What I learned during Summer vacation

I don't know what it is about August, but it has always been hell month for me. It's not just the unending heat or the way my skin bristles every time the too bright sun touches it; life tends to triple its speed in August until I'm utterly worn out. By the time August ends, I am longing to hide in a cool bath in a dark room far, far away from telephones and to-do lists.

This August was no exception. Queen Teen had two trips to Stanford, plus a muscle biopsy (more on that later). Her recovery was good, but slow, and I got to battle with three different agencies for a shower bench (more on that to come later as well). I was frantically trying to finish the new website for Medusa's Muse before I went back to work (didn't make it). And then school started; I went back to teaching and she started the 11th grade. Rick and I juggled my return to work and QT's reduced school schedule (half days for now) with our usual strategy: take it day by day and stress out the entire time. Thankfully a good friend has helped out while I continued to look for regular child care

Now it is September and we are all starting to settle in to our new schedule. I harvested the basil this weekend and am making several pounds of pesto to enjoy this winter, and this year we enjoyed our first delicious crop of table grapes from our 8 year old vines. The summer was stressful because of the changes in Queen Teen's health. But it was also oddly peaceful. When I look back on the last few months, I see just how lovely our summer was (except for that dreaded August). And I learned some very important things.

What I learned during Summer vacation.

• Tomatoes need consistent watering or their skins will crack and the fruit become misshapen. 
• All those late nights and extra hours I spent teaching are totally worth it if I can have summer off. 
• It is important to spend time doing nothing. If you fill your days with tasks and to-do's and constant business, you never have time to truly enjoy being alive. Sit in your yard every day with your shoes off and watch your garden grow while listening to the humming birds fight over the flowers. 
• Doing the above is even nicer with a glass of good wine.
• Creating a peaceful space in your home, a place where no work is allowed, is very important for mental health. This space is even more helpful if you create it in your bedroom.
• Reading a book on a Kindle is fun. 
• Going to the mall with a typically developing teenage girl is fascinating, especially when you turn that girl lose in Abercrombie and Fitch.
• Having Queen Teen's best friend with her when Queen Teen had to get her biopsy made everything much better. We should always bring a friend (and not just one of my friends). 
• In-laws who will paint your bedroom and clean your kitchen are the greatest gift there is.
• Running feels good.
• A slower pace to match Queen Teen's lower energy is kind of a gift. Stress was reduced because she wasn't begging to do things all the time, and when we did go out, she seemed to enjoy it more.
• Sharing time with a person who is ill teaches you not to take things for granted. I know we've all heard that before, but when you're caring for your child who is struggling so much just to walk or eat, you realize how wonderful each moment of your life is. This child is precious and beautiful, and her time on this Earth is limited. We don't know how long, but I know I will out live her. So enjoy the days, the accomplishments, the set backs, the laughs. Enjoy and savor each breath. We all have limited time; don't waste your one beautiful life.
• But remember, enjoying your life doesn't mean filling it up with accomplishments. The time you spend with your family is far more important than what you think you need to achieve. 
• Working with your hands, rather than only with your brain, is extremely relaxing.
• Curious George is hysterical.
• Pumpkin plants need a lot of feedings if you want to make a pumpkin pie this fall. 
• A car with air conditioning equals liberation.

Meeting Llama Tsultrim

On a smokey, sunny morning, I drove and hour and a half north on Hwy 101 to Rangjung Yeshe Gomde, a Tibetan Buddhist meditation center in Leggett. I had an appointment with Llama Tsultrim Sangpo, a buddhist monk from Tibet who had agreed to talk to me about my daughter's illness.

I've read many books written by buddhist teachers and philosophers and spent several years following the teachings of Thick Nhat Hhan and Pima Chodron, but I have never spoken with a Monk or Nun, let alone a Tibetan Llama. What would he be like? How should I greet him? Was I appropriately dressed in my slacks and long sleeved blouse? I knew it was rude to flash your boobs at a Monk.

The retreat center is just off the highway, tucked into the hills that are thick with trees and wildlife. I was greeted by a man who seemed to be the caretaker and he directed me to the retreat's center, a large kitchen and dining hall where Ani Marsha was preparing lunch. Ani Marsha gave me directions to the cottage where Llama Tsultrim waited. Driving on the bumpy one lane road through the hot silence of late  morning, I smelled the dry grass as it crackled in the sun. At last I reached the cottage, a one room studio in the shade. The Eel river gurgled several feet below and two jay birds yelled at me as I parked.

The front door was opened by a man wearing rust and orange robes with a pair of glasses pushed up on his head and a cell phone in his hand.

"Hi, I'm Terena," I said.

He nodded and said, "Come in."

I remembered to take off my shoes before entering. He nodded toward a corner of the room and told me to sit down. Did he mean sit on a chair, at the table, or on the meditation cushion? I chose the cushion, but then thought maybe it was his cushion and that was rude. I was too embarrassed to get up and change to a chair.

He handed me a piece of paper where instructions on how to use the phone were written. "Do you know what this means?"

After helping him with the phone (which still wouldn't work right), he said he'd be back. He was trying to call the interpreter because although he understood English, he wanted to make sure I understood everything he was saying. He walked outside and left me alone for a few minutes. He definitely wasn't what I expected; instead of an elderly Tibetan monk welcoming me into his room filled with incense and bells, Llama Tsultrum was about my age.  He struggled with a cell phone just like any other person would and his room was as ordinary as any one room cottage could be.

He returned and the interpreter joined us.  The three of us sat on meditation pillows around his altar and then he asked how he could help.

I told him about my daughter's illness and that she would eventually die. "And there's nothing I can do to help her or cure her. Watching her suffer is breaking my heart and I can't breath from the grief and anger I feel. I can't meditate because my mind runs around in terror and the only thing that helps is if I stay busy. I know what I'm feeling is natural and I'm not asking to escape suffering. I'm asking for help so I can bear the suffering and be strong to help my daughter through this."

The interpreter repeated my words in Tibetan and Llama Tsultrim nodded as he listened. Then he spoke. I've never heard Tibetan spoken and it is a beautiful, soothing language. It sounds Asian, but doesn't have the same high notes and short clips of Chinese or Japanese. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but I loved listening to the low melody of his voice and felt assured by his thoughtful responses.

He spoke about the love of a mother for her child and how powerful that is, how the bond between a child and mother is stronger than anything in the universe. He told me the depth of my grief is directly tied to that bond because I love her so much. But the time will come when I will have to let go so she can go move on to her next life. However, I can help her during the process of her death and eventual rebirth by staying devoted and loving her with all my being. A mother's prayers for her child are important in helping the child go on to a fortuitous birth that will bring her closer to enlightenment. But yes, the pain is great and I need to care for myself as much as possible.

I spent an hour with Llama Tsultrim, mostly listening to his words as spoken through the interpreter. As the time passed, I felt calmer and more centered. Here was a wise teacher who listened with his full attention, who cared deeply for me and my child (a child he's never met), and who offered practical advice on how to bear such terrible grief. When I asked for specific instruction to help me find strength, he taught me a new meditation technique. Llama Tsutlrim asked me if I had a relationship with a deity and I explained that I find strength and wonder in the natural world. He encouraged me to meditate in nature and continue working with plants. He also told me to think if an emotion or action is "useful." He didn't use terms like "good" and "bad" he asked, "Is this anger useful?" Just asking myself that question now and then helps ground me when my emotions become a whirlwind in my head. I still feel them, but is getting lost in them useful? Is getting drunk every night useful? Is wanting to yell at my husband because he isn't grieving the way I want him to useful?

The greatest thing I took away from this was the understanding that I could not get lost inside my own grief; my daughter needs me too much. It is natural to feel sadness and rage and I shouldn't suppress or ignore it. But I can't let the grief be the only thing in my life. She is the one going through decline and the one who will eventually die. I need to help her so she won't be afraid.

Even writing that makes my bones ache with sadness. The look in Llama Tsultrim's eyes told me that he knew how great my pain was and how impossibly hard this journey will be. There was so much kindness and compassion in one small man and just sitting with him in that little cottage by the Eel river made me feel more peaceful than I have in a very, very, very long time. The feeling lasted several days.

Recognizing Blessings

The trouble with depression and fear is that they bury anything remotely positive in a bog of thick gloom. The little glimmers of hope vanish as the darkness thickens. But occasionally, something beautiful will appear and remind you that life is still sweet.

Like your daughter finally getting into the swimming pool at school and having fun.

A plant you thought you'd killed struggling back to life and blooming with tiny pink blossoms for the first time.

Texts filled with hugs and love from friends who live far away.

The people who drive an hour just to take your daughter out for ice cream.

Your mom who offers to mop your floor and iron the pile of work shirts you've been ignoring.

Comments from people you've met via blogs; people you've never met, but who offer support anyway.

The social worker who keeps trying to find you more help despite the budget cuts.

The dog who demands a walk in the sunshine and won't let you just lie in bed all morning.

All the varieties of veggies and fruits at the farmer's market this time of year. The taste of fresh organic strawberries.

Your husband who shows you a thousand times that he really does understand and really is there, even though it's sometimes hard to see.

Hearing a new song on the radio that makes you want to cry and dance at the same time.

Godiva chocolate.

The fear of falling.

It was a scary couple of weeks after Queen Teen's fall. Her hand remained swollen and bruised, and even though the first set of x-rays showed no fractures, we waited anxiously for the second set to confirm. Sometimes it can take several day or weeks for a fracture to become apparent in an x-ray. Queen Teen wore a big black wrist brace and couldn't use her walker. Instead, Rick or I helped her walk.

But the worst thing was the depression. She became more sullen and moody every day. School was out for Thanksgiving break (a whole frickin week!) so there was nothing to distract her. She was mighty sick of movies after day three, and the distraction of Thanksgiving day only helped a little. By day five she was lying on her bed weeping because she couldn't find the Evil Step-Mother figurine that goes with the Cinderella. Plus, it was raining, which always puts her in a bad mood. I felt so bad for her and tried everything to keep her distracted and entertained, but when you can't even look at a book because your hand hurts too much, there isn't anything that will cheer you up. Happily, the second set of x-rays confirmed no fractures.

We all survived Thanksgiving break (mostly) and she went back to her doctor the first day of school. The doctor pushed and pulled on her wrist and hand to double check for hidden fractures or cracks, but other than a sore thumb and a couple of small bruises, Queen Teen seemed fine. She returned to school with a big grin on her face and we announced to her teachers and classmates that she was fine. She decided to keep wearing the brace though because using her walker hurt her hand without it.

Queen Teen has fallen this hard before. Three years ago she fell in the bathroom, hit her face on the sink, and knocked out a front tooth. Usually she falls about once a day, landing on her butt. Her pale skin is typically mottled with bruises, especially on her legs and feet. We've all become somewhat immune to the fear when she falls. Queen Teen curses her ataxia and gets back up on her own. Sometimes she needs help, like the day she fell into her closet and couldn't find a handhold to pull herself out. When I hear her fall in the next room, I listen closely to see if she's okay, but continue with what I'm doing. If we all didn't adapt to the worry of falling, all three of us would be drinking Vodka before 9:00 am.

But this fall felt different, because this fall scared her. Yes, she was seriously injured, which will rattle anyone, but in the days following the accident, she seemed scared to move. Not just because it hurt her wrist, but because she seemed afraid she might fall again. And I was nervous. The terror I felt when we thought she may have broken her wrist was oppressive. I still can't shake off the fear, the thought that she didn't break anything... this time. What about next time? What if she breaks her leg? She and I clung to each other a lot more than usual, and not just because of the injury or the fact that she needed more help. Our confidence in her ability to always get back up when she fell was shattered.

Queen Teen recovered more quickly than I did. One morning I heard her try to walk to the bathroom on her own, heard her shout "Whoa!" as she began to fall. I jumped out of bed and ran to her side, scolding her to wait for me, to be careful, to not fall down. She let me help, and for a few days I heard her say to herself, "You have to wait for help. You can't do it by yourself."

Shit... have I just made it worse by telling her she can't?

Luckily, Queen Teen isn't a girl who sits and waits for long. She started moving around her room on her own again by holding on to the furniture, and once the second x-rays showed no fractures, I let her. I had to force myself to go back into the other room and let her walk alone. She had to prove to herself she could do it, that she was safe, that she was strong. I had to clamp down on my fear that she would fall again. I had to have faith in her ability to keep getting up.

Today when I took her to school, several of her classmates came out to the car to greet her. They wanted to help. So I brought the walker to her as she got out of the car and allowed two of her girlfriends to guide her into the class. Watching them closely, my heart pounded and I had to force myself not to hover. Queen Teen walked into the class and she was quickly surrounded by a large group of friends who said hi, patted her on the back, touched her hand, asked her if it still hurt, was she okay, could they help. Her aid then entered, looking a little frazzled that she hadn't been there to help Queen Teen inside. This was where QT feel, so the staff and teachers are very nervous about having her walk into the class on her own. I understand, but I have to let her do it. And with that many students surrounding her, supporting her, making her feel safe, I know they won't let her fall.

Queen Teen knows that too. 

A Phone Call From Audiology

Two days ago, we got a phone call from our audiologist at Stanford. She hadn't talked to us in a while and wanted to know how things were going with Queen Teen. I gave her the run-down: Queen Teen refused to wear her hearing aids; when she did wear them the inside of her ears turned pink and she complained they bothered her; on those rare occasions she did manage to wear them, they didn't seem to help her hear any better.

"Do you think her hearing has changed?" Dr. Audiologist asked.

"It's worse. She can't hear conversations at all, and even with her movie turned up full power, I don't think she's hearing it very well."

"I'd really like to see her. She should come back for a hearing test again, and I'd like to look at her hearing aids. They probably aren't the right kind for her and I'd like to try a different type. Plus, we should get her ear molds made with a different type of material."

"I thought we were done because she wouldn't wear the aids."

"No, not at all! We can't give up on her hearing. There might still be something that can help her."

I wanted to crawl through the phone and hug her. Just to hear those wonderful words: there might be something that can help her. Lately, we've been hearing a lot of talk that sounds an awful lot like giving up. There are no more tests to run. No more treatments to try. No leg braces or therapies that will help her hypotonia. The doctors look at her and seem to say, sorry, there's nothing we can do. Go home and wait and see. Maybe in the future.


But here was a doctor who called because she wanted to see how Queen Teen was doing and when I told her that Queen Teen's hearing was worse she expressed that she wanted to keep on trying. We can't give up.

The doctor asked if we had considered cochlear implants and I said I wasn't opposed to it but would need more info to decide if it was something that could really benefit Queen Teen. She agreed and told me the process of evaluation Queen Teen would need to undergo before any of us could make that decision. But it was an option. She told me there was a newer type of hearing aid that was more powerful and that worked better with FM systems than the model we have now. And she said there are actually other types of materials to make ear molds. The receptionist at the clinic would call me the next day to make an appointment.

Which she did. I know Queen Teen won't be thrilled about going to the audiologist in April, but I am. And I know there's no guarantee even our wonderful Dr. Audiologist will be able to help Queen Teen hear, but I know this woman won't quit until she's exhausted every single option. That gives me hope, something we've been lacking around here lately.

Thank you for calling, Dr. Audiologist.

The next step in asking for help

After I wrote my blog post about needing more help, the response from friends was wonderful. I was particularly surprised by the offers of help from people I didn't think would respond. Not that they're insensitive, it's just they aren't particularly "kid people" and have very busy lives. I was also surprised by how many people I just KNEW would write back with offers of help who didn't. Again, I don't think it's because they're insensitive (well, a few might be), I think it has more to do with people not knowing what they can possibly do to make any difference.

When you ask for help, no matter how much you wish it would just fall into your lap, you need to have a few specific ideas for people to know how to help.

Ummmm...  I'm still not sure how to answer that question.

I mean, we need help with everything: money, sanity, housekeeping, childcare, cooking, car maintenance, yard work, pet care... everything. But telling your friend who just offered help that they could clean your bathtub for you isn't a great way to foster a good support network.

So I've been working on a list of ideas, and instead of worrying about how people will react or how unrealistic some of these may be, I'm just gonna spell it out and see what happens.

Terena's Help List

• Housework. No you don't have to clean my bathroom, but if you know any good tips, tricks, cleaning products or cleaning staff (inexpensive) who could lend a hand, let me know. 
• Yard Work. Some strong hands to help my hubby and I catch up on the mountain of yard work around here would be great, especially since Spring is already trying to arrive.
• Sanity. Send me an email just to say hello. Post a hug to my Facebook page. Call and invite me out for coffee or to a movie. Let me know when a party or event is happening. Rick and I have gotten very isolated up here in Mendo (really people, there is life above Santa Rosa!), so any little thing you can do to help us feel less lonely would be wonderful (btw, Rick could use some help just as much as me). 
• Childcare. This is a big one. I know people get really nervous about offering to watch Queen Teen because she seems to need so much care, but she's actually pretty easy. Her favorite thing is to go for a walk in her chair and get a snack. If you just want to take her out for ice cream some time for an hour so I can grab a nap, that would be great. We have respite for the longer hours and overnights, and I'm looking into another agency to provide more support. Plus, Queen Teen gets just as lonely as Rick and I do. More people inviting her out on a Saturday for a short time would make her very happy.
• On that note, the more people who learn American Sign Language the better. As her hearing has degenerated, so has her communication. Very few people in our lives know ASL, so very few people can chat with her. She doesn't know very many signs yet, but in time she will, and the more she can use her language skills, the faster she'll learn. Plus, her world will expand to include so many more people and friends. What a gift that would be.
• Cooking. Made too much Beef Stew? Send it my way. I know my food allergies make it tricky, but if you have something Gluten Free you'd like to share, we'll gobble it up. 
• Money. Well... if you win the lottery, you can pay off my house. 

Looks like I have more specifics then I realized. While I'm on a roll, I'll just throw out a few more ideas (which may be less reality based, but what the hell?)

• Could someone tell that Ty guy that I need a new house? Mine is way too small and with Queen Teen's equipment getting bigger, we're about to reach a space crisis.
• Or if not a new house, how about letting one of those designers on the Home and Garden Channel know that we need help making better use of the space we have. (ooh, I just saw that the dream house sweepstakes has begun.)
• My car is about to die (a 1995 Honda Odyssey with 220,000 miles on it). I need a new one, preferably in red.
• Rick and I still need a honeymoon. We've been married 11 years. It's about time.
• A massage, once a week, for the next six months to get grad school out of my muscles.
• A huge family with lots of cousins who live in California (rather than Louisiana or Texas, neither place I wish to move to. Sorry guys).
• Queen Teen would like another trip to Disneyland... oh wait, we're already planning that one. 
• Queen Teen would also like to fly, just like the little girl in the Tinker Bell movie "The Great Fairy Rescue." She believes that if she could fly it would change everything (I think she's right). 

Today, my orchid has even more blooms! The ones I thought were too small and would fall off have thickened until they've opened into gorgeous blossoms. I wake up every morning and look at this:

It gives me hope.

New Year's Bloom

This morning I saw that my orchid had bloomed. It was a gift from last Christmas and after a couple of months of lovely blooms, they all fell off. I figured the plant was "done," but since it was still alive, I kept it, watering it and feeding it, but pretty much ignoring it. Then eight weeks ago I noticed that it had grown a new stem, and shortly after that, tiny buds formed. I just kept watering it and feeding it as usual, and over time the buds swelled. On New Years eve I saw that one of the buds had swollen so much there was a distinct line on it. Was it going to bloom?

New Years Day, my orchid bloomed, exposing bright white, pink splotched petals. There are five more buds still thinking about blooming and I have no idea if they will. One might be ready, the others are so small they may just drop off.

One perfect flower has bloomed, and I'm taking it as a sign that 2011 is the year my life also blooms. I don't usually believe in signs, instead I lean more toward cause-and-effect patterns (Karma, if you will). But my orchid blooming on New Year's is too beautiful. I've put in many years of hard work and struggle, perhaps it will all start to come to fruition at last. Hell, I'll settle for graduating on time and getting a job. At any rate, seeing that bloom pushed me to stop being so blue and have a little hope for a change.

The funny thing is that I'm not an orchid person. I have no idea how this plant bloomed again. I haven't fed it orchid food or doused it with warm, distilled water like I hear you're supposed to do. It has thrived on ordinary plant food and the same level of neglect all my house plants live under. So the fact it didn't just live, but bloomed again, feels like a gift.

Btw, the picture on the wall behind the plant is by Clay Vajgrt, an anniversary gift from Rick two years ago. It felt so perfectly "me," I had to have it. The artist paints other meditating heroes (you should see his Batman!).

Happy New Year, everyone. May your new year bloom as well.

Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again

It's New Year's Eve and I'm helping Queen Teen make Thank You cards for the people who sent her gifts. She and I will celebrate together with some sparkling apple juice, pizza, and a Tinker Bell movie marathon. I wonder which of us will fall asleep first, or will this be the year we both stay awake until midnight? It feels important to stay awake. I need to see this year officially ended.

And in the morning, we all start with a fresh slate and 364 days to try again. Will we learn from our mistakes? Get it right this time? Take more risks? Actually stick to that diet? How many resolutions can one person make and keep? Any?

Despite my feelings of defeat, I too will wake up in the morning with a bit more optimism. Maybe this will be my year? I can't help it. I often get the blues, but ultimately I can't stay down long. Life is just too interesting to hide under the covers.

I can't remember if I've already shared this video here, but I taught myself this song last month and it cheers me up every time I sing it. Feels perfect for a New Year.

Happy New Year, dear friends. Enjoy the adventure. Who knows what will happen in a new year that starts off 1-1-11?

Everything I need

While cleaning and organizing my home I made a momentous discovery: I have everything I need. Not everything I want of course (a Wii and an IPhone are top of the list), but I actually do have everything I need. My winter boots are good, my rain coat keeps me dry, my car is running strong and my roof doesn't leak. My child has a cozy bedroom with a warm bed and plenty of toys. There's food in the pantry, a stack of books to read near my bed, and a lap top that allows me to stay creative. I have enough money in the bank right now (although lets forget for the moment that cash is a student loan), the bills are paid, and we can pay the mortgage for the next few months without worry. I have enough blue jeans and socks and two new, comfy sweaters that look good and keep me warm. There are enough forks and bowls and linens and plastic storage containers. My can opener works. My plants are healthy. I honestly can't think of one more thing that I need.

How often in our lives do we reach this point of equilibrium, when nothing is broken or worn out? It seems that I'm always fighting to keep something working, or trying to make do with what I already have. Sure, there's plenty that I want... a car made in this century would be nice, and I'm still longing to see Europe, or at least Burning Man. And I'd like another tattoo. But I don't need any of that. Not really.

And for the time being, my daughter has everything she needs at school. The new intervener is learning quickly and really seems to get what type of support Queen Teen needs. Her classroom teacher has found ways to adapt Queen Teen's curriculum so that QT is actually learning, not just doodling. Physical therapy is continuing and we got OT back. Her hearing aids are still a challenge, but we have an audiologist who is dedicated to finding the right kind of system for Queen Teen. The geneticist may not have a diagnosis, but he does have ideas to help stabilize QT's ataxia. My daughter has everything she needs right now, including counceling. The rest is up to her.

I think I'm content. It's an odd feeling. I've never felt this kind of security before and I'm not used to it. In the back of my mind are little voices saying things like, "that money in the bank will have to paid back someday, with interest." "Your car has a lot of miles on it. How long do you think it will keep going?" "You may have the mortgage now, but what about in a couple of months?" "Sure hope Queen Teen doesn't get sick."

Like I said, I'm not used to having everything I need. I grew up poor, so I'm used to wanting. My feet would hurt before my parents could afford new shoes. Today, I have over five pairs of shoes, all of them in decent shape, that fit me and feel good on my feet. My daughter has enough pairs of shoes as well. There isn't a think I need to buy today.

I'm going to sink into this contentment and try it out for a while, see if I can get used to it.

The New Year

Every New Year's Eve, I stare out the window feeling exhausted by the past year and dreading the new one. It's been this way for so many years I've lost count. When I wake up in the morning on new year's eve I feel so depressed I can barely get out of bed. Every year is a battle to keep myself going, keep a roof over our head and food on the table, keep the car running, myself running, my family thriving. Every year I fight to get my daughter what she needs: specialists, therapists, equipment, support, an education and medical care. 2009 was a particularly impossible year, so this year's New Year's Eve depression was worse than usual. It's just too much, sometimes. And next year is looking even more difficult.

How did I think I could go to grad school and raise my daughter at the same time? Last year was an exhaustive juggling act, one which has pretty much destroyed my publishing company (Medusa's Muse) and halted my own writing. Pure stubbornness has kept me going and kept my press alive long enough to finish our last book (for a while. I refuse to shut my press down completely! As I said, I'm stubborn).

And now I've been told that these last semesters are the easy ones.

You have got to be kidding!

On New Year's Eve 2009 over my morning cup of decaf, I made the mistake of looking at everything that's coming in 2010 and suddenly felt my heart pound like it would bruise my ribs. The class load for Spring 2010 is intense, followed by a Summer crammed with as many classes as SF State will provide (which due to the State budget cuts may not be that much), and then I do two, ten week, full time internships in the Fall of 2010. All of this on top of taking care of my depressed, fourteen-year-old daughter who's struggling with her disabilities and who needs more care now than she did when she was five. Plus, both my hubby and I are unemployed, but it will be a year before I can get a job. How the hell are we going to keep our house?

Breath, Terena. Breath.

But then on New Year's day, I woke up feeling strong and eager. It was a brand new year and the eternal optimist in me kicked off the panic stricken hangover from 2009 and took a deep breath. I have no idea how I'll manage school this year, or how I'll find a way to help my daughter, but I know I will. And I don't know if we'll keep the house or pay our bills, but my husband and I are a great team and we've always found a way. Again, I don't have a clue how we'll do it, but I know in my bones that we will.

One month at a time. Don't worry about anything else. Just get through 2010 one month at a time.