An Antidote For Fear

 “We’ve got a runner!”

The pediatric nurse made the announcement as I stood in front of her feeling numb — which was odd because I was actually feeling several emotions all at once yet the result was numb. I felt helpless. I felt afraid. I felt torn. I felt sad. I felt determined. I felt evil. I guess it was just too much for my mind to process so it left me vacant.

Most people who are afraid of the dentist are afraid because of a bad experience or a bad perception based on media or someone else’s bad experience. Some are intimidated by the room and the tray of “tools” that are always in view. Not the case here.

This was a pediatric dentist and the room was very fun with all the scary things hidden away. They had a TV on the ceiling with the movie of your choice. Being autistic, my son was simply overwhelmed by the sounds of the drill and the inability to accurately predict and understand exactly what was happening.

What for most children would be a simple in-office dental procedure had turned into a scheduled outpatient surgery. The consensus was that going to the hospital, going to sleep and waking up with everything done would not be traumatic for him.

Nope.

I knew better! I talked to the surgeon in advance and asked if there was something he could take before we left the house to help him relax. I said that my worst fear was having to hold or strap down my son. He took the medicine like a champ that morning. On the way to the hospital, however, my son said that he didn’t think the medicine was working because he was still really scared. I told him that if he could just try to relax and take some deep breaths the medicine would begin to work.

Nope.

As soon as we sat down at the hospital and they gave us the gown to change into, off he went down the hall! I saw a nurse sit on the floor in front of him and start bouncing a ball to him. The nurse began to tell some jokes. It slowed my son down so I decided to run to the nurse’s station. I explained what happened and asked if they could help because I knew that we were not going to make it into the surgical room if we remained on this trajectory.

The nurse called the anesthesiologist and said “We’ve got a runner!” She then told me to let him sit in the hallway — it was full of benches and windows and didn’t seem so scary and confined. She said that she would give him the medicine to drink but I would have to keep him in his chair and be right next to him because he would be asleep in 20 minutes, at which point she would come out with a gurney and we could take him to surgery.

Nope.

Twenty minutes came and went. Out they came with the gurney. My son stood up and said that he would walk to the elevator but he wouldn’t lay down on that gurney. He agreed to go to pre-op with the intention of talking the surgeon into rescheduling. The surgeon came out, so did the surgical nurse, the head of pediatric nursing and two others from anesthesiology. The surgeon showed my son pictures on her phone of her cat and did her best to distract him and help him feel at ease. They showed him the mask that they would put over his face to help him sleep.

Nope.

The next — and only — remaining option was to give him a shot. They would do it quickly if I could distract him. While I was giving him a hug they pushed the needle into his leg. The needle bent. Now not only did he know what was about to happen, heightening his fear, but my worst fear came true. I had to hold down my son so they could give him the shot again. It lasted just a second or two but it felt like an eternity. As soon as they were done and I released his arms he threw them around my neck, hugged me tightly and said, “Why are you letting them do this to me?”

Yep.

I died a little inside. Knowing that he was afraid, overwhelmed and confused I knew that I needed to use the last few minutes he would be awake to try to calm him. I didn’t want his last thoughts before he fell asleep to be filled with fear. We have a few phrases that we say every day at our house — they have become like our family mantras. After more than a decade of saying them, my kids now roll their eyes as they answer me, but they could answer in their sleep —or as they are falling asleep.

Me: “Andrew, what is mom’s number one job?”

Andrew: “To keep me safe.”

Me: “That’s right. I would never allow anyone to hurt you. The doctors are going to help keep you safe by fixing your teeth.”

Me: “Andrew, who loves you more than mom?”

Andrew: “Nobody.”

Me: “That’s right. No one loves you more than me. That is why we are here — because I love you and I want you to feel better. The doctors are going to help you feel better.”

I looked directly into his eyes, rocked him and repeated the same two questions — and he repeated the same two answers — three or four times. Then he was out. I laid his head down on the pillow and when I stood up and turned around there were all five of the hospital staff standing behind me crying. The surgeon gave me a hug, told me I did a good job and that she would take care of my son.

We still don’t speak of it in my house. Occasionally when I tell him that it is time to brush his teeth and get ready for bed my son will not want to stop what he is doing. All I have to say is “really?” That is enough of a reminder that none of us wants to go through that again and he smiles, jumps up and says, “Oh yeah – you’re right.”

As difficult as it was at the time, that day (I call it the Voldemort day because we cannot speak of it – now you have even a better understanding of why my children often roll their eyes when I speak) taught me a valuable lesson about how to take the power away from fear. When he woke up after surgery the very first thing my son told me was that he was sorry for acting so scared and asked if I was ashamed of him. I told him that nothing could be further from the truth.

It takes real courage to be who you are in a world that often judges you without knowing or understanding your circumstances. I know that he was really scared, but I also know that he was really brave. The purpose of fear is to promote survival. But sometimes fear can prevent us from living the quality of life we deserve unless we find our focus, feel safe and remember that we are loved.

 

The Lord Forgives Tired Moms

 My daughter never slept.  After adopting a second child I found myself outnumbered and overwhelmed.  I was supposed to bring her home from Guatemala when she was six months old.  Due to lots and lots of issues in the international adoption world, six months turned to eight months and eight months turned into a year.  The longer it took the more disheartened I became.  All I could think about was missing her first step, her first word, and those cuddly midnight feedings. *sigh*

Be careful what you wish for!  When I brought her home the week of her first birthday she couldn’t crawl, much less walk.  She didn’t speak – only cried, and she definitely didn’t sleep.  Ever.  Adrenaline, excitement, love and caffeine got me through the first few weeks.  Just when I thought I couldn’t do it for one more day, my mom came to the rescue.  She stayed with me for the weekend.  When Sunday morning came and I was dragging myself out of bed to get ready for mass, my mom told me to just go back to sleep.  “The Lord forgives tired moms, “she said. 

That was more than a decade ago, but I’ve thought about those words on several occasions.  Partly because they came out of the mouth of a deeply religious and spiritual woman, but mostly because a light bulb went off when she said it.  I didn’t have to be perfect.  I could give myself permission to try.  I, like too many people, wasted too many days comparing myself to others – and worst yet, comparing myself to perfection. 

I know a lot of people who wish they were something they aren’t or get stuck focused on the life they think they could have/should have had.  Because they don’t, they must be failures.  It makes me sad to see someone not able to move on because they no longer think that they deserve happiness. 

One of our family mantras is that when we are the problem, we are also the solution.  In our home this means that we have the power – the choice – to leave that place and create a change.  We can choose happiness.  For example, the birth mother of my son was in high school when she became pregnant.  She made several choices after that.  She has now completed college, is married and she and her husband recently had a son. 

Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses.  It is only when we accept everything that we are – and aren’t – that we can feel complete.  As Mother Theresa said, “God doesn’t require us to succeed.  He only requires that you try.”  I hold on tightly to try.  As my kids get older and face more complicated choices I tell them not to worry.  I don’t think we need to be perfect.  I don’t even think that we should focus on being successful.  I tell my kids to just do the next right thing.  That’s it.  Just the next, one right thing.  We usually know what that is. 

Thanks to my mother, I’m long done with success and failure, perfection and fault.  I choose to live in try.   I really like it here.  Even when it is frustrating, it’s always okay in the end.  After all, the Lord forgives tired moms.

 

THE REAL LIFE BATTLE CREEK

I don’t know about you, but I am really enjoying the new CBS show Battle Creek.  I view it as more of a comedy than a drama and it’s fun to see and hear things with which I am intimately familiar.  Last Sunday the show talked about Maple syrup – perfect timing since March is maple syrup month in Michigan.  They also talked about Emmet Street.  Isn’t it kind of fun to say, “Hey, I know where that is!”?  And (spoiler alert if you haven’t seen it yet) this week they also talked about domestic violence.  In the episode the victim was left standing and the only question was if she killed her assailant or if her father did it to protect her.  In the show they highlighted a history of horrific abuse, but still someone was going to be charged with the murder.  That part wasn’t so funny.

 

In fact, despite the very real dangers that many women live with on a daily basis, there is evidence to suggest that women who kill in their own defense may face greater punishment than other defendants. A study conducted by The Michigan Battered Women’s Clemency Project of homicide convictions and sentences over a three year period in Michigan revealed startling levels of discrimination against defendants who are victims of domestic violence. Results showed that domestic violence victims had higher conviction rates and longer sentences than all others charged with homicide, including those with previous violent criminal records. Overall, a white female defendant with no criminal history who was convicted by a jury of killing a white person could expect an average sentence of 10 to 30 years.  However, if the woman was a victim of domestic violence, her predicted sentence increased to life.

 

One reason is that there are a lot of people - judges, prosecutors, defense attorneys and jurors included - who bring to any trial a host of myths and stereotypes about domestic violence. Perhaps the biggest one being that she can just leave.  Why did she stay?  This question ignores the large body of evidence showing that women do leave. It also demonstrates a failure to understand that leaving is the most dangerous time for a victim.  In fact, lethality increases by 75% when a victim leaves her assailant.  A victim’s actions toward self-preservation must be understood within the context of ongoing intimidation, isolation and control.   Leaving is one of the most complicated decisions that must be made by a victim.  And leaving certainly doesn’t guarantee an end to the violence.

 

S.A.F.E. Place has the dubious honor of being one of the largest and busiest domestic violence shelters in the state.  We are open 24 hours/day, 7 days/week and all of our services are free of charge.  You don’t have to stay at the shelter to receive help.  Unfortunately, we are always busy.  We had a 55% increase in our services last year and over half of the shelter residents we serve are children.  Domestic violence hurts women in every way that they can be hurt – economically, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  If we do nothing, we are saying that these women are expendable. It’s not pleasant to think about what a domestic violence victim endures, but it is devastating to let it continue in silence.   Domestic violence is not an issue that S.A.F.E. Place can solve alone.  It’s not a woman’s issue.  Everyone - men, women and children - are impacted.  It’s a community issue.  If you would like to help, we will happily accept your time, talent and treasure.  Visit them online at www.safeplaceshelter.org or give them a call at 269.965.6093 and ask  how.  We simply can’t meet the need without your support.

 

So, how did the episode end?  Well, the police chief decided that the victim had suffered enough and if her father wanted to go to jail to protect his daughter she would let him – she liked that ending better…she cared about the truth but she cared even more about justice.  In real life Battle Creek we have a police department that has asked to partner with S.A.F.E. Place.  They want to understand the truth so that they can best protect victims and ensure justice. David Shore, the executive producer of the show, said that one reason they chose Battle Creek is because of the sense of hope that the city emanates.  I like that.  I couldn’t agree more.  That is after all, at the very core of it, why S.A.F.E. Place exists – so that the people we serve are able to make choices based on hope instead of based on fear. 

Human Trafficking Hits Home

I never saw Philadelphia Story but when I adopted my daughter Lidia my mother would sing, “Oh Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia? Lydia The Tattooed Lady.  She has eyes that folks adore so, and a torso even more so.  Oh Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia? Lydia The Tattooed Lady.”  I don’t even know the rest of the words, but for some reason that stuck and I would belt out those lyrics randomly and my baby girl would smile, run to me and give me a hug.  Good times.  Then she became a tween.  Parents who had or currently have tweens - I just heard you exhale.  You know what I mean.   Moods that are subject to change without notice and eyes that roll at you sometimes just because you entered the room.  Do I hear an “amen”?!  Now when I sing the song no one runs and hugs me.  Instead I hear a voice from another room yell “That’s just stupid!”  It wasn’t very long ago that she thought “stupid” was a bad word.  *sigh*

Still, she is my baby girl.  And still, it is simply impossible to love her more than I do – even on the days I don’t necessarily enjoy being around her.  As an adoptive parent I am thankful every single day for the selfless sacrifice that a birth mother makes to hand her child to a stranger in the hope that the baby will have the life that she dreams for her, the life that for a number of reasons she can’t provide.  For the last few years I have been saying this gratitude out loud.  I think it is in the hope that if I say it often enough and loud enough it will actually be true.  It probably is…I have to believe it is.  The alternative is just too horrible.

 

My daughter is a Mayan Indian from Guatemala.  After a successful domestic adoption and two failed ones I decided to adopt internationally.  I researched my options and selected Guatemala.  At the time they were the only country that utilized foster homes instead of orphanages.  I knew that if a baby was able to emotionally bond they would be more likely to be able to transfer that bond.  That was important to me.   I wanted to do everything I could to avoid reactive attachment and all of the other scary things that they tell you about when adopting.  But what I later learned was far more terrifying than any attachment issues.  In 2012 I read an article that stated that Guatemala's adoption system had been the most corrupt in the world for over a decade. News organizations reported in detail, repeatedly, that the country's babies were systematically being bought, coerced, or even kidnapped away from families that wanted to raise them.  I used a legitimate adoption agency, I read the social worker’s report on the birth mother, and I still have contact with the foster mother.  How could this be true?  It couldn’t be true for my Lidia…could it?

 

I wish I knew then what I know now.  And I wish that I could “unknow” that in every human endeavor, there is a chance for abuse.  For every legitimate agency and every mother in Guatemala who desperately wants a better life for their baby, there are also nefarious practices and families are deceived or coerced into giving their children up for adoption.  Traffickers target the most vulnerable – children, those living in poverty, refugees and migrants – because they are often desperate.  In Guatemala around 60 percent of children live in poverty. Criminals know that parents who are poor will have less resources and money to search for their missing children.  In a related story, just this month the news reported that a 12 year old boy was trafficked to England to harvest his organs.

 

It is important to know that trafficking exists.  It is important to know that there are those who are willing to hurt even babies and children for a profit.  It is even more important to do something.  Not sure what?  The U.S. Department of State has 20 suggestions to get you started on your path to helping end modern day slavery:  http://www.state.gov/j/tip/id/help/  If those suggestions don’t work for you then give the Michigan Human Trafficking Task Force a call and ask what you can do.  But do something.  Because I have to believe that the only thing worse than imagining that your child was taken from a mother who wanted to raise her is actually being that mother.

 

James Spader, Chocolate, and Human Trafficking

I was never a big fan of James Spader.  I saw him in Stargate back in the ‘90’s and just didn’t really care for him.  He kind of gave me a weird, creepy vibe so I never went out of my way to watch anything that he was in…until now.  It seemed that everyone was talking about the show The Blacklist.  So I rented Season One.  Now I love, love, love him!  Can’t wait to see him as Ultron in the next Avengers movie – but I digress.  In The Blacklist he plays a bad guy turned good – sort of.  He helps the FBI solve crimes but you never know if he is doing it to benefit himself and if he is really a good guy or a bad guy or a little of both.  What I like best is that every episode has a twist.  In one episode he tips the FBI to a hired assassin who is going to kill a wealthy philanthropist that has spent her life fighting human trafficking and helping rescue victims.  In the end, the assassination attempt is successful but we discover that all the while she was standing on a podium accepting awards for her work she was selling young girls and trafficking them herself. Boom!  Did. Not. See. That. Coming.  What a twist!  I love a good twist – or at least I used to…

Fast forward to this week.  I was on a panel discussing human trafficking when an audience member asked why we just don’t do something about the men who buy girls.  Excellent point!  Human trafficking is an economic crime.  People don’t do it to be mean to people…they do it to make a profit.  Not only is it a horrific crime, but it is a fundamental violation of human dignity.  New awareness campaigns exist and new laws are being written, but as long as there are those who purchase sex or products made from slave labor what are the real deterrents for the traffickers?  Take away the demand and you go a long way to eliminate the issue.  Makes perfect sense.  But there is a twist – and this one is not so good.  You see, I am guilty of being on the demand side of human trafficking.  And guess what?  You are too. 

We know that children as young as 5 years old are forced to work in coco fields and that many, by the time they are 10- or 12-years old, have hands that are permanently deformed from arthritis…but that chocolate is soooo good!  We’ve all heard about slave labor in the garment industry…but did you see how cheap that shirt was?  Prostitution is the oldest profession.  What’s the harm?  It’s a victimless crime.  But here is the truth- my organization serves prostituted women.  It is a crime that hurts a person in every way that they can be hurt: physically, emotionally, economically and psychologically.  I see the pain, guilt, shame, anger and trauma.  I have yet to see it as a victimless crime.

You could say that you didn’t know your products were made using slave labor.  You could, but not anymore.  The website http://slaveryfootprint.org/ will ask you a series of questions about the products you own and then tell you how many slaves you have, in essence, working for you.  So, now that you know you are part of the demand side of human trafficking what will you do?  I’m not saying you have to give up chocolate (yikes!) – but you can purchase fair trade products as often as possible and you can write to your favorite companies and tell them that you will stop buying their products if they don’t commit to purchasing  from vendors that do not use slave labor.  And you must still call for harsh penalties for those on the demand side of this crime. 

When I train I often end the session with a challenge to participants to complete the sentence, “If I do nothing…”  But instead, I am going to challenge you to complete a second sentence, “When I do something…” You have the opportunity to be part of a historic movement that helps to end this horrific crime.

Naamgenoot

At least once a month I get what I refer to as fan mail.  It comes in the form of a Facebook message.  They show up in the messages, but there is an “Inbox” and an “Other” box.  They show up in “other” and I’m not alerted that there is even any mail there. When I finally discovered it, there were several messages waiting for me all saying how great I am.  The last one was from a 28-year old man from South Korea - the messages are from all over the globe.  They usually say something like, “I’m your biggest fan.”  “Can I get an autographed picture?” “You’re the best.” “I love you!”

As flattering as all this may seem, it turns out that, even as unusual of a name as I have, I am not the only Jennifer Fopma in the world.  The other Jennifer Fopma in the world is a professional beach volleyball player.  Yep.  Google “image Jennifer Fopma” and you will find one or two of me surrounded by a sea of bikini clad beach volleyball athletic beauty.  We have absolutely nothing in common.  She was born in Holland.  She now lives in California.  And she is 6’3”!  I’m a Michigander – always have been.  Even went to college here. Go Blue!  And I’m 5’4” (In truth, I am probably closer to 5’3”, but I like to round up – when I do I get thinner according to the BMI scale).  Nothing in common.  Well…

As I struggled to find connection with my name fellow I realized that we do share a few things other than our name in common. It struck me when I was doing a presentation.  I often facilitate a short exercise when I present to a group that has a good mix of men and women.  I start by asking the men in the room what they do on a daily basis to keep themselves safe from assault and rape.  I have the chalk in my hand and I am ready to write down their answers.  Instead, I typically get blank stares – the kind of stare that indicates that they didn’t even understand the question.  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?

So, I go on to ask the women in the room what they do on a daily basis to keep themselves safe from assault and rape.  I can’t write fast enough to keep up!  Walk with my keys in my hands.  Park under a light.  Cover my drink at a bar.  Don’t go to the restroom alone.  Carry mace in my purse.  Never go out alone at night.  Bought a dog for protection since I live alone.  Cross the street when I see a man walking toward me.  Look in the backseat of my car before I get in.  Don’t wear headphones when I run so I can be alert to my surroundings.  Don’t run or walk at night alone.  Etc.  Etc.  Etc.

It is an eye opening exercise.  Most men in the room really have no idea that not a single day goes by that at least one of a woman’s actions are consciously dictated by the threat of assault.  This is something that almost all women have in common.  I do many of these things.  I bet the other Jennifer Fopma does them too.

I’m not sure why I want to have a connection with my naamgenoot (that is what the Dutch call a namesake- I use it to honor the Dutch heritage of the other Jennifer Fopma…and because it is really fun to say).  I think it started because it was just amusing to wonder what it would be like to have her life – to be tall and athletic and the star of the team.  Maybe now it is just because if I find a connection I will feel less voyeuristic receiving and reading her fan mail.  I have realized, however, that knowing about her success inspires me.  We can’t all be the star of the team, but we can be a star in our own life. 

That is what I want my daughter to be able to focus on. I don’t want her to find immediate connections with other women because they have to do the same things to stay safe.  I want her to find connections with other women because they share the desire to become the best version of themselves.  Who she will become is infinitely more important than what she will do for a living or what she will have.  That should be what consciously dictates her actions on a daily basis.  If/when the other Jennifer Fopma is a parent, I’m sure that we will have that in common too. 

One of the reasons that I love my job is because I actually get paid to try and create that world for her.  But for now, I will have to teach my daughter what to do on a daily basis to stay safe from assault and rape.  Hopefully the Jennifer Fopmas of the future won’t have to do the same.

Trust and her twin

I was visiting my girlfriend for the day.  She lives out in the country in one of those houses set way back from the road.  We were heading into town to go to the store, kids in tow and when we got to the end of her driveway there on the side of the road was a puff of white fur.  We looked at each other in horror – the cat! Not wanting to alert the children to the death of Snickers we didn’t stop.  Instead, as soon as possible I watched the kids while she snuck away and called her husband to retrieve the body.  By then the body was gone – perhaps carried away by another animal or cleaned up by someone else.  They decided to dig a hole and cover it as if there was still something to bury.  We would talk to the kids on the way home and have the funeral once we arrived back.

So there we were.  Standing in a circle around a freshly covered hole in the ground with nothing in it saying our goodbyes to Snickers the cat.  Yes she was loved.  Yes she will be missed.  Yes she is in heaven now.  Our reverent moment of silence was broken when my girlfriend screamed – a top of your lungs screech that could have woken the dead.  Except that she screamed because the dead was already awake.  There was Snickers rubbing on her leg.  Obviously it wasn’t Snickers that we saw at the end of the driveway after all.  As we caught our breath and began to laugh, her 4 year old son still looked confused.  He raised his hand as if he was in school to ask a question.  “Does this mean we are in heaven too?”

It was a rare and beautiful example of both innocence and trust.  Not for one second did it occur to him that his mom was wrong about the cat being dead.  The more logical scenario to this little child was that we all must be in heaven.  I smile just thinking about it.  There are more than a few times I have longed for the ability to trust so completely. 

As an adult we tend to think about trust when making big decisions – at big moments.  Is this used car worth the money?  Do I share this secret?  Do I sign this contract?  Do I say “yes”?  But the reality is that, maybe more than any other psychological factor, trust is a part of our everyday.  It is there in everything at every moment…it is a deciding factor of a life well lived. 

Humans are social creatures so we have always had to discern the intent of everyone else in our group – whatever that group may be.  Not only do we have to decide if others are trustworthy, but we have to decide if we will be as well.  There can be perceived, and even actual, momentary benefits of deceit.  It might help us take control of a situation.

And therein lies the twin of trust – vulnerability.  Trusting someone else means that you are not in control.  The ability to discern who you can trust and who you can’t has been a factor in our ancestors’ survival.  But no matter how hard we try to be in control, we will be faced with the need to trust.  What I learned from this 4 year old child is that innocence can be far more impressive than experience.  That if we are able to be vulnerable, to trust and be worthy of trust in return – we may also, if even for a few minutes, wonder if we are in heaven too.