Catching Up With Courtney

So I never got around to reporting on our happenings during the month of June. Please look at our Website www.babyhomepages.net/marsh for more updated photos and a synopsis-style story. Most fun is the video of Molly's dance recital, which is on the Home Page. Just click on the play button and enjoy!

Had a farewell party with my co-workers last Saturday night and a barbecue with the whole staff today. Despite the reasons we are looking forward to moving on from here, we've made some great connections. I will miss the folks I work with--they are friends as well as colleagues, and I am confident we will see each other again.

Here are a few photos--Molly at her dance recital, Rebecca in the caves on our Memorial Day hike & at the baseball game that same weekend, & me with a few friends (the die-hards who were there in the later hours!). I am scanning in some old photos to make a slide show for Oscar (see Peter's blog entry after this one), so look for that this weekend.

Patsy demonstrates her jello shot abilities.

Requiem for Oscar (by Peter)

(Note from Courtney--this is a tear-jerker from Peter, long but worth reading if you have ever cared about anything, especially any pets.)

"It well may be that we will never meet again
in this lifetime. So let me say before we part,
So much of me is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me like a hand print on my heart."

This week we bid a very sad farewell to our beloved Corgi, "Courtney's Oscar Wilde"--or as most of you knew him "Oscar"--our companion dog through nine years of marriage, six jobs, three moves, two children and another dog. Over the past few months, Oscar had begun to show some early signs of aggression often associated with dogs at Oscar's stage of life. After consulting with two veterinarians and an animal behavior specialist in St. Louis who specializes in Corgi rescues, we determined that his aggression was likely related to chronic pain brought about by a leg injury he received when he was hit by a car when he was just one year old.


It was our first day in Connecticut and we had rather unceremoniously let Oscar into the backyard early in the morning. I was to start my first day of work at my new job and was on my way to get the shoes I had left in the car since the long drive from Mississippi and that's where I found Oscar. His leg was severely injured & bloody and he had managed to crawl back up the driveway to the back door and was trying unsuccessfully to paw at the door to get our attention. I was certain he would bleed to death before we could find our way to the animal hospital. Being brand new to Connecticut, we had no idea where to go for help, so we wrapped him in a blanket, grabbed a yellow pages, jumped in the car and drove as fast as we could to the first listing we found in Meriden. When we arrived, the office was closed, but fortunately, one of the office staff was just arriving and directed us to the Yalesville Animal Hospital where we were able to get him the attention he needed to save his life. I remember so clearly waiting for the call from the attending vet to tell us that we had lost him.


Instead, the call we received told us that they had managed to save his life, but that he would likely lose his leg. After taking a much needed shower, we drove back to Yalesville and were told that in order to save his leg, the wound would require fresh dressings several times a day with no guarantee of success. My single most distinct memory of our time in Connecticut is Courtney and me laying on the floor of that animal hospital in tears comforting Oscar as he recovered that day. He was a vet favorite, and the techs would cut out little colored hearts to decorate his bandages. We took time off from work to take him for dressing changes, set up a financing agreement with the vet to pay for such endeavors ("our million-dollar dog!"). Many weeks and incalculable numbers of self-adhesive bandages later, Oscar's leg was functional enough to limp on, though it would never fully heal.


This week we found ourselves crying our eyes out in a different veterinary hospital-- this time saying goodbye to the friend who loved us unconditionally to the end and who was loved with all of our hearts. Tragically, there was no alternative. The specialist assured us that it would be irresponsible to try to place Oscar in another home. Given his age and other health conditions, he would not likely survive long and he would be sad the whole time-- plus his chronic pain would only worsen with time, leaving him in pain and alone. We also could not keep him if there was any chance that his aggression might risk our children's safety. In the end the hardest decision was the only decision.


I am finding it very difficult to put into words what Oscar meant to Courtney and me. How can I describe a bond that runs so deep that it is part of who I am and who we are as a family? We have known Oscar longer than almost everyone we know outside of our immediate family. And we have spent more time with him through the past nine years than with most of those family members. Oscar slept in our bed at night and loved snuggling under the covers and sharing our pillows. Before my children were old enough to greet me when I arrived home, Oscar was the first voice I heard behind the door saying "Welcome home!" When our children were born, we could not wait to get them home to meet him and Quincy. When we moved across the country, Oscar was my traveling buddy when I had to drive alone.


It sounds silly; but, Oscar thought he was human and his "humanity" brought out the best in us. I believe that God crafted man with a need for a connection to nature and that our ability to bond with our dogs is His gift to us. Our dogs exemplify so many of those traits we admire most in our fellow humans-- compassion, faithfulness, energy, loyalty and friendship. Caring for Oscar when he was injured taught me a new way to care more about someone else than myself. I believe that that experience was used by God to make me a better parent and husband. Even in his passing, I can sense God's will behind the pain as he shapes us to into the people he wants us to be.


I lost my childhood dog Sebaca when I was in the eight grade and did not believe that I could ever feel for a dog the way I felt for Sebaca. Of my brothers and sisters, I was the one that was there when Sebaca was put to sleep. That memory never left me and I promised Oscar when he was just a puppy that I would do everything I could to make sure that he had a long and healthy life and that I would always love him. I always will.


In his first letter to the church at Corinth, Paul wrote "When I was a child, I spoke as a child. I understood as a child. I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things." I think that is why this is so painful for me. On some level, I know that I will never have a dog like Oscar again and that means part of me has died, too. We still have Quincy and it is a comfort to know that part of Oscar is alive in Quincy, too. And while the idea of another dog seems unthinkable now, we will likely have more dogs after Quincy leaves us; but they will not be my dogs.


Courtney and I talk often about how our life together has been marked by certain milestones-- moving from Mississippi to Connecticut, starting our family, moving to Iowa and now moving back to the South. At each milestone we are forced to leave something behind as we move on to face the next phase of life. Looking back, it is a comfort to know that at each turn God helps shape the milestones. When I lost Sebaca, it was at the beginning of my teenage years when I would not have had time to spend with a him enough to make him happy. Now as I say goodbye to Oscar, I understand that life is changing again. We will soon have our third daughter and my work is become more time consuming and intense. Still, I count it a great blessing that God put into His plan for my life that I should be graced with a friend like Oscar on this journey. I take comfort in the knowledge that right up to the end he was my dog. He was never alone and his passing was without fear and without pain and my eyes were the last things he saw in this life.


Courtney is likely to edit this down (and maybe she should) but if I could just say one more thing. As we researched our options, we came across this story. Now, there's no theological backing for this, so take it for what it is worth:


"An old legend says that there is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge, there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water, and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are young again. Those who have been maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other. But there is only one thing missing. They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up. The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring! And this one suddenly runs from the group! You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. Your face is kissed again and again and again, and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet. Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated."


For my part, I have a hard time imagining a heaven without dogs.

Super Nanny + Martha Stewart = Me

Dare I say it? Every time I write that I am feeling better, I fall down again. I am now at the One Week Without Going to the Hospital mark. I am working only two afternoons per week, with no more on-call time, and most of the time I feel better. Not perfect, but much better. Thanks for all the emails, calls, etc.

Today I would like to share my joy. There's a new love in my life. It's not expensive but it's VERY valuable. You have probably heard of it, but if you haven't, I encourage you to go out and get one just like it right this very second. It's called GOOF-OFF.


My lovely mother-in-law Bev, the Queen of Clean who can recite the daily listings for HGTV by heart, recommended this magical product to me, so I had some in the house. I had used it for a couple of wall smudges and stubborn adhesive residue spots in the past. But today's challenge was far greater than any caked-on bandaid goo on the wall.

Rebecca came trotting into my room with red nail polish. (You can see where this is going.) She is obsessed with red fingernails, panics when it starts to chip, asks for a "refilling" of it regularly. (For the record, the nail polish was in the top shelf of the linen closet behind the plastic bin of "kid meds" and how she found it or reached it remain great mysteries.) I told her firmly that she should not have the nail polish, that we would repaint her nails after the bath tonight and to put it on my dresser so we wouldn't forget. I didn't think much about it for a while. Then I came downstairs to make a couple of phone calls. Down comes the Beckster, with red polish all over her hands and her dress-up dress. "Rebecca, where's the nail polish bottle?" "I don't know." "Please get it. Bring it to me." "I don't know where it is." "Where did you have it when it got all over your dress?" She shrugs. I am trying to contain my ire, picturing the entire bottle spilled all over the brand-new carpet upstairs. I follow the smell. In their room, there's a blanket in the middle of the floor. Underneath: a quarter-sized spot of bright red nail polish, nicely ground into the carpet and clearly oh-so-cleverly covered up by a conveniently forgetful redheaded 3-yr-old.

Steam from my ears. Deliberate disobedience. Stained carpet. Covert cover-up operation. Lying. Count to ten, Mommy. What would Super Nanny do?

"Rebecca McKee Marsh!" She slinks into the room, aware that the calling of her full name indicates true dissatisfaction.

"Rebecca, I am going to spank your bottom. I am going to spank your bottom because I specifically told you not to get the nail polish out, and you did. Then you covered up your spill so I wouldn't find it. You know better than this, don't you?"

She nods. "I made a bad choice."

On to Time Out first--never spank while angry, right?--which will last longer than the usual 3 minutes, because I am certain my anger will not be gone in 3 minutes.

I try nail polish remover first--much, much worse. Then carpet cleaner--no luck. Check the Internet--water and hair spray--wetter, but not better. Pet carpet stain remover--not even a little bit better. Then, the light bulb goes off: Goof-Off. Squirt it on, stain is gone! (If this is not the slogan, it should be.) I am pretty certain an angel choir sang at that moment.

At this point, it's been 15 minutes. I "spanked" Rebecca as promised, telling her again why. Super Nanny would be so proud of me for my calm-yet-firm voice (although I'm pretty sure the "spanking" part is not in her discipline methods--we do what we have to do, Mary Poppins!). She cried very briefly (a spanking from mommy is more effective as a threat), apologized and we hugged. Then I told her the truly damaging news: for 2 weeks, I would not allow her to have painted fingernails or toenails. Those are the privileges of a big girl, and this was not a big girl choice. She agreed that this was a "bad choice."

All is well now. She is anxious for me to come to the party she and Molly have set up in their room for me. As a gift for the hostess, I'm bringing Goof-Off.

Pukey McPukersly

I so proudly thought my vomiting days were over. After all those normal tests and scans, nothing could be found. So I decided (perhaps unwisely) to go ahead and fly down to Memphis as scheduled to tie up some loose ends in preparation for our move. It was just three days, I thought. So Day One was uneventful--I waded through the bureaucracy of the DMV to get a Tennessee driver's license, which I had to have in order to have my midwifery license processed for the state of Tennessee. I interviewed at a clinic for a potential part-time job to fill in for some extra dough before this third baby comes. All was accomplished on schedule. I was completely wiped out at the end of the day (which had started with a 5 am flight) but had kept all foods and liquids down.

So I awoke on Day Two after having spent all night back and forth to the bathroom and I couldn't stop throwing up for a few hours. Had to postpone my meetings in Jackson (which looks SO professional). Mom was my phone contact person, calling my worthless insurance company to find out which hospital I should go to for rehydration (none are covered, and the Home Health place wouldn't come out because of my crappy insurance either). Finally, Dad took me to the ER, waited a good long time to be shuffled up to the OB unit (if you're over 20 weeks, they are scared of you in the ER), waited a good long time to get assigned a room at the OB unit and waited another hour or so before they even attempted to find a vein in my dried-out arms, which are all bruised up from all the blood draws and IVs of the last week. Took three people and 8 sticks--finally the chief of the OB dept had to find it, which he did in one 5-second attempt. I had to refuse labs and ultrasounds, since I JUST had them and if they did them in Memphis, I'd be stuck with ALL the expense. I'm sure they rolled their eyes about me when I wasn't looking--"typical nurse," they probably said, "who thinks she knows better than everyone else." But after rehydration for the FOURTH time in 8 days, I felt better.

Managed to drive to Jackson on Wed for HR testing and a final staff interview at the clinic, loose ends to tie before we get down to the nitty-gritty credentialling process at the hospital. Barely made my flight home, which was fine plane-wise, but I was restless and nauseous and just ready to be home. Rolled in about 11 last night.

Now I have to decide what's next. If things spiral down again, I will likely get a PICC line, an in-dwelling IV site, so I can rehydrate at home and not be stuck over and over again. I have also been talking to my OB and staff (I am getting prenatal care where I work) about taking Family Medical Leave and just not returning for my final 3 weeks--or perhaps returning only half-days with no more call. The main issue here is money--we need it, with all the expenses coming up with moving, and if I am on Leave, I get none! Whatever this is, it does improve when I am not, well, being myself (rushing around to do everything all the time).

On a more positive note, we found a sweet lady to watch M and R, a solution to our childcare dilemma. The other two kids she has are both girls, same ages as ours, so everyone is happy. Today is their first day with her, so I hope all goes well. That will be one more thing I can check off the list.

Now Accepting Wedding Donations

The ultrasound was pretty convincing: we make GIRLS! A third certainly beautiful girl will be part of our family this fall! With the first two, we waited patiently for the surprise gender announcement at birth. This time around--our last--we decided that with moving & changing jobs & school starting & all the pepto-bismol colored gear we own, we have enough uncertainty, so a surprise at 20 weeks is just as good. There she was, kickin' and movin' and resting her head against her upper arm, showing off her girl goods and measuring out perfectly. (Well, 96th percentile for weight, but we grow 'em big.)

We are thrilled, were already wondering what on earth we'd do with a boy after nearly 6 years of girlishness, and are happily discussing names ad nauseum. I can practically guarantee you all that even with knowing her gender beforehand, this will not make name-choosing any easier, so you'll probably have to wait until we meet her face-to-face for that. We are accepting suggestions, as well as stock options in Tampax and donations for the weddings and proms in our future.

"She Must Be Feeling Better, She's Doing the Laundry!"

For two weeks, I have been sick. Throwing up & other fun things. Losing pounds, becoming dehydrated enough for two trips to the hospital for IV fluids, having blood drawn. Freaking out my loved ones. And frankly, freaking out myself at times, wondering if I would be spending the next 19 weeks doing this. It started out in typical stomach-flu-type fashion, got a little better and then returned with a vengeance. Safely out of the first trimester (when I had some "morning sickness" but not that much), I hoped I was in the clear. But no! Anyway, I am on the upswing now, having kept bland foods down for nearly two days and feeling somewhat more human. Molly and Rebecca were playing together in their room today. Here's the conversation:

Molly: You be the Mommy.
Rebecca: Okay, I will throw up and do the laundry. You be the Daddy.
Molly: I don't wanna be the Daddy. Daddies are boys. I'll be the baby.
Rebecca: Okay. You be the baby in my tummy who makes me throw up.
Molly: I think the Mommy is feeling better. She's doing the laundry today.

So here I am, trying to ease back into normal life. I have ignored the blog for a week and there have been several exciting adventures to report (as well as my ever-observant comments on life as we know it, which I know you have missed). So bear with me, as I will post several new entries this weekend to make up for lost time--I will do this in between loads of laundry, of course.