I anticipated that factor, and used it against him with all my might!)

After allowing him 20 minutes to clean up, we were off to the pet store...3 thrilled kids, one hopeful mother, and a father who didn't know what hit him!

We walked in to find crates, cages, puppies, dogs, kittens, cats and lots of people! Oh crap- I hadn't anticipated other people seeing the ad too! Panic started to take hold of my throat, but I pasted on my biggest smile and started walking.

There she was.  This sweet little 8 week old puppy named 'Matilda'.  She was timid, tiny- and in a stranger's arms!! The kids walked around looking at kittens and puppies, but I kept an eye on 'Matilda'.  If she was put down for a second, I was going to swoop in and never let her go.  After 20 excruciating minutes, I finally went over the woman (who was still holding what I was now calling 'My Matilda').

Me:  Hi!  Are you interested in adopting this puppy?

Strange lady holding MY DOG: Actually no, I'm just waiting for a friend.

(I wave over my 3 children, hung over hubby, and put on my saddest face)

Me:  Oh, we were hoping to adopt her. 

(All 3 kids faces lit up like Christmas trees, hubby starts to search for a chair, that man knows when he's been beat)

Strange lady holding MY DOG:  She is sweet isn't she?

Me: Yep, she is going to make our family very happy.  Thank you! (took puppy out of stunned woman's arms and walked away)

I can't honestly say I finished that sentence completely before I was spinning around looking for someone to fill out the paperwork to take her home. 

We were told she was from a shelter in Kentucky that had recently had a fire.  Her sister 'Moonshine' was also up for adoption.  They guessed she was a beagle/labrador mix. She was up to date on all her vaccines and we promised to have her spayed as soon as she was of age. I signed on the dotted lines and never looked back.

We bought toys, a kennel, food, dishes, baby gates, and a collar.  We went home and discussed a name.  Matilda just didn't fit her.  I wanted her to be a Sophie, Andy came up with Molly- I was quickly outvoted.

Exactly 3 hours later she started to cough.  We called my mother-in-law and had her listen on the phone...her guess was Kennel Cough.  It's Sunday night, we don't even have a vet lined up, and the only clinic open charges $200 just to get an exam started. 

We promised the kids we would bring Molly home, and took off with a puppy who was getting weaker by the minute.  The kids watched us back out of the driveway looking like we were going to Disney World without them.   

The vet confirmed it was Kennel Cough, wanted to keep her for at least the night. Oxygen, medication and monitoring was what they said she needed.  I couldn't go home empty handed.  They would never believe the puppy was still alive unless I brought her back home with us! 

We convinced the doctors that we would be able to provide round the clock care for the puppy at home and would follow up with our own vet in the morning.  John drove home, hangover almost gone, mumbling to the steering wheel:

"Get a dog, she said.  We can watch them all grow up together, she said.  It won't be a problem, she said.  You won't have to do a thing, she said.  Who's going to get a SECOND JOB TO PAY THE VET BILLS!?" 

I turned to him with tears in my eyes, lifting that sweet puppy up for him to see, and said in a meek voice:  "We're really sorry."

For the next few days she slept on my chest, in my lap, and across my shoulders.  So much for training her to sleep in a kennel!  I got up in the night to run hot steamy showers and clap my cupped hands across her little side to loosen the gunk in her lungs. She slowly recovered and never looked back.  Until the day before she passed away- she was never sick again. 

Molly was never the smallish lap dog we anticipated.  She became an 80 pound behemoth.  She tore up 1 chair, 1 footstool, 2 couches, numerous shoes, toys,and had a obsession for wet towels. She learned to sit, and shake paws- that's it.  She never figured out that the light on the carpet came from the flashlight in my hand.  She chased that spot most evenings until she dropped from exhaustion.

One day she was acting weird.  Constantly chasing her tail, running through the house, and being a general pain in the tush.  Getting frustrated, I remarked out loud- "Jeez Molly, what is wrong with you!?"

Michael looked at me and said "Nothing is wrong with her mom, she's just autistic too."

Huh, the boy might have a point.  Obsessive behavior, no communication skills, hyperactivity, lack of awareness of danger, and excessive tail flapping- maybe the boy was on to something?

She would bark at anything- stars, moon, wind, fence- it was all fair game.  If we were lucky, one of us would hear her outside and alert whomever was closest to the patio door with a simple direction- "DOG!"  That word meant- open the door, yell at Molly to be quiet, and/or trick her into coming back inside.

One time John was closest to the patio- and after grumbling quietly to himself, Andy said to him:

"Dad- her name is Molly!  Not damn dog, last dog we're ever going to have!"

She lived for just over 8 years and answered to many names.  Putzer, Molls, Baby Girl, and Land Shark.  She is buried under the maple tree in the backyard she tried to pull up as a puppy.  She left us quietly, peacefully and there will never be another one like her. She taught our family many lessons- patience, responsibility, tolerance, self control, but mostly- how to love unconditionally regardless of the quirks. 

After she passed, I commented to John that I felt bad about not realizing how sick she had become.  I wondered if we could have fought harder to save her had we known about the tumor. 

"Amy, you fought for that dog from the day we brought her home until this morning.  You fought when she was up for adoption, when she had kennel cough, when she destroyed something, and every time I grouched about her barking. She was in your arms the moment she left this Earth.  You fought for that dog every day of her life- and she knew it.  She was always 'your dog'."

I hope people say the same things about how we raised our kids.  My headstone could read:

"She fought for her kids just like she fought for her dog."

I'll have to think about that epitaph.