Heart Momming Waves

The wave metaphor seems appropriate for this post. After all , I am at the beach. More importantly, heart momming comes in waves. There are waves of relative peace and calm( but not totally), waves of unease, waves of anxiety and waves of sheer panic.
The last 36 hours have me riding my boogie board on the waves of anxiety.
On Thursday, Hayden got his head when he fell off a tube on a water slide. He also hit has back. Because he takes bloodthinners, beach Ali switched to heart Mom mode. Fortunately, aside from a headache for a few hours and some pretty , purple welts on his back, he is totally fine.
Just as I popped up from that wave , and took a deep breath, I got walloped over the head with another wave. This one stronger, more intense. The kind that knocks you down and , tosses you around and puts sand in your crotch.( too much??)
Through a friend whose son had a “boring” cardiology check up( thank goodness for boring! ), I found out that Hayden’s cardiac surgeon is leaving Hopkins. He has been there for 15 years and assisted on two of Hayden’s surgeries and performed several others. He agreed to disagree with me on a major care decision and later embraced me telling me how much I taught him . “You knew. You knew what he needed. I learned to listen to the moms, thank you for that.” His words were sincere and came from his heart .( moments later, he helped us pull Hayden out from a moonbounce that someone’s unplugged while he was still in it) This man is not only an insanely skilled surgeon, but he’s a keeper of knowledge. He knows the bizarre physiology of Hayden’s bizarre heart. He knows the trials and tribulations Hayden’s body has faced. And, he’s leaving.
This wave is a rough one. All last night, I tossed and turned  in my own ocean of anxiety. If and when H needs another surgery, I had always imaged it being performed by Luca. I trust him. I will now have to build a relationship and trust with someone new. And it sucks...sand in your crotch kind of sucks.
We lost our pediatrician of 12 years about a year and a half ago. I cried. She, too, knew every detail. I interviewed and embraced a new pediatrician. He has been excellent and allows me to lead and to fill in blanks , but it’s not totally smooth sailing because he hasn’t ridden all of the waves with us.
This fresh wave of anxiety is impacting many other families in my heart community. We are all feeling pretty tossled by this latest wave of anxiety.
My hopes are high and fingers are crossed( although they are also gripping my boogie board with a death grip) that Hopkins will land a total rockstar to fill these shoes.
Until then, I’m hoping to go walk the beach and perhaps catch a wave of calmness.
*apologies for typos...this was penned on my phone and not the way I usually blog

The Sloppy Sandwich

The  sandwich generation is defined as a generation of people, typically in their thirties or forties, responsible for bringing up their own children and for the care of their aging (ailing )parents. The sandwich generation has become my life over the last year or so. There is nothing at all delicious about this sandwich. It’s big, sloppy and gooey. Basically , a hot mess. Not the kind of sandwich you crave, but the kind that ends up all over your hands, dripping down your arm and then staining the front of your cute new top.
In this sandwich, I am the cheese. A think hunk of havarti holding both sides of the bread together. There are days the havarti is super melty and gets stretched way out . There are days it’s firm and both sides of the bread stay in place, but never quite perfectly.
You see, the sandwich is so very complicated. It involves the bottom slice of bread ; my boy( school, activities, being a mom to a teen , time with him) and the top slice; care for my dad and support for my mom. In between is me( the havarti) with all of my other stuff. I have my Bertie and trying to spend time together( having conversation about something other than the slices of bread...a rarity ), my job( full time , outside the home , amazing but draining kids with special needs), my role at synagogue (trustee, 10th grade teacher , social action chair, education committee), HHH( book drive and prepping for tournament), Hopkins( FAC and patent mentoring) and my friends ( who have been awesome about checking in).  In addition , there are doctors appts, groceries ...life. There are days that everything involving the havarti is a mess. Is totally falling out of the sandwich. There are days when one slice of bread doesn’t get toasted. The other side requires too much attention. Or both slices get burned because I am trying to pay attention to both and not doing either very well.
If you know me, you know I don’t do “ not doing something well.” I like things done well. I like things neat and tidy. This sloppy sandwich is really testing that.
As others who are part of this sandwich generation, I’m busy trying to do what cheese is supposed to do ...bind . That involves writing myself notes,taking calls and texts all time of the day and night , getting called awful names( mental illness causes erratic behavior and irrational thinking), helping with a math question while discussing hospitals...it’s a sloppy, sloppy sandwich.
To be honest, I hate messy sandwiches. I mean , sloppy joe...oh, no. Pulled chicken...not on a bun, that’s no fun. I’ll whip out a fork and knife on a chicken tender. So, this, this sandwich is pushing all of my norms. But I love the bottom slice of bread and I love the top slice of bread . I am a mom and a daughter and those roles now both involve taking care of people. Simultaneously.  
So,  excuse me if I don’t reach out enough or forget to ask how your appt went or to make plans. I am thinking about you and trying so hard to keep up. I want to see you, but my usual role as social director has been set aside. If you ask , I’ll gladly join in.  Or have you over.Although I cannot promise that my phone won’t ring and texts won’t come through.( although for my annual girl’s weekend in March, I am off the grid. 

Off.)Some of you have been here or are here with me now in your very own sandwich. Others of you may get here, or hopefully, escape this less than delicious sandwich.  But if you land here in the cheesy middle, grab a napkin ( or a drop cloth), you’ll need it.