Life's little surprises

Today was a day I look forward to all year long. Like I look forward to a root canal or going to the DMV. It was the dreaded IEP meeting. To those of you not in the special needs club, the IEP meeting is the annual event where I meet with Drew's "team" and we discuss the year and make goals for the next year.

I feel like I am not a person easily cowed but I will admit that every year, walking into that room, where there are literally like 8 or 9 people representing the school in various capacities and then just little old me, feels a bit overwhelming. They are all representing the schools interests and I am the sole person making sure that those interests also coincide with my son's interests.

Each year, in anticipation of the meeting, I spend some time reading through the prior year's goals and thinking about what I want next year to look like for him. Doing this always picks the scab off of an old wound. I am again reminded that his progress is slow, that he is behind, and that he really does require a team of people to move him ahead. A bit of a downer but being that I have been doing this for a few years now, instead of being completely unhinged by these reminders, I take a moment to acknowledge that it makes me sad, and move on.

The other typical component of these meetings is some sort of argument. The past two year's meetings have had me leaving angry, following up with letters, having terse phone calls with the district Special Ed director, threatening due process, and then eventually, them caving and me getting what I am asking for. When I ask for something, I am usually quite confident that it is within the scope of reality and legality but the fight to get it is exhausting. Some day, I am hopeful that they will get the hint that I don't go away. The threats don't work, the stalling doesn't work, and the trying to make me quit by asking me to jump through hoops doesn't work. Secretly, I am hoping at some point they will just put, "give her what she asks for" or better yet, "don't fuck with her" in my file and just make it easier for all of us.

So this morning, I walked in, with my game face on, my boy's needs clearly in sight, and ready to face the team. Surprisingly, this year, every I request I made was met with an, "okay". I seriously was looking around the room wondering if I was being punked or something. Was Ashton Kutcher lurking somewhere? Was there a Candid Camera somewhere? It was quite refreshing to have it all go so easily and I walked out feeling really positive about what my beautiful boy has accomplished this year and what they have planned for him next year. I almost felt a little bereft. What, no fight? Nothing to keep me up at night composing angry letters in my head while mentally giving the district the finger? Wow!! All in all, a roaring success.

Done!!!!

Saturday was the day I had been waiting for since January. When I first signed up for the full marathon, I was excited and confident about doing another race and May couldn't come soon enough. Since that time, pretty much anything that could go wrong with my body did and being a realist, I scaled it back to the half marathon. I still felt pretty confident though and was still excited for May. However, the two weeks prior to the race, I was in a lot of pain from my back and was starting to worry that making it 13.1 miles down the road could get ugly.

When I arrived in Utah on Friday, I was, at that moment, not sure if I was even going to attempt the race. After meeting the doctor and getting my MRI, I am thinking I may have a herniated disc (I won't find out until next week) and as much as I wanted to do the race, I also did not want to damage anything more. Also, the last time I ran a long run, I came home, went to take off my shoes and couldn't get up again. I spent the remainder of the day on the couch, doped up on Vicodin, and providing good entertainment for Kevin. (I watched Twilight while high on the painkillers and man if that didn't seem like the best movie EVER! I realize that was probably the drugs talking.) I was unsure about whether running the race was worth the possibility of pain like that again.

So, big decision to make and I think I grilled anyone and everyone on Friday about what to do. I was worried about more pain and hurting my body more but I am also a finisher and I am somewhat stubborn about finishing what I start. So, Friday night, I finally decided that I was going for it.

I was really nervous the morning of the race but the back felt pretty good and I thought worst case scenario, I spend the day on the couch hopped up on the Vicodin entertaining my two friends who were spending the weekend with me. As I ran the race, I felt okay. My sacrum area (area where your pelvis connects in back) was burning like it was on fire pretty much the entire race and I had some clenched up muscles the last 3 miles but I made it. I was working hard to ignore all of that and tell myself nothing hurt. I finished in 1:59, which is about 10 minutes slower than my training runs but all things considered, I really don't care. I was just glad that I made it and that I was still able to walk afterward.

By some marathon miracle, the back only needed some ice, some Alleve, and a muscle relaxer post race. I am glad it is done and I think I am hanging up my distance running shoes for a while until my body repairs itself or forever if the doctor thinks that is what I need to do.

I'm on the 'Roids Man!

Well, I finally did it. After a solid month of nervy back pain, I finally broke down and went to see the doctor. When I mentioned to the kids that I was going to go see the doctor about my back, Ethan, very emphatically told me, it was about time. He also informed me he was "sick" of me not wanting to run around the yard or play hide and seek because my back hurts. Nothing like a little guilt to help motivate me toward medical help.

So, yesterday I saw the NeuroSurgeon's assistant. Apparently when you spend a million years in school, at Harvard no less, you can't see patients until someone else has collected all the necessary information for you first. They did x-ray and said that one of my vertebrae is slipping out of alignment. The P.A. recommended an MRI and put me on a course of steroids. He asked about my physical activity and I mentioned to him that I was running a half marathon in a week and a half. He put his fingers in his ears and went, "la, la, la" and told me he was going to pretend he didn't hear that. I said I will quit running and become a yoga goddess or do whatever they want but they just have to wait a week.

Kevin was teasing me all night about my taking steroids. He says I am doping for the race and that he can't wait for the veins in my neck to pop out. I keep telling him to watch out or I might go all Rowdy Roddy Piper on his ass in a 'roid rage.

Uh, remember that time.....

Back in the days when I actually stayed up past 10:30, I used to be an avid Saturday Night Live watcher. There was a recurring skit with Chris Farley where he hosted an interview show. He would have celebrities on and "interview" them. The interview always went something like this:

Chris Farley: "Uh, remember that time in X movie when you did X, Y, or Z?"

Celebrity: "Yeah"

Chris Farley: "Huh, huh, um that was really cool"

And it goes on like that.

This is a bit what my conversations with Ethan feel like lately. Every conversation goes something like this, "remember in Hotel for Dogs, when the dog stares at the window and then the boy comes in, and then they pull up the shade.....". Usually, the description takes about 5 minutes but it feels like 20 minutes and I am standing there thinking, "let's wrap it up kid". When he has finished I say, "Yes, I remember" and then he says, "I really liked that part" or "that was really cool".

This happens about 20 times a day and I feel a bit like I am being interviewed by Chris Farley.