Sandra Tayler

You aren’t supposed to notice your heartbeat. It is the fundamental rhythm of your life. When that steady beat comes to your attention, it is only because something has gone awry. Sometimes that “awry” is joyful, like the sudden jump in heart rate when that one special person notices you. Other times the “awry” is terrified, as in the thumping heart and adrenaline surge of a vehicular accident.

For the past month my heartbeat has occupied a significant portion of my attention. This is because it has begun, for no apparent reason, to trip over itself. I’ll be sitting at my computer and suddenly Thump THUMP with a succession of smaller beats as it finds a rhythm again. This has been worrisome, although the word “worrisome” completely understates the gamut of fear, hope, and denial I’ve felt over the past month. I hoped it was stress and would therefore go away. I hoped it was a thyroid imbalance and therefore easily fixable. I hoped many things. Mostly I hoped that it wasn’t a real sensation, that I was somehow making it up. The world is a very strange place when you spend time hoping you have a psychosomatic illness.

I’m not completely stupid. I’ve been to two different doctors over this. One did an EKG which was completely normal. The other did a thyroid test that was completely normal. The next step is to wear a heart monitor for a 24 hour period and hope to catch one of the thump events on tape. I’ve had the prescription for that sitting on my fridge for almost two weeks while I tried to pretend that I didn’t need to do it. In order for me to spend over $300 and 24 hours wired to a device, I have to admit that I believe there is something wrong. I twisted and turned a lot trying to not face it. This morning I finally called to schedule the heart monitor.

Because something is wrong.

And I don’t know what it is.

And that terrifies me.

I would be a lot more complacent right now if I could believe in the omniscience of doctors. But I’ve been through a medical ringer before and I remember how much of what they do is based on guess work. That’s probably when I figured out that my doctor is no smarter than I am. He just has a different education and experience set. This means that for ordinary illnesses I hardly need him at all. I can figure it out by myself. In fact I’m often better off managing things by myself because viruses don’t get better more quickly for having spent a $20 copay to identify them as viruses.

At the beginning of this thing I spent a lot of time with Dr. Google. That was where I learned that what I have are “palpitations.” I also learned that the shakiness and anxiety that accompany them are common. I’ve observed symptoms closely, trying to collect enough data to figure this thing out by myself. Stress, lack of sleep, and caffeine make the palpitations worse, exercise does not. Pretty much every source ended with telling me I should go see a doctor, but then so do the entries on sore throats.

I’m done trying to research and guess. I’m done hoping it will just go away. Tomorrow morning I go get wired.

I loved Star Blazers as a kid. I remember watching it in the afternoons. So when I saw it on Netflix, I borrowed the first disc to share with my kids.

We just watched the first part. I’m still trying to decide whether to cry with nostalgia, laugh at the horrible hokey-ness, or wander away bored.

I think that Americans are a little nutty about safety. The Consumer Product Safety Commission is constantly issuing recalls, particularly of children’s toys and gear. I do believe that some of these recalls are necessary, but I also believe that many people are unduly stressed by them. Recently thousands of toys were recalled because of “high levels of lead” in the paint. I’ve done some research into lead poisoning. I did it because I acquired an old, painted dresser and I wondered if it was covered in lead based paint. I contacted my county health department. That is where I learned that unless the paint is pealing off and someone is eating it in quantity, there is unlikely to be a problem. However they happily sold me a lead paint test kit for a few dollars. I swabbed the dresser and it was clean.

The children who end up with lead poisoning live in old houses with old paint that is flaking and turning into lead dust. There is a difference between being careful about lead and being paranoid. I have declined to get rid of Gleek’s Polly Pockets. She is not in the habit of scratching the paint off and eating it. Even if she were, the supposedly “high” levels of lead in the paint are actually quite low and probably not dangerous in small quantities.

I feel the same way about magnetic toys. A recent article listed them as one of the biggest hazards of the year. Really? I know that the magnets should never be in the hands of small children who might eat them, but is that really a reason to take them out of the hands of every child everywhere? Somehow I think that far more children are endangered and injured by household chemicals than by magnets or minuscule amounts of lead in paint. It is ironic that parents panic about these toy recalls, but will leave toxic cleaners under the sink in the bathroom.

It all boils down to responsibility. I don’t believe that it is the job of the toy manufacturer or the CPSC to keep my children safe. That is my job. I must look at the toys and items in my house and decide whether I consider them a danger to my children. I do read the recall notices, but only rarely does my judgment determine that the recall was essential for my family. I also do not assume that a product is safe merely because it has not been recalled. Nothing is completely safe. Freak accidents happen. An informed parent who judges based on research rather than paranoia, and who supervises appropriately, is the best way to keep kids safe.

Lately my thinking has been fuzzy. I can’t be at my best every day, but “best” has been much harder to come by lately. Usually I can hold task lists in my head. It is like there is a shelf in the back of my brain where I can put thoughts that I don’t need right now, but that I’ll need soon. I can quickly reference the shelf and grab the things I need. Lately the shelf has been more like a hole. I put thoughts there and the vanish. If I want them back I have to recreate the conditions that made me think them in the first place. I’ve been using lists a lot lately. Lists don’t vanish so long as I keep them all neatly in my planner.

Gleek lost her first tooth on Tuesday. It has been wiggly for weeks. She is very excited at this milestone. She shows her excitement by grinning to show off the hole in her mouth. She has three more teeth that are wiggling as well.

We received a proofing copy of Tub of Happiness from our printer. This is an unbound, low-resolution, cheap paper, copy of the book. It makes me happy to hold it. The book is that much closer to being real.

I had parent teacher conferences for Gleek and Link. It is so nice to talk to teachers who have no particular concerns that they want to discuss. Gleek and Link are both doing well in their classes. The teachers are not worried for them at all. Gleek has no behavioral issues and her teacher is very impressed with her reading and pattern-recognitions skills. Link needs a little more practice reading aloud, and a little help getting started writing. But that is it. No long conferences. No special arrangements necessary. It is all going well.

Next week Howard leaves for the last convention of this year. I’m supposed to be in high gear getting some last minute things done. I wish I could find high gear today.

Link received an award certificate for perfect school attendance during the months of August and September. He is so pleased with the certificate that he wants me to frame it and put it on the wall. He plans to have perfect attendance all year so he can have a collection of these certificates. He deliberately requested that we not go on any trips during the school year that would make him miss school. I’m happy to comply. I hadn’t planned a trip for this year anyway. I did mention that he might have to miss school if he gets sick, but he assured me that he’ll just be careful and stay well.

I was going through old journal entries and realized that most of them were “lessons learned” rather than “what I’m going through.” I’m not sure what it means, but the tendency was interesting to notice.

I walked Patches to and from school today. He rode his bike. It was fun to watch him feeling so grown up as he carefully dismounted and walked his bike across streets and around any sidewalk that looked the slightest bit “slanty” He also practiced wiggling the handle bars so that the bike went zig-zaggy, riding standing up, riding with no hands for brief periods at slow speeds, and holding on to the handle bars at places other than the handgrips. Periodically we had to stop so that he could dismount and sit in the shade for 2-10 seconds.

And now I need to go mow my lawn.

I remember my mom making cookies. A cluster of children would gather around the counter adding ingredients in strict rotation. Mom would help the younger kids measure, but let them do the dumping. There were more kids than beaters, but mom kept a supply of spares in a drawer. She’d keep swapping out beaters until every child who wanted one, had one. I remember trying to get every last bit of dough off of the tongue defying shape of the beater.

I remember it all so clearly. But when I begin to describe it, I realize that it is not a single memory. It is a composite of many times when my mom made cookies. Sometimes I’m the youngest of four kids sitting around the counter. Other times there is a baby sister in the playpen behind me. Sometimes I was only allowed to dump. Others I was able to measure. Sometimes I got to hold the mixer and stir for awhile. Others I just watched. All of these different memories of making cookies with mom over lap like pictures on sheer sheets of paper. The central themes are clear, but the edges get all fuzzy. The core of the memories is the participation in making a treat. It was a time when mom was focused on us rather than the hundreds of other things she had to do daily to keep the house running.

I make cookies with my own kids. I let them help measure and stir and dump even though some days I’d rather not. Stirring neatly is a skill my children have yet to master. Each time I do it I know I’m adding another thin layer to their composite memories of “making cookies with mom.” They love it so much that the sound of the mixer summons my children faster than a can opener summons cats.

There are other things we do as a family which are creating composite memories. I carefully encourage these. Of such commonalities are families made. Some of the memories happen without any aid from me at all. The kids interact with each other and play similar games over and over again. I often ponder, while watching them play, which of these games will be the ones that are remembered with nostalgia when my adult children get together. It doesn’t matter to me that any particular thing be remembered, but it is very important that they have lots of warm and loving themes in their lives. Layer over layer of love in thin sheets so that the message is clear even if the edges are sometimes hazy.

I get blood drawn often. That is one of the side effects of having a thyroid condition. They have to test at least once per year to make sure that dosages are correct. Testing is done more often than that if I experience symptoms. I had my annual test 4 months ago, but lately I’ve had symptoms that suggest that I my dosage may be too high. So today I trotted myself off to get my blood drawn.

Most of the time getting my blood drawn is a non-event. I don’t stress in advance. I feel a moment’s nervousness when the needle is poised, but that is about it. Unfortunately some of my blood draws have been very memorable indeed. Once I got stuck a total of 5 times over a 2 hour period so they could get one little vial of blood. I frequently get stuck twice in the search for a good vein.

Today it was less than 15 minutes from the moment I walked into the door until I walked out with a bandaid on my arm. That time included registering. I think this is the first time that a blood draw didn’t hurt at all. It didn’t bruise either. Would that all phlebotomists were so competent.