Momma (and Mr. Chapin), Please Forgive Me

Hey, folks! It’s good to see you again! Well, I can see you, per se. But, you know, I get images of readers in my brain as I type (or read previous writings). There is not a specific face. Okay, let’s just say that I feel connected and leave it at that. Whether you have read my stuff previously or if this is your first time; I’m very happy that you’re here. Well…you’re not here here but…let’s just move on. You get the point. Thanks, in advance, for continuing to read; unless, I lost you at this point…in which case…well, it doesn’t matter what I type at this point. You’ve already left.

Today’s writing was prompted by my often aforementioned LYE (Lovely Young Editor) – my younger daughter, Brianna. As many are aware, Brianna is the mother of my grandson – Taelor-James, The Mighty Warrior AKA Butter Bean AKA The Bean. [It’s important that I put his full title this way. His agent is a real stickler.] Taelor-James AKA….[What’s that? OH! The full title is only necessary the first time? Taelor’s fine for the rest of this writing? COOL! Thank you! My hand was starting to cramp.] AHEM! Taelor is just a month shy of turning 10 years old. While Taelor does provide a great deal of joy and reward to our lives, there is, nevertheless, a lot about Taelor’s dynamic with Brianna that is relatively normal and routine.
Today, however, things took a bit of a different turn for Brianna. Today, as she was going through her mail. She got some information about Taelor that was presumably from her insurance agency. Who sent said correspondence is far less important than how they referred to Taelor. This correspondence spoke of my grandson in reference to “Adolescent Well-Care Visits” [emphasis is mine].

This simple word, adolescent, sent Brianna into a bit of an emotional tailspin. For crying out loud! Who in the name of the caduceus, are they to call my grandson…HER BABY, an adolescent? Adolescents help little old ladies across the street. OK, he DOES help a neighbor with her garbage so maybe that doesn’t help the point much. Still, Brianna is rocking herself on the couch and eating Panda Paws ice cream over this one. [Mind you, she’d eat Panda Paws to celebrate saving $3 at the gas pump, but you get the point.]
I then remembered how much my wife struggled when our youngest, Caleb, was a young boy. Every time Caleb went a size up in clothes or advanced to the next grade, out came the tissues and the chocolate chip cookie dough [The ladies in the family have a close bond with ice cream].

This whole ordeal also made me ponder on whether or not MY parents experienced such emotion with my growth from a child. Then, it came to my brain clear as a bell. When I served in the US Navy, my first duty station (Charleston, SC) was two hours away from where my parents and friends lived (Savannah, GA). One weekend, I had taken a bus from Charleston to Savannah. One of my closest friends, Robert, picked me up at the bus depot and took me to my parents’ house. I spent all of about an hour with my parents before I split with Robert to hang out and do whatever. I essentially treated my parents’ house (where I spent my senior year of high school), like a de facto motel.

Two days later, it was time for me to get ready to return to Charleston. Robert took me to my parents house and I packed up my stuff. I went to the kitchen to say my goodbyes. My mother was cutting up a cake and asked me if I wanted a piece. I told her: “Actually, Momma, I need to leave to go to the bus depot. Robert’s taking me.” You could see my mother’s heartbreak as her voice died down and she said: “OK.”

I looked at my mother and told her that I had enjoyed my visit. Choking back tears, Momma snapped at me: “YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN HOME!” At that moment, I realized what I had done. What was worse, I couldn’t undo it. What kind of Cat’s in the Cradle stunt had I selfishly pulled? My parents, especially in this case, my mother, had just wanted to spend some quality time with their son…their youngest…their baby. They were fighting “empty nest syndrome” while I was selfish trying to hold onto…adolescence (while wanting to be recognized as an adult). I’m telling you. I was afraid that Harry Chapin was going to rise from the grave and beat me within an inch of my life.

The other side of all of this is that it is not just a “mom thing”. I do sometimes sit and reflect on the fact that my kids are grown. In another year, Caleb will be 30 years old. I have had more than one conversation with my Dad about feeling old now that the kids are grown. My Dad will be very quick to tell me: “Tell me how old you feel when your baby is 56 and you have great-grandchildren.” I suppose it’s all relative.

In the end, I just have to let Brianna process this emotion of Taelor being labeled as “adolescent”. It isn’t the first time she has had to adjust to Taelor’s growth (and it won’t be the last). Has she reached the point where she can listen to Cat’s in the Cradle without choking back tears? I can only tell you that I reached that point when my kids were…approaching adolescence.

To Fellow Members of the GERDy Herd.

Well, Folks! It’s Poppa Shane here once again. I hope all is well with you. If it isn’t, I hope that I can provide you with at least a small amount of temporary relief or diversion. On that note, relief has been a very dominant endeavor over the last several months but especially so in the last several weeks. 

I will warn readers in advance, I will be speaking of a medical condition. I will do my best to avoid being too icky icky yuckity yuck gross about (if you will pardon the advanced medical jargon) but you have been warned in advance. 

For quite some time now, I have been battling a condition known as gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) or known more simply as acid reflux. I will do my best to give you some background and explanation and hope that I can avoid getting too medically technical. You see, when you swallow food, it travels down the drop slide thing. It’s kind of like falling down a log flume at an amusement park except that I have never heard my food say: “WHEEEEEEEEEEE!” on the way down. That may be because the food is past the vocal cords and that muffles the sound. 

Once the food gets to the end of the flume ride (medically known as the tum-tum), It suddenly becomes engulfed in a pool of acid. This breaks the food down to help nutrients from the food travel to the rest of the body. The food goes into your body with good intentions (i.e. nutrition and satisfaction of appetite). Then, once it goes down the drop slide flume ride down into the tum-tum, it has to turn into The Joker first before those objectives are met. For many, this is a simple, painless process: flume ride, WHEEEEEE!, then the stomach does its thing. Usually, once the stomach has done its job, it just chills out for a while. It goes back into action when you eat again but otherwise, it leaves you alone.

Unfortunately, for many others, including yours truly, the stomach keeps doing its thing even when there is no food present. The stomach will actually produce acid to the point that you will actually feel it at the top of the flume chute. This is a very disconcerting feeling for two reasons: a) things are supposed to travel DOWN the flume ride (NOT up), and b) no one told me that a 9 volt battery slipped into the food I had several hours ago. 

In addition to this discomfort, you can become more susceptible to coughing and your throat is now more sensitive (I’ll let you figure out why). This can lead a person to think they are acquiring allergies when that is not necessarily the case. 

Gastric reflux can also lead to a vicious circle of stress. Stress contributes to acid levels in the stomach. The extra acid makes it hard to work or just get through the day. This increases stress and anxiety; which increases acid production. The next thing you know, the gastric band is playing the same song. [OK, I didn’t intend to make a pun here about the bariatric procedure known as the “gastric band”. It just happened that way.] 

There are ways to treat gastric reflux. Let me stipulate, I am not a doctor and I have never even played one on TV. I mean, there was that time that I was cast as Doc Robinson in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer back in the 80’s but, that’s not relevant here. You can discuss medication options with your doctor [your real doctor, Dr. Daniel Charles from Chicago Med doesn’t count here]. Dietary changes may help. Of course, stress reduction may help too. I tried petting one of our two cats recently. I was then reminded that these cats could care less about me and my log flume to tum-tum problem. I just felt worse and put the self-entitled little fur ball down to cuddle in my wife’s lap and fall asleep for 6 hours. I guess I will just resort to letting the guy on the expressway cut into my lane during rush hour and being OK when he doesn’t do the hand wave afterward. If you don’t suffer from GERD, I am happy for you and I hope you never do. If you are a fellow victim, I’d thump my chest to you in solidarity but I will be coughing for 20 minutes if I do. Just consider this a virtual head nod of acknowledgment. Here’s to better days for you all and your flume ride tum-tum issues.