Vicki's Voice

Archive for March, 2010

She was born the oldest of 3 children in a Catholic Italian family. She was loved in all the traditional ways, rich in the family’s traditions: festivals, family gatherings, playmates at school, parish involvement. She loved art, animals, music like all teenagers, but there was a shyness about her. During high school she became determined to be on the outside what everyone saw on the inside. She lost weight and bloomed in her senior year. As I thumbed through the newspaper, I identified with her struggle with weight, and self image so intertwined with that, to perfection. It was good to leave that cocoon behind, I thought.

Reading on, I was surprised to find that at 26 she had suffered hypoxic encephalopathy – a neurological injury caused by lack of oxygen to the brain, at first put on a ventilator, but soon able to breathe on her own, left with a simple feeding tube. They never would find out the cause. I became more engrossed in the story. It had been five years since that episode and there was no sign of improvement or having her come back to the life she knew. It had moved into the courts, two opposing sides, each maintaining her best interests. She was labeled as being in a constant vegetative state.

Years before, I had a son who was born with extreme hydrocephalus. The standard (Apgar) test for reflexes, swallowing, sight, alertness given to all infants was on a scale of 1 – 10, at birth, and repeated shortly afterwords. He had scored a zero, twice. He was on life support a short time, specialists flown in from around the country. When I awoke, I knew it was very bad. There assembled around my bed were my parents, husband, pastor, doctors, a social worker. There was no sound from the nursery. My son’s life was placed in our hands, to decide whether to keep him on life support, or be merciful, and turn them off. There was nothing in his brain that survived, except his brain stem. He couldn’t breathe, eat, was blind. His head was twice the size of a normal infant. He would not survive surgery. There was little hope that he could live a week.

He was received into the Church, and he was removed from all life support. And… he began to breathe on his own. We authorized a feeding tube, leaving the rest to God. He required constant hospitalization. One week stretched into a month, the months into years. He passed, naturally, 2 months shy of his 6th birthday. It was 1981.

It was now in the early ’90′s, and I am reading of this poor young woman, empathizing with her and a drama that is unfolding in the national headlines.

But life goes on, and I lost the thread to her life, with my everyday-ness. I accept a job in St. Petersburg late 1994, as a communications director for the Catholic Diocese. Moving from Michigan, a whirlwind of activities met me on the first day and only grew. One day at lunch a name is mentioned. Terri Schiavo. I was startled. I thought she had passed away. But no. She lived not far from my office. A court fight is about to take place to remove her feeding tube. This was to be the last attempt, after several other removals and re-insertions.

Going through the files, the court documents & church statements, I stumble upon the photo I saw in the news of a beautiful, laughing young woman, filled with life. And I look at the tapes submitted to the courts. Life had first smudged, then began erasing her unique features, as it had my son’s, and as it would with me. Her body was contorted by constricting muscles, dying nerves. Her peaches & cream complexion was now pocked by acne born of normal irritation. This beautiful young woman may have aged from 26 to 41 chronologically, but she looked ancient. “Terri,” I prayed, “if you are going to wake up, do it now.”

I lived and breathed her last days on earth. There was not a paper, tabloid, news vehicle or magazine that did not grace Terri on the covers of this event. No dignity. No privacy. Voices were conspicuously loud or silent. There was no middle ground. Protesters disrupted the quiet of the hospice where she was being cared for. Pseudo-friars ran the circus as much as the jugglers for life. I would drive by every chance I could. I took death threats for both sides, thousands of emails and voice mails overflowed the phone lines. And in small pockets, away from the cameras’ prying eyes, were small groups of our parishioners, members of religious and priests, compassionate visitors praying the rosary. Holding no signs, but maintaining a vigil. For some it was a daily pilgrimage for years.

I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough to give her dignity, to find a voice just for her, the silent woman, with the huge dark eyes. It was – without a doubt – the darkest time for me professionally, and as a mother and woman who identified with her in so many ways.

The drama played out for 14 days, slowly, painfully. People began fasts with her. It moved into Palm Sunday, and I felt like I was following the path with Christ, with Terri and with her family.

Five years ago today, Terri Schindler Schiavo breathed her last breath. Courts had denied both husband and her family mutual visitation during her death watch, even in her death. The circus would continue, but she was now safe. She was beautiful. She was whole. She had not gone to a better place, but I believe, the best place. No longer caught between life and death, court nor church, but free.

I didn’t know it, but I had already begun my own journey into dementia. And I have chosen to speak for myself, and on behalf of those who cannot. I don’t know how long I will be able to physically speak, but God has allowed me to write, but if I can provide dignity for those who cannot, then it’s a step I wish I could have made for her, and the thousands who face those decisions every day. I will only have good photos, good memories when people remember me. And, when it’s time, I will be clothed in God’s love, standing by the family I love, with Terri and my son.

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To the family of Terri Schindler Schiavo:

You remain in my prayers. You keep her alive, you remind us how fleeting life can be, and to love and speak to one another about all things. May you find solace in the love that still connects you to your daughter, your sister.

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One thing I learned was to have an Advance Directive (living will) prepared, another way to speak for myself. I have durable power of attorneys, I even have the grace of planning for my funeral. I have a will. I have good people to take over, when I no longer can. And I have the privilege of watching, mere days after Terri passed, the last days of Pope John Paul II, who taught us all how to live and how to die.

I want to thank the Florida Catholic Conference for the amazing work they did, storming the legislature, day and night, for keeping me on top of everything. Of all the unsung heroes in our US Catholic Conference who work for the marginalized, the wounded, poor, the elderly, immigrants and more. Your pioneering efforts, assisting our bishops in challenging issues, are the voice of the silenced.

House Health Care Regulation Committee Amends Nutrition & Hydration Bill:

Legislative Updates:

House Health Care Regulation Committee Amends Nutrition &  Hydration Bill (Florida, 2005)

Advanced Directive Forms by State:

http://www.caringinfo.org/stateaddownload

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Show your love for yourself and your loved ones, so that no more people have to endure what Terri did.

With love and blessings, Vicki

Mom was hovering as I changed from my waitress outfit coming off my shift at the Grayling Restaurant at 11:00p on a school night. “How about you start up the car, and I’ll go with you?” she asked. I was tired. My other tiny job was getting the church ready for daily mass, and it was dark. I affirmed that. I went out, chiffon scarf protecting my ‘high hair’, started the car and waited. While I waited I must’ve dozed. Being new to the wheel, I had left it in 1st gear, so as my foot relaxed on the clutch, I proceeded to drive through the garage door, into the cans of paint piled up to do the house’s exterior.

The door didn’t just break, it was pushed thru the garage roof, and with a miracle, not one of the paint cans were touched. I put in in neutral, hand brake engaged, and sobbed. I looked up and my dad climbed in beside me. “Sweetheart,” he said. “would you give me the honor of driving me to the church so you can finish your work?” Weeping I said I never wanted to drive again. “But you have only just started. The door is no biggie, I wanted a new one.” And, through tears and exhaustion, we backed that big ole Mercury out of the garage, and to the church.

Today was like that. I was both exhilarated and worn out about driving to the doctors, leaving my home, my nest on my own. In my head, I heard Del Shannon singing “Run, run, runaway”, which I played each time I took the car out, and I made it both to and from the appts.

I thought I was on a high. I took calls, I worked FB, I did email. I didn’t recognize who I was, but I enjoyed her. And someone said, “you are not ‘high’. You are the Vicki I’ve known.”

I hadn’t realized my voice, my hibernation, my writing had taken on a new volume. Today I was tuned into station WVIC.

Tonite, I am worn out, quiet, and will need 2 days to become who I have now become. Still Vicki, but more like vicki-lite.

I wrote down a note in my calendar, for I will forget. “Today was a very good day.”

The miracle of all this is that you love Vicki v1 and Vicki v2. Vicki v3 hasn’t been released yet. Thank you…

Love, Vicki

Was watching “Sleepless in Seattle” (sniff, sniff) and went for a bottle of soda from the fridge. Have one of those handy magnetic bottle/can openers.

Poured what I wanted, turned to the fridge, put the magnet in the fridge, and as I watched (like an out of body experience) I placed the soda on the side of the fridge … My inner voice said “oooooohhhh nooooo” but my brain said “hey cool. I didn’t know you could stick soda on the outside of the fridge.”

Just a little thing can set me off. Does that happen to you? On the other hand, being an old woman I can blame it on my age, and deny it may be getting assistance from the gremlin called FTD.

Note to self: Next life FTD will ONLY mean TeleFlora Delivery.

Love, Vicki

A free program I found has made it easier for Vicki and I to write and publish new posts on Vicki’s Voice, and might be something you could use if you have a blog and want to simply add new posts. You still go to your blog to add comments, etc.

The program is BlogDesk, and we’ve been using it with our Windows computers for the past couple of months, and it’s working well for us on both Windows 7 and Windows XP. The only thing I haven’t been able to do so far is add a caption to a photo itself like I can if I add a photo through the blog site itself. (I’ll keep exploring the program.)

Once you’ve downloaded and installed the program, you set it to connect to your blog. The BlogDesk website has instructions for doing that.

Here’s a screenshot of this post as I was writing it with BlogDesk:

Let me know if you try it out, or if you have any questions. I’ll try to answer them.

Jim

Jim is on the road, but he shared this quote with me on Facebook, which I shared there as well, too. But I know he’d want you to have a copy. In his note to me he said “I had you [we FTD's] in mind.”

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The Virtue of Flexibility

“Trees look strong compared with the wild reeds in the field. But when the storm comes the trees are uprooted, whereas the wild reeds, while moved back and forth by the wind, remain rooted and are standing up again when the storm has calmed down.

“Flexibility is a great virtue. When we cling to our own positions and are not willing to let our hearts be moved back and forth a little by the ideas or actions of others, we may easily be broken. Being like wild reeds does not mean being wishy-washy. It means moving a little with the winds of the time while remaining solidly anchored in the ground. A humorless, intense, opinionated rigidity about current issues might cause these issues to break our spirits and make us bitter people. Let’s be flexible while being deeply rooted. “

-Henri Nouwen

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Last week, I had an opportunity to be interviewed via phone by a psychologist about FTD/Picks. I thought I’d share how I reacted to our well-known standard questions that begin ALL our doctor visits.

What is your name? Where do you live? What is the date?

Answer: I know it must be March, right?

Day of the week?

Answer: Can we make it Saturday? I like Saturdays.

Last question: Who is the president of the United States?

Answer: Proudly I answered “Obama!” but before she could continue, I shouted, “Ben Lauden!!” ;o(

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The kicker is, I was all puffed up about the president question, because a) he’s got a hard name to handle anyway and b) I was gonna impress her. To boot as often happens, when I’m speaking I suddenly get loud. Like I’m hard of hearing or something. When she started giggling I asked her what I’d said. Took a couple of mental rewinds and I was laughing too.

Lord, I want you to remember I don’t need much more humility, just in case I accidentally – as an enthusiastic youth – prayed for such things. As for other virtues, my mother always said: “For goodness sake! NEVER pray for patience.” When I had my first child I realized how true her words were. Lord, help us all.

http://www.pyepimanla.com/decembre-2008/articles/Le%20discours%20d’Obama%20%E0%20Philadelphie.html Thank you for the use of the link.

Hugs to you all … Vicki

 

Frankly, I’m tired of being a role model for femme fatales. Not everyone can pull off my new bed head look, with fat fuzzy slippers, schlepping in robe and flannels, and still have men come to my door, begging for my attention. It’s exhausting, I have to say.

So now, here I am, sitting on my office trying with my cache of absolutely must haves next to me: Sims games, laptop, stacks of magazines and books I really want to read, camera, pens, Cheetos, ginger snaps, water … the list goes on. I need to get my widening hind end up and figure out what I used to do before, when company was coming. Do I move the magazines into one huge pile? Or shuffle them under the ‘devil may care’ casual draping of the couch afghan, that is really solid and will impale anyone thinking they can sit there.

Well, I’ve company coming so something has to be done. Even washing parts of my bustier (maybe that will put an end to those pesky winter indoor flies?? ) and using my lady-like pick up stick to put items – one at a time – into the washer. That will be 2 hrs easily.

Brush baby powder through my hair to puff it up, or risk showering. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a burden I’ve had all my life, and just now realize what a silly facade life styles can be. But I’m not fully convinced, just yet. Ask all the woman of my age that although we started feminism, we still think like Donna Reed.

Oh, and the constant stream of gentlemen callers? Mail man, priest, UPS, Fed Ex and the adorable Knights of Columbus who bring me fresh fish on all the Fridays of Lent, with mac & cheese, spuds 2 ways, coleslaw, and breadsticks. See? Moving that carton can be crossed off as soon as I add it to my expanding ‘to do’ list. These days no matter what I do, it goes on the list AFTERwards. Impresses friends and family on all I did. Got to use my femine wiles once in awhile. Use it or lose it … (tell that to my brain)

Really, really am getting up. Looking lovely, I might add ;o)

Blessin’s, V

My lunch. Just something I casually threw together in only 8 hrs.That’s my neighbor next to me. By the way, I stopped wearing my ribbon a few weeks ago. I decided it was a little gauche, especially while lounging at home.