I really wanted to get somewhere warm and sunny.  California was not as warm as I wanted in February. Arizona has no ocean and Florida is just as far away from Utah as Hawaii is.  I put aside my crazy fear of flying over the ocean and told Dave he could buy our tickets.  Because the boys were attending a very flexibly scheduled Montessori School, we decided to take an extra week.  Of course I did not sleep the night before our flight or the night before that.  The boys were set with movies and video games, Dave was satisfied with a book and I was a deer in headlights riding the Roller Coaster, otherwise known as our flight over the Pacific Ocean.  Supposedly the turbulence was particularly bad this time across.  Now, having flown several times over the Pacific Ocean, I can say it is always a turbulent flight. As I walked to the bathroom the turbulent bumps threw me into another row.  I felt comfort in the fact that the woman I landed on looked as scared as I did. As the plane dipped down and then jerked back up I made my way, grip by grip to the bathroom.  I sat in that tiny stall and prayed. Sweat dripped down my face and I prayed some more, willing myself out the door.  Upon exiting the stall I noticed the male flight attendant sitting strapped into his jump seat.  I asked him, “What is up? Is it always this bad? Seriously? This really sucks!”  He gently explained physics and engineering and told me how many times he had flown over the ocean and how much force it would really take to crash.  He made me feel a little better, better enough to safely climb my way back to my seat. Truth be told, I should not have gotten up, but I really had to pee.

I took a Benadryl and drifted off.

There it is was, the tiny speck of land surrounded by water, the tiny piece of land I had seen on the giant world map.  It was evening and I was in a Benadryl fog. We landed in Oahu and made our way to our Oceanside hotel where we were met by the concierge who promptly gave the boys a cool ocean print backpacks filled with all sorts of goodies.  We were offered a cookie and checked into our room. After dropping off our luggage we promptly took the elevator back to the ground floor and made our way out to the ocean.  I looked at the Ocean. Then I closed my eyes really tight and looked at the ocean again. I grabbed Dave’s hand and held it tightly. I honestly wanted to make sure I was not dreaming. I looked at the ocean and closed my eyes tightly again. Breathlessly, I held onto this moment, this feeling. We were in the middle of nowhere and I felt like I was in the middle of a dream. I kept saying, “Can you believe we are really here? Can you believe it? Look?  It is so beautiful.  Look! We are surrounded by water! Look.”

We have been to Hawaii three times since. We have visited other islands and nothing will ever take away that very first hazy, surreal, amazing moment.

These moments are why I am so in love with travel.

I ask if I can drive him to the airport. It is probably cheaper for him to park over night. I think he wonders why.  He will be gone for such a short time.

He travels all the time on business. I am ok with him leaving. I am fine when he is gone. Today, I just do not want him to go or better, I want to be with him a little longer. It is just nice to touch his arm as he drives down the highway.

The first years of our marriage were spent with Dave traveling – a lot. I got really used to having him go. We got really good at navigating his trips. The airport was ten minutes from our doorstep to Curbside Drop Off.  One of my favorite marriage memories is when in 1998 Dave traveled to South Africa.  Ok, I think the actual trip is actually one of his favorite memories. At the time, it was so expensive to talk on the phone that chatting with him online was a happy dream.  He was there. I was here, yet we were connected in every keystroke. I would look at the computer screen in awe and say out loud, “He is chatting with me from South Africa!”

Recently, Dave is again traveling frequently.  The boys and I always have a good time when he leaves (and of course when he is here). For some reason, today I do not want him to go. I don’t think his plane will crash. I know he will be back before I can fold all the laundry. I know we will be ok.

So I make my unwilling boys, DSI’s in hand, get in the car and drive Dad to the airport.  “Do we have to go? Can’t we just stay home?  Please? MOM?” I tell them that it is not a choice and to get in the car.  Surprisingly they submit, willingly they get themselves in the car and we are on our way.

Dave’s arm is on mine while he drives.  We do not say much. His arm is on mine all the way. This is the connection I needed and these quiet moments driving the mountainous route through I-80 are making it ok.  His touch fills my longing tank. I am ok, completely ok.  He grabs his carry on, hugs the boys, I kiss him twice at the curb and I am on my way.

Ok so here is the deal. In the past four years, a majority of my time — our family’s time –has been spent traveling. I have finally been to Europe. I survived the year of the Disneyland Season Pass. We made it to California Five different times that year. I saw beautiful Maine for the first time. I bought super strength Antibiotic Ointment in Mexico and I have gone home to Minneapolis more than once. In these years I have traveled for death and traveled because we had an unexpected Swine Flu School Holiday.

We have always traveled — a lot. CrazyUS began as a travel-log. In 2002 we took a year to travel with our then one and three year old boys. As the years pass, my love for travel has exploded and my Wanderlust is nearly impossible to contain. Today I was all excited to start talking about travel and how travel is the journey I hope my life always takes. Damn it! I love to travel! Dave’s new job is in the travel industry. I am trying to work in the same industry. I get home from a trip and before my suitcases make it up to my room, I have already begun scheming our next trip.

Of course that would lean one to think the following and yes, it is true: I love escape. I am so grateful I have a life and a husband who helps me make our traveling dreams possible.

Here I was going to talk travel (I kind of have) and I was so excited to put together a little slide show and now I am stuck. I think of the days where my grandfather, who also loved to travel, by the way, would take snapshot after snapshot of his trips. Once home, as a family, we would gather around his giant old canister slide projector and look at grainy vacation photos. I never quite understood why it was such a big deal. It was an event to go to my grandparents’ house and view these slides. To a little girl, those grainy photos were boring and the slideshow long.

My guess is that my travel photos are not much more enthralling to the average viewer. It’s super cliché for me to even say it. I will. Those photos bring us back. Bring us back to the smells, the moods, the fights, the stinky feet, the new discoveries, the little snail we happen to capture crawling across a leaf, something we would not have seen had we not left our house.

Cross your fingers that I can figure this out.

I just took a bite out of my horribly tasting, yet very juicy Fuji apple, which is a complete bummer because Fuji apples are one of my favorites.  Apple juice squirted all over my screen and as I wiped the splatters with my shirt, I kept thinking, “Did I really ever have anything to say?”

Seriously, it has long enough that I cannot really remember blogging or better how I blogged.  The words are not flowing and I cannot find the beat.  I keep eating my apple, mostly out of guilt.  I have had nothing healthy to eat.  My punishment:  I must eat this disgusting, dirt-tasting apple.

From the basement I hear, Dave shout, “Eli get away from Kyle RIGHT NOW!”  “But Kyle just clawed me.”   I hear Dave continue, barely audible, yet enough to know he is letting Eli have it.  “Dad, Dad.” Eli softly wines . . . In many ways life has not changed.

Three years ago, actually a little more (now four 7.23.10), I stopped blogging.  I was in over my head.  Dark, insane, irrational, depression was tempting to swallow me whole. My only defense was to stop what I was doing, blogging included, and run as fast as I could in a new direction.  I do not know if I will ever fully be able to convey how completely grateful I am for this choice to turn left and step forward.

At the time I really had nothing more to say.  Better, at the time, what I had to say was that it was time I focus on my family. We were in the midst of building our house and I could barely muster the strength to decide on faucets and lighting.  I was so completely sad.  With blogging, I was grateful for the connections, the shout outs, the links thrown my way –  I still am. I was grateful for finding others in the deep spaces of the internet, those who seemed to get me. I was also completely confident that when I abruptly needed to go that someone out there would get it.  I did not explain. I had just enough energy to shut the door.

Consumed with my infertility and recent second trimester miscarriage, I could not think or communicate clearly.   I also make no excuses. I have come to believe that there are no accidents.   Further, I believe that our choices, good or bad, take us to where we need to be.  At the time I had absolutely no idea how completely overcome I was.  It has taken years to see and love that person, me, who was in so much pain.  I am still not pregnant.  I have had many miscarriages, a surgery and all sorts of fertility treatment since then. I am better, I hope, at dealing.  I wish I could shake the desire to have another child of my own, but years later, thousands of dollars and therapy bills later, I know that it is what it is.  For so long it seemed easier to blame something else: the stress of building, my blog, motherhood, anything, but looking at myself. I quickly saw and was reminded that I am the only person or thing I am in control of.  The beauty of abrupt change is that it gets your momentum going.  Suddenly and clearly I saw the new need for boundaries and was not quite sure I could begin to re-navigate the internet world until I established some better real-world boundaries  — still working on that – probably always will.  Crazy how it all works, isn’t it?

I do not think I can even come close to addressing the last three years in one post (now four).  And I actually feel like this post is getting a little esoteric, something I swore I would never do.

I finally threw my apple away.  I did not finish.

I wish I could say that I am up on the latest. I wish I had a clue how to use Twitter. Dave has set me up an account. I see things about RSS and now I don’t see them as much. Things are changing so fast.  At least I am on Facebook, right?

All this next stuff is probably obvious, but just in case and because I do not expect you to remember me.  Back in 2006, after a rash of theft, we decided to move closer to our home construction.  We were out 20K in stolen tools and decided we needed to have a daily presence at the building site.  Moving closer worked. The theft stopped.  Our Salt Lake City home sold quickly and I am glad we sold it then instead of now.  We moved a half an hour away from where we used to live.  I have two boys, who are healthy and happy and one amazingly wonderful, a crazy cool husband.  Don’t ask me how, yet we did survive our house build, dog bites, broken bones, run-ins with the range hood, being sued, losing our foreman and even somehow managed a respectable home with one incredibly checked-out me.  I only regret the basement carpet and kitchen counters.  Both can be changed eventually – I hope, or it will bug me forever!

Once here, the boys spent a couple of years attending a wonderful and somewhat dysfunctional hippy Montessori School and loved almost every minute of it. I also became quite involved with the school until the moment I stubbornly learned that as I hard as I try, I cannot fix anyone or anything. The school was an amazingly beautiful experience, of horse-backing riding, groovy school performances, Native American teachings, great lessons in parallel skiing and life-long friends that could have only been made through this once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Thank you stars for aligning.

I fell in love too. We have been to Hawaii twice (three times now) and I have never been so enamored. Kauai and its passionate and rugged landscape is my favorite. Thanks to a last minute recommendation from our good friends, we decided to Island hop from Oahu to Kauai. I will never be the same. I have surfed, snorkeled and allowed myself to fly the long, nail-biting, always turbulent flight over the Pacific Ocean. It is so worth it.

As much as I enjoyed the company I cannot quite say the same about our recent trip to lovely Playa Del Carmen, Mexico. Perhaps the theft, the “bait and switch” hotel accommodations and the super infection I brought home with me, might have something to do with it. No, I did not bring the H1N1 Flu to the United States. However, now living in a small resort community, we certainly reaped the benefits of the Swine Flu with our additional spring break this past April.  Woot!

I have so much to say and if I do not stop now, I will ramble all night.  Thank God blogs go on and on and on so I can keep on telling my story.  I cannot wait to tell you about the near-death snakebite or the flying scissors incident.  I hope I will not piss off the people close to me.  Please, please do not wait to tell me if I do.  I promise to tell the people I know in my day-to-day life when I am depressed or happy or pregnant before announcing it here. I promise not to fake it.

Until next time.

My crazy Icelandic music is blaring from the basement. I imagine my boys asking me, as they often do, “Why do you always listen to Icelandic music?  You can’t even understand what they are saying?” In exactly, well in approximately seventeen minutes I need to leave. The boys are out of school and I need to be there.

I am going back and forth from Facebook to my Word document. I hear the “beep” letting me know I have email.  I check it and see it is from a good friend of mine in NYC.   Here is what he said, “”You’re awesome.  I am so glad to know you’re out there in Utah.  Really.  xo”

Here is what he was responding to, “Beth Rodgers Adams is seeing a pattern. HOT BUTTON ISSUES: Civil Rights, Abortion, Gay Rights, Health Care . . .” Yes, my Facebook status.  Three years ago most of us would not have a clue what Facebook is.  Now everyone does, even our Grandma’s.  We know our Grandma’s know what Facebook is because there have been a billion articles telling us that Facebook is taking over the world and to prove  that it is taking over the world, we are told that even our Grandma’s know what it is.

My seventeen minutes has whittled down to five and I hear my favorite Icelandic song in the background. It is called something like, “Flytorrrvig.”  The song has my required amount of appropriate crescendo combined with a beautifully earthy melody.  I sing along as if I know the words.

There are no email beeps and so I stay away from Facebook, my new addiction. Today I saw that my brother expressed his opinion on the health care crisis on a mutual friend’s Facebook page. I didn’t really agree with what he was saying and because I have not spoken to this mutual friend in years and years and years, I wanted him to know that not everyone in my family feels the same way. Instead of cleaning or ironing or working on my very long “To-Do” list, I spent the afternoon defending my Health Care Reform position.

Oops! Time to go. I am going to be late.

I am sitting here on the airplane. I don’t know if the person behind me can read what I am writing. Does it matter?  I was typing with one hand until now.  I finished my drink, motioned to Dave and dumped my ice cubes in his glass, careful to slide my cup underneath his.  We are flying home from New Mexico on the end of our ten year anniversary trip. Dave is looking out the windows.  He is trying to get my attention. He grabs my arm as he says, “Lake Powell.” He points out the window. I look.  The lake is so huge, even from way up in the sky.  I concentrate on my music. iPods are great for flying. Staralur by Sigur Ros (an Icelandic Band) is playing. The melody is beautiful and as the music crescendo’s my heart fills.  I can breathe. Today I am afraid of flying. The music lifts me away.  I take my headphone out of my left ear, lean over and ask Dave how to spell “crescendo.” I have spelled it so miserably that Spell Check could not find the word. “C r e s,” he says. “What?”  The plane is loud and my Icelandic music even louder. “C r e s c e n d o.”  He spells it for me twice.  I wonder why I did not take the headphone out of my right ear. It is the ear closest to Dave. I probably could hear him better.

I see Dave fiddling with his GPS.  I look at him.  ”I want to find out where we are.” He says.  ”What?” I say.  ”We are definitely flying over Colorado right now.” he responds.

I see the man in the aisle in from of me. He is watching “Band of Brothers.” I would rather be watching a movie.  I am a writer and it has been hard for me to write. I took my website, www.crazyus.com down in August 2006 and since then, except for tiny little bits here and there, I have avoided this method of expression. I always have something better to do than write. Always.  Damian Rice is now playing, I love this song, “I look to my Eskimo friend . . . when I am down, down, down.” Oh, I wish you could hear the music play as I write. It is helping. I can feel the rumblings of the plane beneath me as I listen harder. “Harder now with higher speed . . .” And the Crescendo. Thank God for Crescendos. If you are afraid of flying, may I suggest listening to music with lots of Crescendos.  The plane is rumbling harder.  I am nervous.  My stomach jumps.  The music is that the loud, opera-like part and I am trying, trying to forget the rumbles.

There is a pause in the music.  Dave is talking to me about soccer and I want to stop and fast-forward to more music. I need music.

My life has taken me to a better place. I do not miss my blog. I thought I would. I know for quite a while I tossed around the idea of doing it again. I like to write. I do not like the dramatic energy bloggers draw to themselves– myself included.   As I write the word, “Blogger,” I keep thinking how odd the word is. Ten years ago or a little more than ten years ago, the blogging medium really did not exist. Now blogging is on the forefront of global communication. Many people make a living from the words and information they release into the world on a daily basis.

I think I forgot or better, could not grasp, when I was blogging that my words were going out there to. I hurt my friends. I hurt my family. As hard as I tried not to, I hurt my mother.  I wanted desperately not to hurt anyone. I tried to be responsible, yet I also hastily vomited words out to the world, words that sometimes did hurt, embarrass, sting.

I wanted recognition for my writing. I did not want to hurt anyone and I did.

A few months after taking my website down, I was sitting with a very good friend at the building site of our new home.  He and I talked about my blog. He told my how it hurt. He looked at me and said, “Beth, we have been friends for more than ten years. We are good friends. You and I would go out to lunch, have a great time.  A few days later I would read your website, this piece of information that was out there for the world to read and there I would find out how sad you really are. It did not make sense. I am your friend. Why didn’t you tell me you were sad?  That is what hurt. I am glad you took your website down.”

His words broke my heart. I stumbled. I paused. I looked him and the eye and I apologized. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

As much as I was hurting at the time and I was.  I had to listen. I had to be responsible for the words I put out there.

I do not miss that. I do not miss the self-censorship. I do not miss the-hiding-behind-your-keyboard-yet-offesnively-putting-it-all-out-there aspect of blogging. As I became more popular as a blogger, I did not enjoy navigating the rules and etiquette of blogging. I did not enjoy my on-screen-off-camera relationships. I would have to say that most of my friendships formed around, through and in association with blogging have all gone away. Once I logged off, there really was no reason for people to connect with me. To my surprise, I actually did not mind. It was a relief.  It was not all bad. I enjoyed exchanging emails. I enjoyed feeling as though my words had a positive impact on others. I even enjoyed the horrifically painful and bad experiences. Ok, maybe I did not enjoy them. I am grateful for them.

Why?

The plane is slowing down. The wheels os something are jiggling. The plane is slowing down and things are getting bumpy. My palms are sweaty, of course. My stomach is knotting.  My poor man’s Valium has worn off. One Benadryl is not enough.  We are now riding the roller coaster in the sky. The guy in front of me, who came drunk on the plane is awake. He is more frightened than me. Security offered to escort him off before we left the gate. He assured everyone he would just fall asleep. Now he is awake. He is quiet and looking out the window. “Please do not freak out.” I whisper under my breath.

This drunk and frightened airplane passenger actually brings up a good point. When I blogged every single day, I realized that I was constantly an observer. I was safely disconnecting from my world, simply observing every aspect of every day, carefully plotting out my stories. How would they end?  Could I kick the scared, drunk airplane passenger in front of me?  Could I startle him to improve my story?  The outcome would be so much more interesting if I did?  Think of the story I could tell?  Could I tweak it just a little? How could I provoke?  I read bloggers thoughts on depression, horrible lives as parents, bad marriages, crazy kids and wondered if it was all really that bad?  Perspective? Tweaked or even not tweaked? Was it really that bad?  I had to get out.  You know what I mean?  I do need to provoke the man in front of me. I don’t even need to pay attention to him. He is not my story. He is an observation.  It is so much more painful to be present. That being said, now that I am reconnecting with my tangible world, I feel so much more joy.

Ok the plane has settled. I can talk about the blog again.  It is so weird. I cannot help myself. I am thinking about posting this. Is it good enough to post? What a stupid question!  Am I an addict?  Maybe that is why I stopped. Maybe that is why I have stayed away. I am wondering how this will all be perceived. Maybe Dave’s response will be enough. I hope it will. Dave, here is the part where you need to lean over and tell me how great my words are and how much they meant to you — even if you are lying.

Maybe that is why I blogged. Maybe I was not feeling fulfilled enough in my own life and was desperately searching for something to fill it.  Maybe I just am freaked out and getting all end-of-life like sitting in this very bumpy plane. Words and feelings I may forget once the wheels touch the ground.

Religion
Cereal
Toilets
Mistakes
Healthcare & Dave
Get over it

In those moments while I am thinking myself to sleep, I write the most eloquent thoughts. The confidence that escapes me during my waking hours comes out with the beautifully written paragraphs that are racing through my brain. In those hazy minutes, I know exactly how to define my religion or lack there of and am proud of the path I have chosen. I can fully articulate past mistakes and neatly tie those mistakes into resolution. I know how to tell people in my life, my friends and family not to worry or take offense with the personal words I place on the page. I can present my reality in such a way that everyone reading can completely understand why I would not share every single detail of my struggle [insert struggle here] with the world when I am on a dinner date or running into [insert friend’s name here] at the grocery store. In my sleepy head, I am able to convey why it is so easy to spew all of these details in written words and in my head, everyone totally gets it. “Would you really think it was appropriate if I were to bring up how frustrated I was with my inability to make sure Dave was in the mood on the exact moment I was ovulating? And then go on and on about my age, my eggs, my lining, my hormones, which would of course open up a can of unresolved past issues, most certainly having something to do with infertility?” I just don’t think you would. On my mind’s page, in those dark hours, it makes sense, I mean, my words make sense and they make sense to everyone.

I could most definitely arrange my thoughts on health care reform and share why I think Dave is so brilliant: “I think both sides need to research and look at each other. I don’t think either one of them have it right.”

I often think I should keep a notebook or my laptop near my bed just to capture these most awesome revelations. Actually, I have. And when morning comes I read what write — mostly incoherent thoughts, thoughts that I would be hard pressed to make sense out of. Why then do my words seem so spectacular then?

Maybe because I am asleep.

July 2007 . . .

The Short Version:  On Tuesday afternoon, July 17, Kyle was bitten by a baby Copperhead Snake.  (Because baby snakes have no self-control, their bite is much more powerful, because they release all their venom at once.)  After a 3 day stay in the DC Children’s hospital and after receiving 14 vials of anti-venom, he is going to be ok.  We are now back in Park City, home and safe.

The Long Story: Tuesday afternoon we went to meet our friends Quinn and Max at Carderock, part of the Great Falls area on the Maryland side of the Potomac River (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Falls_of_the_Potomac_River).

While we waited for our friends, I made a phone call while Davy took the boys on a little hike.  While I was talking to Joe (one of the guys who works with us on our house), Kyle spotted a snake. He did the RIGHT thing and asked Dave if the snake was poisonous and then he asked Dave if he could pick it up. (Dave grew up here in Maryland and spent many a day as a boy catching snakes at this very same park).  Dave thought the snake looked like a Rat Snake and told Kyle it would be ok to pick it up.  Kyle walked around for about five minutes holding the snake in a responsible-snake-holding-position:  around its head. Then Dave told Kyle that he thought it would be ok to hold the snake differently.  At that, Kyle grabbed the snake around the middle. And at once, the snake showed its fangs and bit Kyle on his right index finger.

Eli came running out of the woods. “Kyle was bitten by a snake.” Kyle followed, sobbing, “Mommy, Mommy, I was bitten by a snake. I need a Band-Aid I need a Band-Aid NOW!“  Kyle was so focused on the trickle of blood coming out of his finger that I am sure he did not notice his finger turning paper white and swelling up.  I did.

Dave came out of the woods, holding a stick, which the snake had its fangs attached to.  “You have the snake?” I shrieked.  “Yes, here it is.”

And then he and I  completely freaked-out. Wouldn’t you?  In that mili-second I think we both realized that this was no time for freak-outs or blame, so we each took a deep breath and got the boys in the car.  We were so completely stunned about what had just happened. We were not even sure if it was a venomous snake at this point. We tried calling 911 and could not get through. Then we started driving out of the park and within seconds Kyle’s hand was ballooning.  He was  white as a sheet, sweating profusely and having a hard time breathing.  We finally reached 911 and after some discussion, we all agreed that it would be faster for us to continue driving Kyle to the hospital.

I silently exclaimed (just loud enough for Dave to hear) one LARGE Expletive (expletive omitted for the faint at heart) and then I shut up.  I turned to see a very panicked Kyle and totally overwhelmed Eli and I asked Eli to hold Kyle’s good hand and assure him that he would be all right.  Over and over Eli repeated,  “It is going to be ok, Kyle. It is going to be ok.”  Kyle’s hand continued to swell and he was becoming less responsive.  I could seethe pain setting in.

We did not know exactly where the hospital was or exactly how to get there.  I called Dave’s parents and very calmly told  them, “Kyle has been bitten by a snake. We are on our way to Suburban Hospital and need directions. I am going to hand the phone to Davy now and you can tell him how to get there.”

Of course once we reached the Beltway we were stuck in gridlock. Dave and I really had no idea how fast we needed to get to the hospital before it was TOO late so I encouraged Dave to drive on the shoulder.  Cars were honking and flipping us off while I think we were all silently hoping a cop would try to pull us over so we could get a hospital escort.

We just could not make our car move fast enough.  Kyle was moaning and Eli was chanting, “It is going to be ok, Kyle. It is going to be ok.”  It was about this time  when I wanted to completely shut down. I closed my eyes and tried to make it all stop.  It was not going to stop.  I had no idea how serious the bite was and I was fighting the urge not to check out.  I kept telling myself, “Beth, you are the mother. You turn around and assure Kyle that he will be ok.  Turn around and look at your son!”  In those brief moments I had no idea if he would be ok and I was scared out of my mind.

The  1.1 mile drive from Old Georgetown Road exit to the hospital took much longer than our Beltway-Shoulder-driving ride. Red light after red light. There was even a police car two lanes over. At one of the many stoplights I threatened, “Dave, I swear, I am going  to get out of this ca right now, walk across the two lanes of traffic and ask the police man to escort us the rest of the way.”  — anything to get us there.

We drove up. Dave flew out of the drivers seat and ran to lift Kyle.  I decided to leave the snake in the car.  Oh yeah did I mention that Dave and I both had the genius idea of bringing the snake (alive) to the hospital?  Say what you will, but we both wondered how they would really be able to identify the snake if they could not see it. Dave had thrown the little guy into a Wild Oats Canvas shopping bag I found him and then tied the bag with an iPod car charger chord I handed him.  What a team.

As five-year old Eli and I pulled into our parking spot, he asked me if we could say a little prayer for Kyle. I knew he was feeling as confused and scared as Dave and I.  Somehow the prayer and the knowledge that we were all feeling so lost was a comfort.

Eli and I parked and ran into the hospital. The security guard immediately let us in to triage.  I could not believe how big Kyle’s hand was getting. He was screaming because the pain was so bad.  They checked us in and sent us to the waiting room.  As Kyle screamed I think someone in the back told them to get Kyle into the Emergency room NOW!  They came back for him and ushered him into a room.  The doctor was freaked out by the snake, and the whole snake bite situation and was not handling his shock well.  (They don’t get many snake bites in these parts.)  I could see Kyle freak out in response to the doctor’s freak out and asked the doctor to remember that this little boy is scared and confused, so was everyone.

A nurse was on the line with Poison Control and Kyle continued to scream.  The doctor came in the room and started to put a tourniquet on Kyle’s arm when across the room the nurse, who was on the line with Poison Control began furiously waving her arms and screamed, “Stop!  Take the tourniquet off!”  And that is the moment we learned that a tourniquet stops the blood flow and leaves the poison in one place, which speed up tissue destruction.  The doctor quickly took the tourniquet off and left the room.

As Kyle’s hand grew, the nurses tried to figure out what kind of snake bit Kyle. That is when we mentioned that we had the snake with us. “You have the snake?  Is it dead, I hope?”   Dave ran to the car and retrieved it.  When he handed the snake to the nurse, she realized that it was still alive and sent Dave outside to Grim Reap the little guy. After stomping on it and breaking its jaw and smothering it, Dave brought the snake back into the hospital.  Every so often the snake would wiggle, but yes, it was dead.  They identified the snake and it was a baby Copperhead.

Did you know that the bite site needs to remain level with the heart?  We didn’t until the nurse told us that Kyle needed to lie completely flat.  See, if you raise the bite site, poison rushes to the heart, if you lower it, poison collects in the bite spot and there is strong potential for more tissue damage.  In the car, I had the wise idea of having Kyle elevate his hand.

A few hours later we also learned that baby Copperheads have a more powerful bite.  The reason is that adults have more self control and will often only release a small amount of venom when attacking a human.  They just do enough to cause some pain, and often these bites don’t even require hospital attention. The babies, on the other hand, let it rip.  The nurses saw two fang bites at Suburban Hospital and Davy only thought there was one.  One?  Two?  Does it really matter?  Kyle was not in good shape either way.

The kind nurses dutifully remained on the phone with Poison Control and calmly made sure Kyle was receiving the  proper treatment.  They were so low key about everything that I do not believe Dave and I understood how serious things were.  When we first walked into the hospital, we all assumed (even without the snake there yet) that it was a Copperhead.  The first thing the nurses said was, “Copperhead bites are not deadly.”  When we heard this, I think we just assumed everything would be ok.  It was not until they called the nurse educator down and she asked me to leave Kyle’s side and come speak with her privately.

“I need to talk to you.” She said and motioned me out of the room.  ”I need to tell you what we think is going to happen. Your son is very sick and is in a lot of pain. Copperhead bites are very painful and we are going to start him on Morphine.”

“Morphine?” I mouthed.

“Compartment Syndrome is setting in and we may have to take him to surgery to relive the pressure in his hand.  He will probably shed layers of skin from his hand in a few days and we are very concerned about infection. He could lose mobility in his hand or even lose his hand.  We are going to start him on the anti-venom soon. We will start him with four vials.  We have called DC Children’s Hospital and they are sending an ambulance with a nurse and transfer team to come and get him.  If he needs surgery or the ICU, he will be better off there.  Children’s Hospital and Poison Control all agree that this is what needs to happen.”

I stood in stunned silence. After a minute or two tears filled my eyes. I looked at the nurse and she was crying too.

“I have a three-year old boy. I know,” she said as she gave me a hug.

I asked Dave to come in the hall and I relayed the news to him.

Dave’s sobs were overpowering me and I again wanted desperately to shut it all out. Instead I hugged him and told him that Kyle would be ok.

Somehow through all of this, Kyle’s nurse, Gracie, put a DVD in for the boys to watch. And as Kyle lay completely flat on the hospital bed, Eli sat next to him watching, “Chicken Run.”

The very cool all-woman ambulance team arrived, stabilized Kyle and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. I rode in the front with Tammy, the driver.

We arrived at Children’s Hospital and spent the next several hours in the emergency room.  A gaggle of residents kept coming in the room and making up excuses why they needed to examine Kyle’s hand.  I appreciated the last resident most, who laid it out for us when she said, “I don’t really need to see your son at all. I am not his doctor, but we never see snake bites. Would you mind if I take a look?”

The other highlight of the emergency room is in the middle of the toxicology resident’s examination of Kyle’s hand, she stopped suddenly looked directly at Dave and said, “Oh wow, is that the new iPhone?  Do you mind if I take a look?  Hey guys, you have to see this. It’s the new iPhone.”  As our friend Jason told us (he is a resident at Johns Hopkins, “We see blood, death and injury every day, but the new iPhone?  Priorities, we have our priorities.”

Late in the evening and after Darryl and DeAnne (Dave’s mom and dad) spent some time with Kyle, Dave and Eli followed them home.  I spent the night with Kyle on a chair that converts to a cot.  Kyle was hooked up to all sorts of monitors and had two IV lines, one for anti-venom and one for IV fluid and pain medication.  I could tell the morphine was wearing off when Kyle became very pale again and still.  His doctor kept commenting that Kyle was alright because he is just a serious and quiet kid.   Huh? Any of you who know Kyle, know that the one thing Kyle is not, is a quiet kid.   Something was not right.  When I did try to touch him, he would wince and he became afraid to move, all the while telling the doctors the pain was not that bad.  I am guessing that if someone had explained to Kyle that the severe discomfort he was feeling was the pain they were asking him about, Kyle would have been able to tell them more accurately how much pain he was in.   He had no frame of reference for this type of pain. Who does?   Finally the nurse and I talked with the doctor and convinced him to try one more round of morphine. About twenty minutes after receiving the morphine the nurse asked Kyle how he felt.  “So much better,” he kept saying.

The night was full of hospital monitors, alarms going off every time Kyle’s heart rate or oxygen level dropped too low and the snoring mother who was staying with her child, who was in the bed next to Kyle’s.  The snoring was actually a comfort to Kyle because he felt like his Wawa (my Mom) was sleeping close by.

All at once Kyle jumped up and frantically started itching his legs.  “Mom, mom, my legs. They itch. They itch all over.”  We found out he was probably having an allergic reaction to the anti-venom (which is quite common).   Benydryl was added to his regime and he was much better.  Another of the snake-bite trivia we learned is that actually until this recent strain of anti-venom was developed, the anti-venom was often as harmful/risky as the actual snake bite itself.  Kyle also vomited several times as a result of the anti-venom.

It was wild to watch his face balloon up and then go back to normal and then balloon up again.  This is also a side-effect of the anti-venom.  His arm did continue to swell throughout the second day, but thankfully at a much slower rate.  Around the clock the nurses measured and marked the rate of swelling and the circumference of his arm at various places.  Once the swelling had stopped for several hours, they were able to stop giving Kyle anti-venom.  They told us the average the give is ten vials and he was given fourteen.  After they stopped the anti-venom, Kyle had to stay at the hospital for another day.

Dave spent the second night at the hospital with Kyle and I while Eli remained with his Grandma and Grandpa. It was hard to be split up like that, but we were very grateful Dave’s parents were there to help.

Kyle was able to go home with his right hand intact. We feel grateful and lucky that everything turned out as well as it did.  We are so glad we instinctively knew to take him to the hospital.  There is definitely something to be said about the Critical First hour.   Kyle’s hand is still bruised, but he was left with no major tissue damage or clotting issues  (Pit-Vipers can affect and damage the body’s’ ability to clot.)

We are so grateful for Poison Control.  They were the only ones who really knew what was going on.

We are grateful for friends and family who were there to help.  We are grateful for Kyle’s school and for Diane (the director of the school).  Kyle wanted to talk to her and when he was finally able to, he was so much calmer.  Thank you.  I only wish I could have told you about this sooner. It has been a crazy few weeks.

much love,

Beth, Dave, Kyle & Eli

(snake pictures below)

(Marking the swelling and the beginnings of the dark discoloration in his fingernails)

(About an hour before Kyle went home, here he is helping the tech remove his two IV lines)

July 16, 8:40 PM. Was bitten by a rather large red ant and yes, I screamed really loud and yes, I also had the pleasure of removing the nasty ant, who had attached its tiny little fangs into my leg . . . Shaking my leg and flicking it with my finger just didn’t cut it. I had to grab it and yank it off.

Response:  (from Jenae Monique) Ants are edible; you could have eaten the thing just to show it who’s boss. I hear they taste like lemon.

June 30, 2010, 3:26 PM. My phone is dead. If you need to get a hold of me, please email me or call me at home. most sincerely, Beth

Response: (from Mike) Beth . . . You still haven’t responded to my craig’s list posting!! I’m starting to think you are not that interested in a casual encounter. I’ve also sent you a couple messages on your beeper and no reply. You can reach me at 867-5309 if interested.

June 25, 2010, 9:25 AM. I just asked my boys if I should put them for sale on Facebook.

Kyle: Yes, put Eli for sale.
Eli: Yes, if you put me for sale then I get the money.

Response: (from my older brother, Brian) Beth cover your eyes.. Eli, I’m just trying to get the bidding up. Your mother won’t want to lose you. You will be able to make some quick money. Ok Beth you can open your eyes now. Followed by a great response from Steve: Use Craigslist instead.

July 3, 2010, 4:41 PM.  We were driving over to check out Fruita, CO from Moab just a few miles past Onion Creek we ran over something. A flat tire. Davy in all his manly goodness put on the spare. No shops are open on this holiday weekend. Dave tried to patch the tire once back in Moab. The tire is hosed. We are stuck until I am not sure when.

Response: (from my big sister, Brenda) Guess you could have a picnic, just don’t start any fire.

June 29, 2010, 10:49 PM. Never in my life have I made so many friends at a roadside motel or laughed so hard. I have stepped into a glorious time warp and the year is 1973. Hotel: the new landmark country inn Murdo, SD. Does not get any better! Happy Father’s Day Big Daddy!

Response: (my lovely friend, Teresa) That is awesome. Since I’m reading this before I go to bed I’ll probably dream a screenplay

June 13, 2010, 4:55 PM. Somewhere between Rawlins and Casper I was outvoted. My boys prefer Michael Jackson. I prefer Prince. I attribute it to the fact that they don’t know all the creepy aspects of MJ and they have not had proper Minnesota exposure to Prince.

Response: (from my ever hilarious childhood friend, Sara) They need some deprogramming! I’m so with you on this one!