Fine Young Fauves

I made an owl cake for Elias’s 5th birthday this weekend. It wasn’t as hard as I thought, but the directions I had (from Parenting.com) omitted several key details. I thought I’d put the whole thing up online so someone else googling it won’t have to reinvent the wheel and spend an evening biting their nails like I did.

Do the baking the day before the party, so that this thing is stone cold cool.

First off, the directions just say to bake the cake in quart and 12 ounce Pyrex bowls. What it leaves out is how much batter, how long do you bake it, and where do you get these exact bowls? Never fear. … You can get the bowls at Target, not in the mixing bowl world, but the the department of storage containers. I got two sets of three nesting storage containers with lids. They had flat bottoms, which worked out okay, and were quart, 10 ounce, and smaller.

I made a double batch of batter (from scratch of course! I will scowl at you terribly if you use a mix), because the solid geometry of calculating the volume of batter in a two-layer, 8-inch cake as compared to 4 bowls of various sizes was way beyond my 9th grade C-level skills. I had a lot extra. I would say that a batch and a half (or a three-layer, 8 inch cake) recipe would be good. Because I didn’t know how it would all fit together, I just baked everything to see what would happen.

Butter and flour those puppies really, really well. Stickage will not help you!

bowls of batter ready to bake.

They took forever to bake, because they were so deep. There’s a risk of getting sink holes if they are not set enough, so err on the side of baking them all the way. Make sure a butter knife comes out totally clean before you declare them done. In my oven on convection bake the medium sized (10 oz) bowls took about 50 minutes, and the large (1 qt) bowls took 1 hr and 10 minutes. All the checking was stressing me out because we all know that you’re not supposed to open the oven all the while cakes are baking! Yikes.

They came out of the oven looking like this:

Note that the two little ones and the big layer cake were extra.

Let all this cool over night, preferably under lock and key (I’m assuming you have kids! Mine tried to have samples….)

Then awake fresh and bright-eyed, ready to assemble this baby.

First make two batches of frosting (don’t use canned or again you will risk the scowl.) I made a 1/4 recipe of the Magnolia Bakery’s classic butter cream for the white frosting. You can make this first then you don’t have to wash everything before moving on to the chocolate. I made a full batch of Lucia’s chocolate sour cream icing, which proved to be just enough to frost the chocolate areas. Fend off the children, send them out to mow the lawn with daddy, and/or placate them with licking of beaters. It’s best if they are not helping at this point.

Cut the poofy tops off the cakes so they are all nice and level. Then begin to layer them. First one quart bowl, then a layer of frosting. The other quart bowl, then a small amount of frosting. (Not tons here, because it will get mixed in with the white a moment later, so just enough to stick the next layer on.) Then the first small bowl (head) layer, another dose of frosting. Then top it off with the last layer. Get a skewer (I found a pack of wooden skewers in the kitchen gadgets section of the grocery store) and stick it firmly vertically through all the layers, top to bottom. If some sticks out the top, you’ll need to cut off the extra. You’re result should look like this:

The next step is to do the tummy. I kinda sketched a line around the edge of the area I intended to frost white, then went for it. For some reason the directions say to do the mini-chip spots at this point. I did that, but ended up having to remove some to straighten out boundary issues with the chocolate later on. So I recommend doing the mini chips towards the end.

Here’s how it looked at this stage.

Just hold off on the chips a bit. This wasn't ideal.

Okay, so on to the rest. Cut the black part of an Oreo into two pieces and poke these on the top for the ears. Frost the whole thing from top to toe. Try to make the head smooth and the body more feathery. Frost in the ears nicely. Then “glue” the half-oreo eyes on with a dab of white frosting, and the Junior Mints on the oreos with another dab. I was freaking out because the white of my oreos was not all that pristine (covered with black crumbs) but it didn’t turn out to be much of a deal when all put together. Use a banana runt for the beak, and more for the toes. NOW add your mini chips for the owl’s breast feathers.

And voila!!

The cake of your (or your child's) dreams!!

UPDATE: how do you then cut and eat this owl cake, you ask? Well, you simply horrify the children by decapitating it with a huge gleaming knife. Cut the head into quarters or other useful sized pieces. They will be adorable mini-layer cake slices. The children will vie for who gets the eyes. Then cut up the body. Each wedge will split nicely into two layers, each of which makes an okay sized piece.

Here’s the happy birthday boy:

The "silver flash" with his daddy's accoutrements from running a half marathon that morning.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

Last October, I was the queen of Jello. Following the lead of my mentor, The Jello Mold Mistress of Brooklyn, I managed to succeed at this incredible layered jello cake for Isaac’s 8th birthday:

Yes! This is how it's done.

Sliced and with real whipped cream, it was like a rainbow meeting a cloud:

So magically delicious!

So this weekend, when we had something important to celebrate, I decided to go for it again. The occasion was that Isaac, a mere age 8, had accomplished something many adults never do: he earned a black belt in TaeKwonDo! And it wasn’t some “kiddie” black belt, either. The grown-ups did the exact same test. Isaac worked on this for four years, since he was four, and it really seemed cause for having a party. I arranged a get-together with the five other 3rd graders in his class, one of whom, his best buddy Jens, had also just gotten his black belt.

My concept was to honor to event by making a layered jello cake with all the TaeKwonDo belt colors from white to black. This enthusiastic project was dampened a bit when I had a rough day  healthwise on Friday and didn’t feel up to it by any means. Indeed I tried to back out of the plan and just make black cupcakes, but Isaac had his heart set on it and had already told all the kids about it.

In the case of Guilt v. Dizziness, Guilt prevailed.

So– 9 colors in a 12-cup bundt pan made for some interesting math in the first place. I consulted the jello mold mistress on how to make black and brown jello and she said black cherry with food coloring and lemon with food coloring, respectively. Of course she didn’t realize I had a small 4-year-old sous chef… Well, Elias may have put in a little TOO much black food coloring into the first layer because it just wouldn’t set. … I waited on and on through the evening with only 8 more layers to go! finally after maybe two hours (the layers are thin and only supposed to be partially set), I went ahead with the red layer. Then brown, purple, blue, green, orange, yellow and white…  waiting maybe a half hour for each. The white I made out of sweetened condensed milk and Knox. The whole project dragged on towards midnight and I was getting beyond tired of it.

I had a sinking feeling about it all along. I decided midway that you really do need the opaque layers in between the colors, but so many frickin’ layers! That would crank it up from 9 to 18 — waiting for each one to set separately– and honestly that was beyond the pale. I left it to set all night and went to bed, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

The next day when I unmolded it, it made a disheartening SHLUPP sound, very wet and flabby. I lifted the mold and this is what greeted me:

The Blob! It will eat your children.

Apparently the black food coloring of the top layer (first layer in the pan, because you unmold by turning it over) oozed and seeped all through many of the other layers. It didn’t set and it was way too black and inky. So red, purple, and brown all merged into black. And the few layers that did survive were hideously dyed greyish. Also as I sliced and served it, it began to slump and schlupp even more, until it was a horrible pile of BLECH.

I hoped briefly that it would look better on the plate. But what I got was a jaundiced, alien jello slice that looked ill. Even whipping cream couldn’t salvage it.

The evil rainbow has a pot of black slime at the end.

The only thing that saved the day was that the 8-year-old contingent didn’t a whit! It’s just all one big pile of jiggling sugar and dye to them, so who cares what color it is? We all sang, “Happy Black Belt to You!” to Isaac and Jens, and I think they felt fully feted and quite pleased. After the party, though, I hastened to throw the entire mess away.

Still, congratulations are in order.

Front row, second from left, sticking his tongue out.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

Hey there. Since I set up this new blog site with WordPress I’ve been having some subscriber issues. You’d think this would be the easiest thing in the world, but for some reason I’m having a hard time with it. What I want is just the most basic set of subscriber options so people can get  message when I post. But the plugin I got does not do this– it allows people to “subscribe” but the sends them no notifications whatsoever. Meanwhile a huge flood truck insurance, mortgage refinancing, penis enlargement people are constantly adding themselves as registered users. This is insane!! So today I tried again and SORT OF got it to work. I do not thank wordpress for its non-support on the matter. I’ve asked for help many times and get nowhere.

All this is to say — if you want a notification via e-mail when I post, please sign up or re-sign up. There’s a button there on the upper right hand side. If you like RSS feeds better, far down at the bottom of the righthand column there’s a way to do that too. Wouldn’t it be nice if they were right near each other? Yes! It would!

Oh well.

So I’m going to delete all 800 of these so-called users and start anew. Cheers!

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

Such joy and exuberance! As I scrambled for the vacuum cleaner downstairs, he took my momentary absence as an opportunity to turn on the ceiling fan and prance around throwing handfuls of down in all directions.

He was so crestfallen that I wasn’t enjoying the fun. All I could think about was the hopeless mess of it, and the beautiful blizzard of delight was just lost on me. I didn’t scream at him, though, because he was already sad. I think he really thought I would enjoy it. Eventually I got him to explain that, being much too short to reach the pillow (hello– that was why I put it up there), he had grasped the hanging clothes beneath it and shaken them, thus gradually dislodging the pillow from the high shelf. Then in a state of delirious bliss had shredded the small rip into a huge gaping hole!

I made him help clean it up. This is how downtrodden he was by the experience:

so many feathers, and so fluffy

My only consolation in this whole thing was that he there was no HONEY  involved!  But this is small comfort. I think we’ll be finding fluff all over the house for months to come.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

We’ve now reached and passed the midway point of summer glory. Elias has done soccer/softball/track-and-field day camps, while Isaac has experienced the joy of Myth Busters camp and SCUBA diving. We’ve logged a lot of miles on our fannies so far– went to North Carolina and back at the beginning of June, and now have just completed our grand tour of the heartland.

This was our route. 2,018 miles, 35 hours road time, at least 20 hours of Eragon. And no DVD player! (This takes serious cojones.) One wonderful aunt and her Schipperke for part of it. and lots of gear, a cooler of organic food, two fighting boys… And of course, as Captain of the ship, one slightly dizzy mom… oh, yeah. If this doesn’t secure my place in the Rock Star Momming Hall of Fame, I really don’t know what will.

Along the way we served as an impromptu animal rescue vehicle. Up in Deer River, MN (way Up North), I spotted a painted turtle sitting on the center line of the highway. Obviously I pulled over, trotted back, and picked it up, much to the utter delight of my reptilophile sons.

Animal rescue number 1

The Deer River event was a sort of picnic-family reunion-memorial gathering for my late Grandma Jane, and it brought all these lovely obscure family members out of the woodwork. I got to meet relations I never met before, including one who is currently a truckdriver, formerly a topless dancer, an ordained minister, a Boston cabbie, wife of an Italian in Italy, etc.,  who entertained Isaac with her amazing and some could say unlikely stories. (Poured a pitcher of ice water over the head of Senator Ted Kennedy after he slapped her bottom? And he gave her a $500 tip?) Meanwhile, the boys and several random cousins entertained themselves bathing the turtle in the birdbath, building it a house, and offering it lettuce. The turtle may have been longing for the center line of the freeway again after all that, but later when we let it go in the lake, it seemed pretty happy.

My mom and her sisters and brother were all together in one place for the first time in ten years or so. We shared a very rustic cottage (no towels!) on a lake. The cutest part was when they got to relive their lost childhoods, sharing a bedroom with all four sisters in two double beds. It was much like a slumber party, as they stayed up until the wee hours giggling (they range in age from mid-50s to their mid-60s).  I know this in part because Elias wouldn’t sleep either, and kept parading from room to room displaying ever more elaborate Vegas-showgirl like ensembles of glow sticks.

My great aunt Mary let me dig up some irises that had originally belonged to my great-grandmother Olga (from the old country). Thus I was able to connect my new life in Ohio to my heritage.

Our second animal rescue came later the day of the picnic. I think it’s just the proximity of my mother. I can go months without finding anything to rescue, but when she’s around, animals in need seem to fling themselves before our path saying, “help! help!”

It was a huge mossy female snapping turtle. She was poised by the side of the freeway, with her front legs on the pavement and her back legs on the gravel. I pulled over with a screech of brakes and mom hopped out to grasp the giant lashing monster by the tail. We had the painted turtle in a box, from which it was summarily ousted. I handed the painted turtle to Isaac saying, “You hold the spare turtle!” It turned out the snapping turtle was preparing to lay her eggs there on the freeway! We figured this out shortly when she began laying them, right in front of us, soon after we set her down in a more suitable location. The kids got to watch the whole thing!

Mom, boys, box, and monster mama turtle

Little round bouncy eggs!!

The next morning we awoke to an epic flood. Isaac conducted the world’s first Naked Cooler Rescue as we all watched from inside the cottage (Our cooler was floating away across the yard; it was pouring rain.) The front yard was submerged knee deep and so we had to pass our luggage out the side window, which, as you can imagine, the boys thought was probably the funnest thing ever.

We spent a couple days in Minneapolis, catching our breath a bit. I did a lot of laundry, and we had some nice outings with Grandpa Warren and Grandma Patty, saw the adorable baby Malcolm. (We didn’t rescue anything there, but it’s harder in an urban environment– and my mom wasn’t there: coincidence?) Then we regathered Aunt Marilyn and the wonderful dog Ping, and went down to my mom’s farm in Iowa. There we rescued another snapping turtle, who had been tragically struck by a car right before our very eyes. It had a broken lower jaw, but was otherwise quite hale. We brought it a wildlife biologist who is an official animal rescue person. She put it in a large tank of water to chill out literally.

Animal rescue number 3

This wonderful woman had bottle fed baby baby skunks! And more than twenty baby raccoons! And pouncy-pouncy ferrets! The kids were in heaven.

We also got to be in a full-on Americana small town 4th of July parade. Our float, so to speak, was a flat bed truck driven by grandpa Max, full of Democrats. Our main selling points were a large red white and blue donkey (sculpture), a giant black and white great Dane (real), and kids with bugles.  We threw free candy and dog biscuits to the adoring masses.

We loaded the donkey onto the truck the night before.

A tractor pulled a trailer full of hogs near us: "We're hog wild for our customers!"

Lastly we rescued a fledgling red-winged blackbird. It was, you guessed it, on the road. Its parents were there, making a fuss. Mom would’ve returned it to the grass (it looked like it had just been mowed, hence the problem), but the baby bird had a deformed beak! Horrible farm chemicals, no doubt. Ultimately we took it to a bird rescue lady. It’s possible the beak might be fixable, and then it could be put back where we got it.

the beak was crossed.

Also… many other wonderful things. We got to see mom and max’s new sculpture projects around Iowa City, and the kids got to play with power tools at the foundry. Isaac made us some bronze address numbers for the house. He also got to wave around swords and guns that were on hand for Civil War era sculpture projects.

And they got to learn how you make a huge butterfly out of wax before you can make it in bronze.

It's going to be a Monarch with a three-foot wingspan.

Yes, I was very very exhausted when I got home last week. And indeed I couldn’t move for at least two days. But all in all I did very well healthwise, and the kids had an excellent adventure. Now we’re home for a couple weeks. The kids are in a day camp while I’m regrouping for our next big outing– ahoy Lake Michigan!

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Isaac ran away from home this afternoon. In classic fashion, he made himself this bundle in which to carry all his worldly goods:

This contained roughly $23.00 in small bills and change, a “pamplemousse” (grapefruit) Le Croix sparkling water, and a rice cake. He slung this over his shoulder and marched out towards the woods. I suggested to Elias that he keep watch out the window to see where Isaac was headed, and soon enough Elias was trotting along behind him.

I waited a while and then followed, bringing along my morel hunting bag as a beard. As I approached the woods, I saw a little head duck down behind something. I could hear Elias coughing from time to time, and so kept a general sense of where they were. But I kept out of sight, and did attempt to find some morels while I was down there. (Morel season seems to be over; poison ivy season has begun.) After a while I got bored and went up to the play structure to sit and wait them out. Thunder rumbled a bit in the distance and I figured if it started to rain they would come home.

After a while I heard their voices. They came from a different direction than I expected, both with impressive walking sticks. They made a very bucolic sight– the grass is tall and brilliantly green. Elias wore jeans and a striped t-shirt and was bare foot, looking something like a young Tom Sawyer. They didn’t see me, and as they passed I got to overhear their conversation.  Isaac said, “In four years, when you’re eight, maybe I’ll get enough money and I’ll buy us tickets to Australia!” Elias said, “Yessss!”

I revealed myself and we sat around on the play structure for a while discussing what had happened. Isaac gloated, “You learned your lesson this time!” and “You really met your match!” so proud was he of his big adventure. I countered that I hoped he learned HIS lesson. But we let it drop. Both of us, I think, were tired of fighting.

So what happened?

Well, we’ve been home sick a couple days. I went to the doctor on Tuesday for my death rattle and brutal nighttime cough, and was diagnosed with “asthmatic bronchitis.” I’ve never had asthma before, but I admitted to stealing lots of the boys’ asthma medication in recent weeks and that it was helping me a lot. The doctor said my lower airway was “all torn up” from severe coughing and he could see why a bronchial dilator would help. I got three prescriptions out of the deal. So when the boys both woke up with sore throats and coughs on Wednesday, I let them stay home. Thursday, same thing. But today I felt that they were in the mode of lingering cough, but not still sick enough to stay home. They resisted vigorously, not wanting to go to school one bit. Finally I suggested that if they could get ready to go and in the car nicely and on time, we would go get ice cream after school.

I know, food as a reward. But it worked beautifully and my morning was much less stressful as a result! So after school, we were all geared up for the ice cream stop. However, the very minute he got into the car, Isaac picked a fight about where we were going to go. He got enraged to the point of speechlessness. Then I pointed out to him that this is the wrong reaction when you’re being offered a treat. (and it’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation.) When you’re being offered a treat, you say “Great! Thanks!” and that’s it. Be happy, be excited, and appreciate the treat. That’s the etiquette. You don’t a) whine because it’s not the right treat; b) try to haggle it into a bigger treat; c) try to control the details of the treat; or d) act all irritated and bitter when you get the original treat you were offered instead of the more awesome one you were trying to wring out of the deal.

His rotten behavior sucks all the joy out of treats, and transforms a fun outing into an ordeal. It’s the hallmark of the spoiled brat and something had to be done. I cancelled Isaac’s ice cream. But Elias was innocent, and so he still got his. Yes– that’s right! Reader, Elias got ice cream, while Isaac sat in the car and sulked in the rain. (The car was six feet from the ice cream shop.) How’s nothing sound, kiddo? Is nothing good for you? This is what happens when you unleash the Tsumommy!

When we got back into the car, Isaac had removed the cover from the speaker of the car stereo. When we got home, he locked me out of the house briefly. So suffice it to say we were still pretty pissed at each other. At that point, he had no option but to set out to live in the wild. “Bye,” I said without remorse as he left. “It’s been nice having you for a son.”

And so he disappeared down the hill with his survival bundle and his little brother jogging to keep up. I have a feeling this will not be the last time in his childhood he feels forced to take such decisive action to make his point. Same goes for me, my friend.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

Remember my exciting new course of action? And how I was going to be able to pretty much do the POTS study without all the red tape? And how I signed off from Vince to move to a whole new situation at the Cleveland Clinic? Well, didn’t go so great.

To make a long and tiresome story short, the Frank guy seemed to have no recollection of our conversation on the phone. Or else we have a communication problem. Or else he has too many clients to keep track of. In any case, I came in expecting (as this is what he said we’d do) that he would a) put me in some sort of heart monitor thing and have me ride the recumbent bike to see what happens; and b) set up a plan to best approximate the POTS study that I so would like to be a part of.

Nope, neither of the above. Instead, he asked me a lot of basic questions I had answered before, but at the same time assured me that he had read my entire dossier of tests, etc. Then he chilled me to the marrow with the following concept: “How sure are you of your diagnosis?” and “I’m not sure you’ve seen the right person YET.”

Which is to say, he questioned the firmament. He has another guy he wants me to see to take yet another stab at what’s ailing me. Also he laid out a plan of exercises which is pretty much what I don’t want: gentle, lying down things that involve no cardio whatsoever.

Honestly it took me several days to even grasp what had just happened. To be fair, I haven’t even tried the exercises he prescribed. I’m just too fed up! I’m going on strike!

So, basically I’m taking some time off from having POTS and migraine. I’m going to now pretend I’m normal and let circumstances prove otherwise. Overall, by in large, most of the time, this is working. On Easter I had an incident that required me to slump/kneel down on the kitchen floor for a while, but other than that it’s been sort of okay. That was the exception. (It was basically a severe head rush from standing up too fast.)

My thought is that normal for me is going to include going over to the wellness center and riding the recumbent bike while watching reruns of Jon Stewart. I’ve sent out several more missives re trying to get into the study and maybe one of them will come up with something. But other than that, I’m just going to wash my hands of all these people!

I just ordered 50 bales of hay to be delivered on Saturday. Operation Pretend I’m Normal includes lots of large scale gardening schemes. Go ahead, sicknesses, I DARE you to stop me!

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

Trollbeads now owns me, hook, line and sinker. I realize this is an expensive and basically pointless new hobby, but it’s a lovely diversion from my health issues and a special girl-treat the likes of which I rarely get.

I’ve been coveting them for ages, living a secret life of Trollbead desire. Each day, often 6 times a day, I drive by The Gardener of Bath, a local boutique nursery and doo-dad store that I’m afraid understands its demographic (i.e., me) perfectly. It’s almost embarrassing how easily typed and sold to I am. From the organic heirloom yellow pear tomato plants, to the special double pink anemones, to the chic reading glasses (!!), to the European Christmas ornaments, to the… Trollbeads! The owner, Justin, just seems to have my entire soul mapped and charted. Several weeks ago I went in a tried on some bracelets and clasps, and admired a few beads without buying anything. We were fiscally challenged at that point and this was utterly unnecessary.

But yesterday, divine intervention brought together three disparate variables which have never aligned before: 1) a little bit of suddenly-available fun money; 2) a kid-free evening; and 3) a Trollbead trunk show at the Gardener of Bath. And who am I to deny such a clear message from God?

So I spent all afternoon at the Trollbeads web site, gluttonously admiring close-ups of bead after bead. My long-standing plan was to combine the crying baby with the cherub to indicate the two facets of motherhood (heaven/hell). What I struggled with was something to represent Ben. I spent a lot of time looking for a bead that was the certain deep brown of his eyes, but wasn’t happy with the options. I toyed with the obvious hearts and the Kiss. I considered Snails in Love for whimsical angle. But nothing seemed to leap out at me until I stumbled across The Hare and the Tortoise. Yes! We are opposites in many ways– not the least of which is speed. But together, we make one bead. This playful take on ying/yang appealed to me, and even more so when I saw it in person.

So I went in armed with something of a plan. I chose a Lace lock, because it reminds me of my grandma Jane and the lace curtains at my native house. In person the bead called Blue Petals called to me immediately. (At a trunk show, they have all the cases out, spread on tables, and all these tiny little cubbies full of beads, organized by color. Drool.) I wandered about trying to find the perfect bead to add to it, and the lady suggested Amethyst. Maybe it wasn’t pure creative talent– the stone beads cost twice the glass– but together it all just sang. The dark blue, the petals, the sparkling purple, and the silver creatures and concepts in between. The lady pronounced my bracelet “a good start” and I was ready to go.

When I was checking out the owner came over to look at the glory. “You’ve got a lot of opposites going on in this bracelet,” he observed. (Yes– perhaps this wants further analysis. Strange how the Trollbeads lay bare your heart like that.) “Where are you going to take it from here?” I said I was thinking about heading towards the green beads, and everyone congratulated me on my fine judgment. Somehow it seemed a lot more than just an ordinary trinket purchase.

Since then I’ve been dying for someone to notice it. I went to the grocery store, thinking it radiated light in all directions. Amazingly enough, no one batted an eye. At church today the sun was hitting it and it seemed to shine and glint and sparkle with abandon, and yet no one noticed. I regaled Ben with all the details, which he endured as best he could, but clearly did not enjoy. Oh well! Philistines!  … And now to create my wish list for all future gift opportunities.

Every story has a bead.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

It’s a breakthrough! I’m turning the corner! … ahem… yes… okay, again….  All the previous turning points and breakthroughs were only practice.  THIS time it’s really real.

….I hope.

This is a story of why Facebook isn’t simply a huge productivity drain on our global economy, nor a devious Big-Brother-esque means of gathering information about all our potential purchasing decisions. This is a story where Facebook is the good guy. I joined this POTS support group on facebook a few weeks ago, and posted a question there as to how I could get a dr in Cleveland to help me do the Levine POTS study I’ve been trying to get into since about September of last year. There someone– I’ll call her Ann– wrote me back, suggesting that I go to the Syncope Clinic at the Cleveland Clinic and that they would hook me up. This being none other than the home of the infamous tilt table test I did in December of 09, as well as the radioactive blood test I did in January ’10. (I hadn’t asked them because due to the previous “don’t exercise” philosophy I found there I thought it would be pointless.)

Ann and I got to e-mailing back and forth and found a series of incredible parallels in our recent health struggles. She too is a busy mom, and she too was struck ill in June of 2009, while at a child-related event (her, soccer: me, school picnic). We’re about the same age. She has POTS plus fibro and I have POTS plus migraine, so that’s slightly different. But we’ve both been on the same path– we’ve dealt with many of the same doctors, and both were even tilted in the same room at the clinic. And both of us have found this road to be long, tiresome, and ever-winding. She’s my lost twin! We talked on the phone last week and found ourselves struggling to cover lots of ground in a small period of time. It’s just so, so nice to find someone who truly understands.

At first it seemed that Ann was already set up at the Clinic and doing the test herself, and all I would need to is follow the trail that she had blazed. Then it turned out that it was still rather iffy and pending due to the horrible fickleness of doctors. BUT, she had taken the extra step of finding a special medical personal trainer who could work with people like us.

Long story short, I got in touch with the personal trainer guy. His name is Frank. He says he can basically emulate the study without actually doing it formally, and hopefully produce similar results. He works at the Clinic, can open up all the reams of testing that has been done on me, and see what the deal is.

Bottom line: I’m going to go see him on Tuesday! He’s going to put me in a complicated heart monitor of some kind on me, and put me on a recumbent bike to see what’s really going on in there. He said I would likely need to wear a halter monitor for a couple days round the clock to record what my heart is doing– I’m intrigued by this because I can tell you that it does seem to behave strangely at times.

Yesterday I said goodbye to my beloved Vince at vestibular therapy.  I said, “It will be so nice to be able to exercise without worrying about fainting all by myself in some health club.” Vince said, “Or worse.” I said, “Yeah– or dying!” I was laughing, but Vince said rather gravely, “I was not all that worried about you just fainting.”

POTS isn’t usually fatal btw, although some people have conjectured that starlet Brittany Murphy died of it. I guess the concern is that no one really knows what functions are at play with POTS. The science is still very primitive. The old-school idea is to play it safe and not stress the heart any more than it already is stressed by normal life.  A quote from the POTS website:

The symptoms of POTS are life altering and debilitating at times. POTS patients use about three times more energy to stand than a healthy person. It is as if these patients are running in place all the time. Activities such as housework, bathing, and even meals can exacerbate symptoms. Research shows that POTS patients’ quality of life is similar to those with congestive heart failure and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease Twenty-five percent of people with POTS are disabled and unable to work. Most patients will have to make some lifestyle adjustments to cope with this disorder.

No–this will be much better–  in the Cleveland Clinic, IN a hospital, with lots of elaborate monitors and health professionals on hand, I will be able to elevate my heart rate without dread. I think that this will be very freeing– because I’ll be able to challenge myself. Without knowing where the “line” is, and with the ominous warning of the Cardiological Goddess to not exercise at all hanging over me, it’s been very threatening to approach my fitness goals at all.

So– onward! I’m happy and excited about what this new phase will bring.

On a lighter note, the boys have come up with a couple amusing terms for you. You know that horrible thing that happens sometimes to males, when a body part gets caught the zipper… (see “Something About Mary”)… that’s called the Penis Fly Trap. And you know when your mother goes insane and starts storming around the house and yelling? That would be the Tsumommy.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2011 Catherine Park

The kids have developed an advanced form of Rock, Paper, Scissors, in which players can throw in their own inventions at will. This is why Elias and I were having a debate, the other day in a long grocery store line, as to whether Yoda would beat a Tsunami (no way!). Yoda, powerful Jedi master that he is, is also no match for a volcano or an earthquake. Obviously Volcano beats Scissors. Even Rake beats Scissors! Haymaker trounces paper, but haymaker versus rock? ?? I think a rock could actually do a little damage there, but maybe that’s just me.

But what beats them all? Even natural disasters? God. So I was throwing everything I could think of, Meteors, Comets, A-Bombs. Elias would just hit me with upturned eyes and hands in a prayer position every time: God. What beats God? This was beyond my extremely limited theological resources and in effect I just had to let him keep winning. In the meantime, it kept him from climbing on everything and running away while I was at the check-out line, so I guess in some sense I was the ultimate winner.

We went out to Minneapolis for spring break and came back. Great time had by all, lots of grandpas and grandmas, and best of all the ultimate cuddly plump little pumpkin, our new baby nephew Malcolm. He has very wise eyes and lots and lots of Michelin-man rolls of blubber. Really 100% perfect! We’re so happy he’s joined the family.

Before we left I went to see the Neurological God up in Cleveland. I told him all my troubles– the way I was doing great until I got sick around Christmas time, and then all went to hell in a handbasket, and since then I’ve been back on a slow boat to recovery. I begged him– BEGGED!!– that he would help me do the POTS study. He said no. The paperwork the Clinic puts him through is just too onerous. He asked me to ask the Cardiological Goddess. She’s more the POTS lady anyway, but so blatantly anti-exercise, I don’t know. And also I’m still pissed at her about the whole ordeal last spring. But maybe– maybe I’ll be desperate enough…

Anyway, he examined me and discussed the situation in really a lot of detail, then declared that I’ve been in a low-grade migraine for three months, and that this time the six-day course of prednisone did not put out the fire. “But,” he said, “if you throw a bucket of water on a fire and it doesn’t go out, do you then decide it’s not a fire?” Or, he went on, “if you have a burning field and you put out half of it and walk away, what’s gonna happen?” It will obvious start back up again.

I thought this was the point where he was going to say, “So now we’re going to bump up your Cymbalta from 40 to 60 mg.” But no– in fact he seems to view that as something of a last resort. Here’s what we would try first:

1. Inject the back of my head with a mixture of Novocaine and steroids.
2. Put me on IV medications on an out patient basis for three days, three hours each day.
3. Inject the back of my head with Botox.
4. And then, if all the above did not work, THEN we’d go to adjusting/adding/increasing meds.

He offered me a choice of 1. or 2. that day. I didn’t relish the thought of having a needle anywhere near my skull, but the IV thing sounded time-consuming if nothing else, whereas the needle-in-the-head thing sounded at least fast.

So, I agreed to it. He positioned me in a chair with my arms folded on the examining table. Then he wanted me to set my head in my arms. He swabbed up an area behind my left ear and then injected it, twice. Ouch!! The stuff was burny going in, and I was tapping my foot a little bit during it. “I hear tapping,” he observed. “That’s just my ‘it hurts’ tapping,” I said with a chuckle.

But it was fast, at least. I left the office with two half-walnut-sized lumps on the back of my head and a lot of soreness. The next day, very sore. And then it got better. The idea is that there’s a muscle there that’s inflamed, and that a nerve that runs through it is being squished and possibly causing a lot of my migraine problems. The neuro’s hope is that by taking the swelling down, the nerve will ease up, and all will start to improve. I was supposed to call him in two weeks with the report.

That was Wednesday and I didn’t call him. Why? Well, at the moment the whole thing is obscured by unrelated illness. I have the racking cough/death rattle thing, and I’ve diagnosed myself with laryngitis. Yesterday I actually really needed to yell at Elias to stop him from running towards traffic and I found that even then, I really truly didn’t have a voice. (Luckily he had enough sense to stop well before it was dangerous.)It didn’t help that, sick though I was, Europe Night was upon us!

This big event in Isaac’s class entailed lots of running around for me. Isaac was presenting on the Netherlands. Our attempt at building a model of one of Theo Jansen’s incredible Strandbeests did not work out due to many obvious technical difficulties. But over break Grandpa Max and Uncle John managed to put together a very respectable K’Nex windmill. With great effort, I resuscitated a long-dead printer and printed up many nice pictures of the Dutch life and times for Isaac’s display. Bought doughnuts (the Dutch invented them!), put together a selection of Dutch cheese (Ben had gotten them for a blind taste test earlier in the week), and generally ran around crazily all day. For the event itself, we did manage to get a DVD of Theo Jansen’s mad genius work playing (despite the computer having been dropped en route and being a little off its feed there for a while), which drew a crowd in the end.

The highlight of the evening though was Isaac’s brilliant portrayal of “Nobleman Number 2” in the class play. He sported a skin wig, eye patch, fat belly, cape, sparkly vest, and outrageous quasi-French accent. He and his little friends had the parents all laughing hysterically at the intentional and unintentional humor of it. We had a lovely time, but didn’t get home until nearly 10:00, and the next morning my voice was pretty near gone.

Today we’re all home. Isaac’s eyes are swollen and he has a bad cough but seems in good enough spirits. I think I’m the sickest of the lot. Why is it– I wonder– that when the kids are sick I take care of them, and when I’m sick… I take care of them! I need a nursemaid, big time.

Vince’s office hasn’t seen me in two weeks and today they called to check up on me and find out what was going on– this after we agreed I would be coming in twice a week for the next month or two. …

Oh well!! Circumstances beyond my control.

Spring is slowly, slowly starting to spring. The croci are up– now I’m looking for daffodils and those first precocious magnolias, the ones that burst into bloom before they have leaves.

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