Temporary or Permanent?

Late Summer/Fall 1999
 I was supposed to start my core Education classes this semester at UF, but because I failed that Anatomy & Physiology course (along with dropping another education pre-requisite), I had to postpone my plans one semester. Instead, I took Teaching Diverse Populations, Western Civilization in the Middle Ages, General Anthropology, and Age of the Dinosaurs (yes, this was actually a real college science class). I was probably somewhat bitter about having to wait an entire semester to take my education courses, so I didn’t put forth too much effort this semester – 3 B’s, 1 B+.

When I first moved to Gainesville, I instantly had a big group of friends. My childhood best friend graduated high school a year before me (she was c/o 1996), and she had made a big group of friends who lived in her dorm freshman year. I moved to Gainesville in August 1997, and I felt so welcomed and surrounded by interesting people who were fun to be around. But two years later, my best friend moved back home, and I grew apart from her friends. This semester, I made two new friends named Kelly. I don’t think I would’ve remembered their names had they not had the same name. One of them was in my Middle Ages course, and the other was in my education course. They were very different, but both were native Gators. Kelly from Middle Ages had piercings and tattoos…and drove like an absolute maniac in the most beat-up car I had ever driven in. I swear to you, she’d drive through intersections with cars about two feet away from hitting my passenger side. It was so scary, yet so thrilling. Kelly from my Education course was the daughter of a doctor. Even though her parents lived nearby, they got her her own apartment, equipped with a big screen TV. She drove a brand new SUV and had enough money to go where she wanted, when she wanted, without ever having to work. I used to envy people like that when I was in college. People who didn’t have to work or whose parents bought them clothing and televisions and new cars. But I lived in Gatorwood Apartments (if you are not familiar, that’s where the infamous Gainesville murders took place, so the rent was only $470/month), had to work, shopped from the JCPenney clearance racks, and I drove a used ’95 Nissan Sentra…oh, wait…just remembered another story from this semester!

Okay, so since I didn’t want to return to my Mexican fast food restaurant job, I had to find a new one. I decided to be a sales person at Gatorland Toyota-Kia. Only they put me in the used car area across the street. And I didn’t do sales. I did some job where I had to ask people their names when they entered the building, and then I had to give their info to a sales person, who then had to give the info back to me in order for me to get paid. I guess I was some type of glorified Wal-mart greeter. All I really remember about the job was that I had to answer the phone “It’s a great day at Gatorland Toyota-Kia.” Why was that all I remembered? Because on my first day at work, I threw up repeatedly in the bathroom, until I had to ask to leave. I drove home hastily, and a car hit me (T-ed me, and I spun around at a MAJOR intersection). Yeah, had to quit that job. No transportation – and the $1000 I had saved waitressing over the summer to spend on furniture for my apartment? Now spent on car repairs.


Late Summer/Fall 1999
So finally the gastroenterologist discovered what he thought was the problem – Abi was diagnosed with delayed gastric emptying, which meant the milk she ingested was actually sitting in her stomach so long that it was curdling. She was given a drug that finally helped her reflux and gastric emptying, but shortly after, the drug was taken off the market. She was given another medication instead, but that drug didn’t work like the other, and Abi was suffering from dehydration, stuffy sinuses, and a sore throat. She would get so backed up, that when the mucous and milk finally drained, it drained everywhere – on her parents, bedding, the floors – everywhere!

In September, Abi completely shut down. She wouldn’t breastfeed or drink from a bottle. Her parents begged her to eat, fed her drop by drop, but after two weeks of this, Abi was back in the hospital. She had been given so many IVs already that her poor little body could not handle one more. The only place they were able to get a vein was in her head, so that is where they placed her IV. This would hydrate her, but it did not nourish her.

This led to one of the first big decisions they would have to make for Abi. If she wouldn’t suck from a breast or a bottle, they would have to insert a feeding tube. Just five months earlier, they were thinking about cute baby clothing and toys and nursery decorations… and now they had to decide whether they wanted a temporary tube in their daughter’s nose, a permanent tube in her stomach, or a permanent tube in her intestines. This was almost too much to handle, but a decision had to be made. Additionally, they had to determine if they would tie off her stomach so that she couldn’t throw up because they constantly feared she’d aspirate on all the fluid she was throwing up.

Still clueless about what was actually going on with Abi, they opted to place a feeding tube in her nose temporarily and transfer her to a new hospital in Miami. They spent a total of two months in the hospital this time, determined to remain there until they had answers. They met with every geneticist, gastroenterologist, neurologist, medical student, nurse, etc. until they found an answer. They drew blood, swallow tests, EEG, MRI, seizure workup, etc. Time was passing, data collected, but no one knew what was actually happening. One term they threw around a lot was "failure to thrive." That made it sound like everyone was just giving up. Like Abi had no chance at a future. But they couldn't give up on their daughter. They had to believe they would get answers - real answers. What was wrong with their beautiful little girl? When would they figure things out? How long must they remain in the hospital? When would they get to take Abi home?

A Change of Pace

Spring 1999
Spring semester was filled with balancing my long-distance relationship and trips home with a boring biology class, an awesome writing course, a fun (yes, I did say 'fun') math course, and a very enlightening philosophy course. I also spent a lot of time trying to find an apartment to live in next year as I was done with the dorms. My roommate this semester was from abroad, and the only way she could communicate with her family and friends back home was to chat with them online - all night long. She'd leave this huge desk lamp turned on, eat bags of chips, and type away - all night long. Apartment-living sounded quite inviting, as long as I could manage to earn enough money to actually afford my rent. 


Spring 1999
The pregnancy was somewhat uneventful, but during a routine ultrasound at 8 months, something changed that would set the pace for so many unforeseen doctors’ visits, hospital visits, and a complete lifestyle change.  The baby was not developing properly, so labor had to be induced several weeks early. Twenty-five hours later, a baby girl was born. Her black hair was striking against her porcelain skin. She was small at just under six pounds, with thin arms and legs. But she was beautiful and ‘healthy’ and was able to go home just a few days later as any typical baby would be.

The Beginning

I’ve learned that sometimes, when you can’t organize your thoughts well enough to begin writing, you can just start in the middle somewhere and write. I’ve always enjoyed writing. I don’t think I was ever particularly good at it until I started working on my doctorate. In high school and college, I wrote angst-filled, woe-is-me teen poetry. Thoughts like daggers, cutting new wounds…that sorta thing. I found it to be very cathartic, and in that moment of creation, I almost convinced myself that what I had written was special and unique. Turn on any early 90s grunge song, and I’d learn differently. But I think what I’m about to write is different. What I hope to accomplish is to discover a sense of purpose for my life through the retelling of others’ stories (accompanied by my own).

If who we are is defined by what we are, I can safely say that parenting has changed my ‘who’ to the core. So while my experiences differ greatly from those of the families I will illustrate to my readers, my journey has brought me here, too – as an educator and now as a mother.

Fall 1998

I was walking down 13^th street after class one day. Time for my afternoon splurge. The creamy guacamole with a sprinkle of cheddar cheese, accompanied by crispy corn chips. I saw the sign outside that said  “Now Hiring.” I did not leave Broward Hall that morning thinking I’d be applying for a job that afternoon, but here I stood, filling out an application. I handed it off to someone who I can guarantee was either covered in tattoos, piercings, or wore those black-framed glasses. And so there I worked that entire school year, usually three nine-hour shifts a week. I was able to put down like one taco, one massive burrito, a bag of chips, and several cups of lemonade each shift, and I weighed in at about 110 pounds. Ah, how easy it was being 19 years old.

Fall 1998

The news of a baby girl arriving was beyond exciting, especially since they weren’t even sure they could get pregnant after her various procedures and a miscarriage. But to their surprise, it happened without any medical interventions or fertility treatments. She announced the news that it was a girl to her husband by purchasing a little girl’s outfit and sticking it in their closet. Together, they shed tears of joy to celebrate how genuinely happy they were.