Random Acts of Christmas Kindness

It’s been a tough few weeks for the Draper Girls.

Draper Girl #2 – my sister, Elaine, had what she thought was a cold. Then suddenly things changed rapidly and her husband realized it was something far worse. Within hours she was at WakeMed in ICU, on a ventilator, and awaiting surgery for a severe infection in her lungs. That was 2 and a half weeks ago. She has endured surgery, chest tubes, scores of tests, plates of frightening hospital food, 2 units of blood and is patiently awaiting placement in Rehab so she can get back to being herself.

Draper Girl #1 – my mom has had a chest cold that has gotten worse and worse and worse. So bad in fact that Draper Girl #3 (me, if you are counting) took her to the Duke ER last Saturday to sit drenched in germs next to people with bloody appendages to wait our turn for a chest xray. She was diagnosed with acute bronchitis, given a script for steroids and an inhaler and sent back home to wrestle with a beast of a cough, one that manages to win handily each night when she puts her head on the pillow.

Draper Girl #3? I’ve been running around like Miracle Mike. (Miracle Mike is not a stripper from a movie. If you don’t know who Miracle Mike is, part two of reading this blog is to Google “Miracle Mike.” Really. Beatingest thing I’ve ever heard. )  Anyway – suffice it to say, when I’m visiting my sister in the hospital, I’m worried sick about leaving Momma at home. When I’m home, I’m worried sick about my sister in the hospital. In between, I’ve logged miles, many miles on the  I-40/Beltline racetrack, bought and wrapped gifts, addressed Christmas cards,  gotten my labs done and had my thyroid meds changed again.

So far, it’s been a Christmas to remember, because amidst the chaos, the Christmas light of love and remembrance has shone on my family. And blessed us.

My friend Nancy brought us not one, but two complete dinners – one was a delicious spaghetti feast complete in every detail.  The second, on the very eve of Mom’s “visit” to Duke, was Brunswick Stew, one of her very favorite dishes, one that harkened to home and hearth and warmth and love.  To see Mary Frances eat something she genuinely enjoyed in the midst of being so sick she couldn’t dress herself was a gift I won’t soon forget.

The following day, a Sunday, my son, Nat, and my daughter-in-law, Lilly came to help decorate our tree. That was a gift in itself, but when Lilly asked for a handcart, I couldn’t image why. Those two wrested a giant box of books from be back of their car and somehow trundled it in the house to lay at the feet of my mother. They had gone to the Wake County Library  Book Sale and spent an hour and a half selecting large print mysteries that they thought she would like. Mama was ecstatic and a week later is still oohing and ahhhing over her hoard. She’s read 3 so far of the 39 titles and I’ve never seen her happier over ANY GIFT, EVER. The price tag – 3 dollars.

 My sister has also been the recipient of  an unexpected gift. One of her church friends put out a call to her friends and they gathered a gift basket of home baked goodies, fruit, candies and cards and got it to my brother-in-law for transport to the hospital. So in medical terms, she received a bolus of love from her church family back home.

My next unexpected gift  was one I had secretly wished for. One I had not mentioned to anyone. My artist friend and former roommate, Jeannette, created a coloring book earlier this year in time for her studio tour. I had hoped to go, but time was not my friend. She posted a few shots of her work in progress on Facebook and I was simply smitten. I hardly ever see Jeannette in person and our relationship exists these days as kindred FB spirits so I couldn’t imagine getting a chance to purchase one of her limited editions before they were gone.

After a visit to the hospital, I came home and collected the mail. Inside was a package – addressed in – why it was Jeannette’s handwriting. It…felt…like….and…it…WAS… a copy of the coloring book! I stopped in the middle of my 1001 Things To Do Before Christmas earworm and sat down and simply drank in the charming, delightful, calming images. It’s a promise  to myself that when the furor dies down, or possibly even sooner, I will sit down and simply color. I can’t wait! Jeanette said she was thinking of me and thought I’d like copy. She is kindness itself.

And finally, on Friday – I returned home and found a half gallon of Bojangles Iced Tea on my doorstep – something I heard once described as Housewife’s Crack for its potent blend of sugar and caffeine. So this gift, from my friend Jo, who had no idea what I’m soaking in, has powered me through the busy weekend.

Because that’s what Christmas is all about, sustaining one another with love.  It's what all three of the Draper girls have felt in spades. It’s not about the trappings – the decorations, the parties, not even the paper and bows. It’s to know that someone who cares about you has held you in their heart. It’s to hold someone you care about in your heart. It’s to celebrate the Birthday of the Christ child who came to remind us to love one another. It’s all about Love. Actually. 

Merry Christmas and love to you all! 

Scooter vs. Old Scratch

The Devil came down to Dixie two weeks ago and he was looking for a pug to steal. He was in a bind cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal.

I coulda spared him the trip ‘cause my boy Scooter won’t ready for no deal.

‘Cause Scooter  has had more dances round that Devil than any dog has a right. When he was a tiny handful of glossy black pug puppy, four, count’em FOUR vets in Virginia said “Put him down.” But somehow a kindly couple saw past his malformed legs, they saw his immense spirit and ran Old Scratch off. And delivered the tiny guy they crowned Scooter into the hands of Midatlantic Pug Rescue.

Scooter on the day he arrived at the MacHardy house.

But no-one remembered to tell Scooter he was different. His front legs had no “elbows” and they couldn’t support the front end. His back legs, were in better shape and held up his little rump and curly tail up at an awkward angle. But boy could he get around. He looked like a bit like a grasshopper and his powerful back legs pushed him around - so he scooted here and there.

Yep, Scooter arrived with legs out of whack but with so much personality that dear husband said within two days of his arrival “If (Dr.) Monce can’t fix him, I’ll carry him around on a pillow the rest of his life.”

At Scooter’s first assessment Dr.  Kevin Monce and I stood looking at the xrays of Scooter’s malformed limbs. “Is there hope?” I asked worriedly. Kevin replied “There’s always hope.”

And so Scooter, the wonder pug, began his quest to have four functioning legs. Dr. Monce put pins through the top and bottom of each leg (external fixators), banded them together and over time pulled the bones together. Scooter’s body did the rest - making bone out of what had been cartilage and creating function where before there had been none.

You might think “Oh, poor little puppy!” Save your breath. Again Scooter wasn’t interested in the details of his deformation. The day after his first surgery he was up and walking on his casts - “sticks” my son, Zack, called them. At his frequent day visits with Dr. Monce he was “too good” for a kennel and settled down in his own dog bed positioned behind the receptionist's desk.

Scooter walking on his "sticks." 

He grew and so did his personality. He quickly became the alpha of our household pack, an imp who delighted in annoying the older dogs and a vocal opponent of delayed meals. He insisted on the best lap and being the first one out the door for walks.

And so after many, many trips to the vet, many orthopedic exercises, we became foster failures. He and we were so bonded the very idea of placing him in another home was unthinkable. We made it official. We adopted him. Or maybe it was the other way around.

So nine years later, which was two and a half weeks ago. Scooter got sick. He started throwing up at 11pm and didn’t stop. By 4 am I was at the emergency vet to see if he was dehydrated. And this guy, this sick, sick, sick boy - perked up at our arrival like we were visiting a steak house. No, they said, but get him into your regular vet pronto. By 8:00 am we were at our local Durham vet, New Hope Animal Hospital, where he was soon sent back to the Veterinary Speciality Hospital with an IV already in place. I had imagined a simple GI upset, but somewhere along the way his immune system went into overdrive and destroyed his platelets - within a few days he had 0. Dogs can’t live with zero platelets. Old Scratch was coming.

But somehow, with the dedication of round the clock nursing and round the clock vet care and round the clock credit card charges,  little Scooter said “Get Thee Gone Satan!” And, somehow,  with the administration of one, then two steroids and finally an immunoglobulin infusion, Old Scratch started to doubt his chances. Oh, it was dicey for a while and it was close.

Our family decided together not to go to visiting hours because we didn’t want to upset him. We needn’t have worried, because while Old Scratch was knocking at the door, Scooter was playing the field, he was jumping into the arms of the vets and vet techs. He was being hand fed. He was wagging his tail. He was Hugh Hefner at the Playboy Mansion.

Finally, Old Sctatch just plum gave up and went back to whatever Hell hole he climbed out of.

Scooter returned home after five days and nights in the hospital with five different medications and the need for close supervision and much followup. But we give it willingly. It’s why I’m up at 4:12am writing- to give him a tummy protectant an hour before he eats breakfast.

Because he’s family. Because he believes himself whole. Because he is the love of our lives and we see courage and strength and humor in him everyday. Because he is truly a life-affirming gift from a divine Creator.

So, we’ve got a message for Old Scratch: when Scooter’s time comes, don’t come sniffing around here again. Because, this one, this little black pug with the hobbled-together legs and the oversized ego?

He’ll be going to Heaven.

Scooter recuperating in prime real estate. 

Cute Nails

In the chaos surrounding the week prior to our annual beach vacation, I wanted one thing for myself prior to departure. I wanted cute toenails.

It was a crazy week, my sister visited for a doctor’s  appointment, my son returned after completing his master’s from Berkeley, and I was coughing my head off. I had at least 100 items on my PRIOR TO THE BEACH LIST and was near to bawling all week.

This is nothing new from me and in fact my annual pre-beach meltdown is a prerequisite for vacation. As one spate of tears appeared, two of my menfolk laughed together at the predictability of the event.

Despite all this,  for once, I wanted a nice pedicure for the beach. Forget lumpy legs or droopy middle aged….parts, wouldn’t it be nice to have  lovely toes luxuriating in my new sandals?

I made and kept my appointment at the Nail Spa. RK, “my guy”, soaked my feet and started work. I fell into a casual conversation with the lady in the chair next to me and a bit later, realized that RK had fallen into a quiet, thoughtful repose. I looked at my toenail, and I knew why.

Many years ago, preparing for Vacation Bible School, some friends and I were carrying heavy foldable tables. I lost the grip on one and it slammed into my right big toe, filling the classroom with a haze of profanity and necessitating a trip to the ER. My toes wasn’t broken, but my toenail sure was. It never really grew in properly, instead in came in thick, crooked and discolored.

At my last (and actually my first) pedicure, RK had masterfully painted this ugly toe and it shone proudly with pink polish - right in line with the others. This pedicure, he was trying to dremel it down a bit and it just sheared off.  He was horrified and did his best to patch it up - certainly not his fault and I left satisfied and a little amused.

That night I went swimming with two of my girlfriends and donned my swim fins per usual. by the end of our session that right big toe was feeling a little iffy and when I finally had the nerve to look, another piece of toenail had sheared away. I was left with a truly uglyhalf- toenail! So much for cute toenails. I was disappointed.

With no time for a toenail touchup, I searched for matching polish at the local CVS. Found some that would do and painted what was left of my toenail.

Then I continued to prepare for the beach - a whirlwind of washing clothes, packing, checking items off the list.  The morning before we left,  I found myself so sick that I arrived at Duke Urgent Care before it opened! I was quickly diagnosed with, as the PA said, a “rip-roaring sinus infection” and loaded up with prescriptions.

Back home we packed the car and hit the road and at last, on Sunday, I felt the relief, the relaxation, the soothing AHHHHHH that is vacation. I parked myself under the beach cabana with a book and a diet Coke. My idea of heaven.

Being Sunday there was a usual crowd of beachgoers and between chapters of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell I enjoyed a bit of people watching.  The beach is like the state fair - all sorts and sizes of folks to see. I soon noticed two women walking up from the ocean. They were in wet swimsuits and had  enjoyed a  brisk dip. They were laughing together and soon I realized one was holding on the other. Next I could make out that they were from two generations, with the younger woman being lead by the older. And finally, as they neared our cabana, I saw the unmistakable facial features of Down Syndrome.  More importantly, I saw acceptance, pride, grace, love and JOY! Life had turned out a little different than expected, but this mother and daughter drank it in - with no worries about perfection.

I admit that I looked at my toes then as I dug them in the sand. They worked just fine and so what if one toenail looked a bit pathetic. It is in the chaos and imperfection that we learn to reach for God and in doing  reach for grace and joy!

I can’t say I won’t have a meltdown come beach time next year, but I can say I will I will embrace it when it comes. After all, after every storm comes the blissful morning after.