That time of the year is here. Thanksgiving is next week, and Christmas not far behind it. A time of feasting, spending time with family, and giving thanks for all the blessings in our lives. Of course, for us law students, it's a time of rushing and panicking and wondering why OH WHY did I spend all my Thursdays off napping and watching reruns of the New Adventures of Old Christine on Lifetime (don't judge). I tend to be a kind of fidgety, nervous person anyway, but usually there is some event that lets me know I'm teetering precariously near to the edge of sanity. That moment occurred today.
Yes, just moments ago I found myself both bawling and laughing, curled in a ball in my living room floor as my little sister stared on in a bizarre combination of amusement and horror. Why???, you must be asking yourself. What horrible event has propelled you to this state of insanity that is surely worse than at least 37% of the patients at Bryce Hospital. The answer, my dear readers, is the scariest part of this whole sordid tale.
I bought the wrong kind of coffee. Seattle's Best was on sale at Publix. I didn't see the miniscule label on the front saying it was whole beans. I don't own a grinder. I gasped as I stared at those beans as giggles and tears escaped my body all at once. I managed to get the words, "I bought WHOLE BEANS" out to my poor confused sister as I crumpled on the floor, dissolving into a giggling, tear-faced puddle.
As I don't own a mortar and pestle either, I was reduced to the second option I found upon googling my problem. I cackled evilly as I banged my Daddy's tailgate tent pitching mallet against the ziplock bag filled with those damn coffee beans. It's actually a pretty good stress reliever. I just wish I had bought Level 4 instead of Level 3 because frankly, the oddly shaped coffee bean chunks I dumped into the filter of my coffee maker do not yield a very strong product. Oh well, I'm sure my mallet wielding skills will improve as the semester winds down and I endure the full brunt of law school exam season.
Let this be a cautionary tale to you all. Read the labels in the grocery store. Don't get too stressed. And when all else fails, hitting shit with a hammer will make you feel a hell of a lot better.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Giving Thanks
Hello, dusty old blog. I'm sure you thought I'd abandoned you. Sorry. I've just been busy. Plus I'm bad at blogging so, there's that.
Anyway, a lot of people have been doing the daily "Today I am thankful for xyz" status updates on facebook in honor of Thanksgiving. I've always thought that was kind of a neat idea, but I'm not one to want a lot of activity on my facebook. I rarely update my status or do anything much more than wish someone a happy birthday or upload photos. But I decided to keep a private daily log of things in my life that I should be grateful for, even the small things, just sort of to remind myself that there are always blessings surrounding me, even if I might not recognize them. We all have days where it is hard to see the good in anything, so I figured this would be a useful tool for me to have year round. I must be in an especially sentimental mood today, because when I sat down to jot a sentence or two, all I could think about is my family and what we have been through this year. Frankly, it's pretty amazing, so I felt that it's my duty to share the story with anyone who cares to read it, with it being the special time of year to give thanks. It's a 3-parter, so bear with me.
Part 1: Jerry's Miracle
I have shared Jerry's story, so I'll give an abbreviated version. He's my Daddy's cousin, in his early 50s. He's divorced, childless, both of his parents have passed away, and besides his cousins, he only has 2 half brothers that didn't grow up with him. He is also a severe Type 1 diabetic. Diabetes runs in the family on Daddy's side, and they have all had trouble with it. Daddy and his two brothers are also diabetics. In March, Jerry got a stomach virus. He couldn't keep down food for 2 days. Again, he lives alone. Now, for most people this would just be a few days of misery that ends with perhaps going down a pants size. Not for Jerry. His blood sugar skyrocketed to the low 900s. His next door neighbors found him, and he was rushed by ambulance to the local hospital. On the helicopter ride to DCH in Tuscaloosa, his heart stopped twice. In the ICU, the medical team slowly stabilized his blood sugar. Normally when someone is in in diabetic coma, he will wake up when his blood sugar reaches normal levels again. Jerry wouldn't wake up. The cardiologist told my family that his heart was so damaged that if he ever woke up, he wouldn't live long without a transplant. The neurologist, aptly named Dr. Slaughter, told us that Jerry had almost no brain function, and we should consider placing him on the DNR list. Do. Not. Resuscitate.
But then something amazing happened. Jerry's sister in law, who is married to his half-brother who lives in Florida, sat by his bed praying over him about a week after he was admitted to the ICU. Jerry opened his eyes. As the day passed by, Jerry began nodding in response to questions. He followed us with his eyes. He tried to write on a piece of paper that he wanted water. Eventually the tubes came out and he could speak. Whatever the brain function tests were showing, Jerry was talking to us. He told us he went to heaven. We thought of his heart stopping twice in the helicopter, but nobody said it out loud. "Actually," he said. "I went twice. Mother and Daddy were there and they told me to come back. It just wasn't time yet."
Jerry had gotten his miracle, but, we all wondered, what about the heart? What if one miracle wasn't enough to save you? The cardiologist scheduled a heart cath to see what Jerry's status was, what needed to be done, and what could be done. He came out of the OR with tears in his eyes as he told us, "I just don't know what happened, but that heart is not the heart I saw a few days ago. He's going to be fine. There is no explanation for this but a miracle." Those aren't words you hear doctors say every day.
Now, a few months later, Jerry is doing fine. He's far from perfect, but he's living and breathing and telling his story. He suffered eyesight loss from the coma, but he has special glasses that help him read. He had to leave his job because he can't drive to work, but family and friends are helping to take care of him and his beloved dog Chester. And lots of people are willing to drive him to church on Sundays, where he tells his story of a miracle heart and his trips to heaven.
Part 2: April 27, 2011
I don't need to explain to everyone what happened on April 27, 2011 in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Everyone knows, and if we don't all say a daily prayer of thanks for still being alive today, we should. I have much to be thankful for in regards to that day. I'm alive. I wasn't injured. Nobody I know was killed or seriously injured. My home wasn't damaged, and neither was my car. But what I truly have to be thankful for are Larremy and Terry.
Terry is my boyfriend, I'm sure everyone reading this knows. Larremy is my little sister. Larremy and I live together in an apartment behind the strip in Tuscaloosa on Red Drew Avenue. Terry now lives about 2 blocks away in a house with 3 of our law school classmates. In April, he lived right behind Taco Casa on 15th Street.
April 27 was a weird weather day. I woke up at 5 a.m. to thunder shaking the apartment and wind howling around the corners. It was a truly terrifying thunderstorm that downed several huge trees on campus. But, by 9 a.m. the sun was beaming and it seemed like it would be a nice day. James Spann said otherwise, though, and like any good Alabamian, I studied in the living room with the TV on ABC 33/40 muted so I could watch and see what developed. We'd had a small tornado touch down on April 11, so I wasn't that worried, but I thought it worth keeping an eye on. The sun continued to shine through thick green clouds into the afternoon. I watched the biggest tornado I had ever seen form over Cullman from the sky cam. That was when the real terror descended. There were more lines of storms in Mississippi, and for some reason, Tuscaloosa has always been a hot bed for tornadoes. That tornado I had seen on the TV was different. Bigger. More destructive. My dad, who knows a lot about weather, called to check in on us, to make sure we were paying attention. "This sunshine is a mighty dangerous thing," he said. I hung up the phone and turned up the volume so I could listen to James Spann. "This sunshine is a mighty dangerous thing," he said. "Great," I muttered. "We're doomed."
It seemed as though the later bands might miss Tuscaloosa, but I decided to take Larremy to Terry's apartment when I headed to work at 3:30. She has always been especially terrified of bad weather, and I thought it best not to leave her alone. Terry was studying for finals at his apartment, so I dropped her off with her backpack containing her laptop and a box of Cheez-Its. She wore the standard Alabama girl uniform of a baggy tshirt, Nike running shorts, and Rainbow flip flops. I drove to Capstone Village, where I bartend. It is a massive, steel framed building that sits on top of the hill. On one side, it is just off McFarland, opposite Wings. The front is across the street from the Student Rec Center, maybe half a mile from DCH. We watched the weather in the bar. The sky turned olive green and rain fell heavier than I had ever seen. Small trees in the courtyard bent until I was sure they would snap. Then we got the call I had never gotten. The director, right hand man to Dr. Witt, issued a mandatory happy hour evacuation. The residents sat in folding chairs in the hall of the first floor. I sat Indian style between two of my favorite ladies. I bawled as James Spann described it over the radio. "Transformers are blowing. That's the last thing you want to see. This thing is a monster. It's the hugest tornado I've seen." Then nothing. The power went out. I frantically called my sister, and was able to catch her just as the tornado ripped by them, killing a family across the street, and 40+ others in Tuscaloosa. I could hear windows shattering as she yelled above the noise. "I have to go! Stuff's happening. I think the pipes are going to explode!" They cowered in the bathroom behind a mattress as windows blew out. We can only speculate that the wall wasn't ripped off because Terry's upstairs neighbor had had the wits about him to open his windows before running downstairs to join them in the bathroom. When the tornado tore by Capstone I never even heard it inside it's massive walls.
Trying to find them was my nightmare. Every road was blocked. I pulled behind a black Mercedes at an intersection blocked by police. A short, determined man stomped out and talked to the officers. My mouth gaped as I realized it was Nick Saban. I thought about following him as they let him through down the road, but decided against it. I later learned he went to the devastation and comforted people until well into the night. After several failed routes I pulled into a parking lot and sobbed. People walked around me carrying backpacks and flashlights in droves, all coming from the direction I wanted to go. I had never seen anything like it in my life, and I hope I never have to again. By some miracle I managed to get a phone call out to my parents. They had gotten word from my sister that they were walking to the law school, just blocks from where I was. I was able to drive there. I sat on the steps by myself as frightened students huddled in the dark. They walked up, bearing flashlights and backpacks, my sister wearing a pair of Terry's tennis shoes. They told stories of walking over power lines and shining their lights just on their path because they were afraid of what they'd see. They gave a flashlight to a bloodied lady who was walking to the hospital. We chatted with a few classmates, glad to see they were alive. Then we went back to our apartment, where we all went into my room and fell into a fitful sleep.
It wasn't until the next day that I truly saw the destruction, but I can't paint it for you any better than the hundreds of photographs you've surely seen. Everyone who was in Tuscaloosa that day has a story to tell. This is mine, and how I'm grateful that we all are alive.
Part 3-Daddy's Job
This part may seem a little underwhelming next to the others, but it is important to tell all the same. I'm leaving out most of the details out of respect for family members.
There are versions of this story being told all over the United States this year. In May of 2011, my Daddy lost his job. It wasn't that he was doing a bad job. The economy is tough on everyone. My family learned a hard lesson on tightening the old belt and getting on with life, and making do with what you have. My siblings and I were understandably freaked out and worried about this, but my mother was oddly calm. And, she was right to be. My parents are frugal and sensible, and we made it until another job offer came along a month or so later. The key to this story though, is appreciating things that God and others do for you. We prayed daily, almost without ceasing, for another opportunity to come along. People are losing jobs left and right, and there are not many opportunities opening up for them. But God made things happen. People in our family and community were amazing to us. There was never any concern that we would go hungry. Bills were paid. The rent on my apartment in Tuscaloosa was never a second late. But people wanted to help all the same. People brought food. People prayed. And things worked out. Not just because life goes on and things always work out in the end, but because God answers prayer.
So there you have it. 1-2-3. The Popes have a lot to be thankful for in 2011. I hope your family does too.
O give thanks to the Lord, call on His name; make known His doings among the peoples! 1 Chronicles 16:8
Anyway, a lot of people have been doing the daily "Today I am thankful for xyz" status updates on facebook in honor of Thanksgiving. I've always thought that was kind of a neat idea, but I'm not one to want a lot of activity on my facebook. I rarely update my status or do anything much more than wish someone a happy birthday or upload photos. But I decided to keep a private daily log of things in my life that I should be grateful for, even the small things, just sort of to remind myself that there are always blessings surrounding me, even if I might not recognize them. We all have days where it is hard to see the good in anything, so I figured this would be a useful tool for me to have year round. I must be in an especially sentimental mood today, because when I sat down to jot a sentence or two, all I could think about is my family and what we have been through this year. Frankly, it's pretty amazing, so I felt that it's my duty to share the story with anyone who cares to read it, with it being the special time of year to give thanks. It's a 3-parter, so bear with me.
Part 1: Jerry's Miracle
I have shared Jerry's story, so I'll give an abbreviated version. He's my Daddy's cousin, in his early 50s. He's divorced, childless, both of his parents have passed away, and besides his cousins, he only has 2 half brothers that didn't grow up with him. He is also a severe Type 1 diabetic. Diabetes runs in the family on Daddy's side, and they have all had trouble with it. Daddy and his two brothers are also diabetics. In March, Jerry got a stomach virus. He couldn't keep down food for 2 days. Again, he lives alone. Now, for most people this would just be a few days of misery that ends with perhaps going down a pants size. Not for Jerry. His blood sugar skyrocketed to the low 900s. His next door neighbors found him, and he was rushed by ambulance to the local hospital. On the helicopter ride to DCH in Tuscaloosa, his heart stopped twice. In the ICU, the medical team slowly stabilized his blood sugar. Normally when someone is in in diabetic coma, he will wake up when his blood sugar reaches normal levels again. Jerry wouldn't wake up. The cardiologist told my family that his heart was so damaged that if he ever woke up, he wouldn't live long without a transplant. The neurologist, aptly named Dr. Slaughter, told us that Jerry had almost no brain function, and we should consider placing him on the DNR list. Do. Not. Resuscitate.
But then something amazing happened. Jerry's sister in law, who is married to his half-brother who lives in Florida, sat by his bed praying over him about a week after he was admitted to the ICU. Jerry opened his eyes. As the day passed by, Jerry began nodding in response to questions. He followed us with his eyes. He tried to write on a piece of paper that he wanted water. Eventually the tubes came out and he could speak. Whatever the brain function tests were showing, Jerry was talking to us. He told us he went to heaven. We thought of his heart stopping twice in the helicopter, but nobody said it out loud. "Actually," he said. "I went twice. Mother and Daddy were there and they told me to come back. It just wasn't time yet."
Jerry had gotten his miracle, but, we all wondered, what about the heart? What if one miracle wasn't enough to save you? The cardiologist scheduled a heart cath to see what Jerry's status was, what needed to be done, and what could be done. He came out of the OR with tears in his eyes as he told us, "I just don't know what happened, but that heart is not the heart I saw a few days ago. He's going to be fine. There is no explanation for this but a miracle." Those aren't words you hear doctors say every day.
Now, a few months later, Jerry is doing fine. He's far from perfect, but he's living and breathing and telling his story. He suffered eyesight loss from the coma, but he has special glasses that help him read. He had to leave his job because he can't drive to work, but family and friends are helping to take care of him and his beloved dog Chester. And lots of people are willing to drive him to church on Sundays, where he tells his story of a miracle heart and his trips to heaven.
Part 2: April 27, 2011
I don't need to explain to everyone what happened on April 27, 2011 in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Everyone knows, and if we don't all say a daily prayer of thanks for still being alive today, we should. I have much to be thankful for in regards to that day. I'm alive. I wasn't injured. Nobody I know was killed or seriously injured. My home wasn't damaged, and neither was my car. But what I truly have to be thankful for are Larremy and Terry.
Terry is my boyfriend, I'm sure everyone reading this knows. Larremy is my little sister. Larremy and I live together in an apartment behind the strip in Tuscaloosa on Red Drew Avenue. Terry now lives about 2 blocks away in a house with 3 of our law school classmates. In April, he lived right behind Taco Casa on 15th Street.
April 27 was a weird weather day. I woke up at 5 a.m. to thunder shaking the apartment and wind howling around the corners. It was a truly terrifying thunderstorm that downed several huge trees on campus. But, by 9 a.m. the sun was beaming and it seemed like it would be a nice day. James Spann said otherwise, though, and like any good Alabamian, I studied in the living room with the TV on ABC 33/40 muted so I could watch and see what developed. We'd had a small tornado touch down on April 11, so I wasn't that worried, but I thought it worth keeping an eye on. The sun continued to shine through thick green clouds into the afternoon. I watched the biggest tornado I had ever seen form over Cullman from the sky cam. That was when the real terror descended. There were more lines of storms in Mississippi, and for some reason, Tuscaloosa has always been a hot bed for tornadoes. That tornado I had seen on the TV was different. Bigger. More destructive. My dad, who knows a lot about weather, called to check in on us, to make sure we were paying attention. "This sunshine is a mighty dangerous thing," he said. I hung up the phone and turned up the volume so I could listen to James Spann. "This sunshine is a mighty dangerous thing," he said. "Great," I muttered. "We're doomed."
It seemed as though the later bands might miss Tuscaloosa, but I decided to take Larremy to Terry's apartment when I headed to work at 3:30. She has always been especially terrified of bad weather, and I thought it best not to leave her alone. Terry was studying for finals at his apartment, so I dropped her off with her backpack containing her laptop and a box of Cheez-Its. She wore the standard Alabama girl uniform of a baggy tshirt, Nike running shorts, and Rainbow flip flops. I drove to Capstone Village, where I bartend. It is a massive, steel framed building that sits on top of the hill. On one side, it is just off McFarland, opposite Wings. The front is across the street from the Student Rec Center, maybe half a mile from DCH. We watched the weather in the bar. The sky turned olive green and rain fell heavier than I had ever seen. Small trees in the courtyard bent until I was sure they would snap. Then we got the call I had never gotten. The director, right hand man to Dr. Witt, issued a mandatory happy hour evacuation. The residents sat in folding chairs in the hall of the first floor. I sat Indian style between two of my favorite ladies. I bawled as James Spann described it over the radio. "Transformers are blowing. That's the last thing you want to see. This thing is a monster. It's the hugest tornado I've seen." Then nothing. The power went out. I frantically called my sister, and was able to catch her just as the tornado ripped by them, killing a family across the street, and 40+ others in Tuscaloosa. I could hear windows shattering as she yelled above the noise. "I have to go! Stuff's happening. I think the pipes are going to explode!" They cowered in the bathroom behind a mattress as windows blew out. We can only speculate that the wall wasn't ripped off because Terry's upstairs neighbor had had the wits about him to open his windows before running downstairs to join them in the bathroom. When the tornado tore by Capstone I never even heard it inside it's massive walls.
Trying to find them was my nightmare. Every road was blocked. I pulled behind a black Mercedes at an intersection blocked by police. A short, determined man stomped out and talked to the officers. My mouth gaped as I realized it was Nick Saban. I thought about following him as they let him through down the road, but decided against it. I later learned he went to the devastation and comforted people until well into the night. After several failed routes I pulled into a parking lot and sobbed. People walked around me carrying backpacks and flashlights in droves, all coming from the direction I wanted to go. I had never seen anything like it in my life, and I hope I never have to again. By some miracle I managed to get a phone call out to my parents. They had gotten word from my sister that they were walking to the law school, just blocks from where I was. I was able to drive there. I sat on the steps by myself as frightened students huddled in the dark. They walked up, bearing flashlights and backpacks, my sister wearing a pair of Terry's tennis shoes. They told stories of walking over power lines and shining their lights just on their path because they were afraid of what they'd see. They gave a flashlight to a bloodied lady who was walking to the hospital. We chatted with a few classmates, glad to see they were alive. Then we went back to our apartment, where we all went into my room and fell into a fitful sleep.
It wasn't until the next day that I truly saw the destruction, but I can't paint it for you any better than the hundreds of photographs you've surely seen. Everyone who was in Tuscaloosa that day has a story to tell. This is mine, and how I'm grateful that we all are alive.
Part 3-Daddy's Job
This part may seem a little underwhelming next to the others, but it is important to tell all the same. I'm leaving out most of the details out of respect for family members.
There are versions of this story being told all over the United States this year. In May of 2011, my Daddy lost his job. It wasn't that he was doing a bad job. The economy is tough on everyone. My family learned a hard lesson on tightening the old belt and getting on with life, and making do with what you have. My siblings and I were understandably freaked out and worried about this, but my mother was oddly calm. And, she was right to be. My parents are frugal and sensible, and we made it until another job offer came along a month or so later. The key to this story though, is appreciating things that God and others do for you. We prayed daily, almost without ceasing, for another opportunity to come along. People are losing jobs left and right, and there are not many opportunities opening up for them. But God made things happen. People in our family and community were amazing to us. There was never any concern that we would go hungry. Bills were paid. The rent on my apartment in Tuscaloosa was never a second late. But people wanted to help all the same. People brought food. People prayed. And things worked out. Not just because life goes on and things always work out in the end, but because God answers prayer.
So there you have it. 1-2-3. The Popes have a lot to be thankful for in 2011. I hope your family does too.
O give thanks to the Lord, call on His name; make known His doings among the peoples! 1 Chronicles 16:8
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