JESSIE'S VEGAS

It happened again. This time I was in an unknown city, unknown Walmart, nonchalantly making my simple selections and placing them at the bottom of the metallic, tic-tac-toe patterned shopping cart. I always get the cart with the jumpy wheel and we lurch along aisle after aisle. I figure the extra noise from my cart alerts shoppers I am coming through plus I am too lazy to get a new cart. "What if I try three more carts and they all have bad wheels?" I muse.  I am purposely trying to distract myself as I make my way toward the cosmetic and pharmaceutical section.  At last, I have no choice and no other purchases so I glide over and find myself face to face with my last dreaded selection. I have to purchase more adult diapers for my twenty-two-year-old. There are purple diapers, there are green diapers, there are even some with pretty lace and butterflies, but I hate them all.  The pit in my stomach grows larger and a low groan emerges. "Oh, no! It's h...

I am not going to spend too much time talking about the feeling that comes creeping on my skin when an anxiety attack comes a-knockin' at my door and ignores the "no soliciting" sign.  The thing is anxiety can't read. If it did, it surely would have absorbed something of the over two hundred books I have read on the subject purely by osmosis. Maybe it would be diffusion...whatever physic process is involved when a living entity is transferring information to a non-living entity. Maybe that is the problem. Anxiety seems to be alive infecting its host like some unwelcome virus or parasite and my unwillingness to account for its existence makes it angrier, itchier and somehow more dangerous.  I was up all night and thoughts and fears assaulted my cerebral cortex like paint gun pellets. They weren't lethal, but they sure packed a punch and left staining on the inside of my skull. I could almost see where they left their mark, but then my attention was diverted to th...

     Scientists were shocked to learn that the Vagus nerve, found in the gut, carries 90 percent of messages to the brain and not the other way around.  While Egyptians posited that the heart was the seat of the human emotional experience due to the abundance of visceral fluids found within its chambers, those of us who have a sinking feeling in the pit of our navels when unpleasantness is encountered know that it is the "bowels that are filled with compassion..." Luke 15:20. Last night, however, it was my esophagus...still part of the gastrointestinal system, that acted up when I heard something I did not want to hear.  What is that lump that forms and tightens and rises up, sometimes bringing vomit, or "baby barf" as my kids are fond of saying? Like an elevator going the wrong way up, someone pushed the wrong button on my esophagus control panel and I found bile rising in my throat when I heard a physician say, "Over the years I have decided that those with s...

I am bone-tired.  May is a month notorious for weariness only to be outdone by its calendar mate, December. School projects, end of the year concerts, even the natural world is abuzz with busy plans full of pollen and blossoms. And don't forget the babies! I hear their tiny chirps from branches in trees and see them following their mothers through the fields. At my place of employment, I dry the newness from their bodies and place them skin to skin against their mother's hearts.   Living in a house full of female love, I am asked the minute I walk through the door to describe the chubby characteristics of my latest patients. Spring is a beautiful type of busy as miracles abound abundantly. Hope fills the air as new life is everywhere.  To compound this busy time, sleeping just a few hours yesterday after a night shift,  my phone made that buzzing noise again, and I checked it...because...  don't forget the babies! They were still coming and filling almo...

  MTHFR, Tuberous Sclerosis Complex, Fragile X, Cornelia de Lange, Down, Angelman, Coffin-Lowry, Cohen Laurence-Moon-Biedel, Marinesco-Sjogren, Moebius, Rett and Williams syndromes.1, 2  Complex.(ABA)OT,PT,Speech-therapy,neuro psychologist, psychiatrist,psychoactive-drugs,antidepressants,anti-psychotics,Oxytocin, Secretin,elimination-diets, vitamin supplementation,chelation,pivot response therapy,AAC,Floor time-DIR,social-stories,TEACCH,sensory integration,Massage therapy,Music therapy, animal therapy, Acupuncture,Biofeedback,Hyperbaric oxygen therapy,TransCranial magnetic stimulation,CranioSacral therapy,Stem-Cell therapy, Vocational rehab, IEP,504,self-contained classroom, PSR, Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) 1997 If you are a person that knows a little bit about the above paragraph then-  someone you love might have autism.  In addition to having "Autism Awareness Month"in April, som...

    We have a problem with garbage in this country. The first time this hit me was when we visited the land-fill in Idaho.  I do not even remember why in the world we were driving through the mountains on such a fine Saturday afternoon to visit "the dump".  There we were, however, my husband and I with our load of unsavory or unwanted items in the back of the neighbor's white, rusty pick-up truck. The sun was warm and bright that day, the air whipped playfully through our hair as we had the windows unrolled.  With such a scenic view, we checked our GPS more than once to make sure we were headed in the right direction.  "Why would the land-fill be in the mountains?" my husband laughed. "It seems like we are headed for a picnic in the foot-hills".  "Yes! I should have packed us a picnic-lunch!" I said as I looked out at the surrounding Juniper and pine trees.        We rounded a shoulder in the road and suddenly the scenery ...

Valentine's Day is tomorrow, but my sweetie and I usually celebrate early. February 11,  was the day we first met so , in many ways, the 11th is our own special Valentine's Day.  February 11th, 1984 there was a thin frosting of snow on the Idaho ground. I had not planned on going to the youth dance that night as it was cold and I didn't feel like dressing up. At the last minute a friend offered me a ride and I put on the dress my mom had made me for my uncle Dan's wedding.  My mom was an expert seamstress and her clothes were often better than were found even at JCPenney-one of the only clothing conglomerates in the South Idaho town I grew up in. I twirled in my floral dress and thought "cousin Ricky was right. This dress really is flattering". When we got to the dance, I was missing my usual wingman, Kathleen Carnahan. She had been grounded for not cleaning her room . My other friend ,Heidi Heiner, had offered me a ride, but was soon found dancing every son...

     "Why We Need Survival Stories", a catchy headline with a story about a successful businessman, former NFL player who was stranded in the ocean 9 hours without a life-jacket.  Do not get me wrong, I am SO glad this guy survived! I am SO glad I was not the one stranded off the coast of Florida being bitten by a myriad of sea creatures.  My whole thing is, I wish we liked stories that involved a protagonist who was enduring more than just 9 hours of discomfort. I wish we commiserated more openly with folks who spent their life-time in oceans being bitten by health issues, financial ruin or ill-fated omens.  Maybe our heroes can only be scarred momentarily for us to relate.      I was complaining to my  friend about how most regular people just didn't understand or even care about the travails of special needs parenting.  She said these wise words.  "I have discovered there are 2 types of trials. There are the types of trial...