WAITING FOR BABY

Every night, I lay in my bed wondering if this night is going to be the birthdate of my first grandchild.  I don’t remember anticipating so much during my own pregnancy, but I’m sure I probably did.

I am glad I came as early as I did as it has given me at least 2 weeks to establish kind of a routine and to set up my living space to be as comfortable and organized for me to survive.  

Every day is a surprise for me.  On Mon., Wed., and Fridays, I try to get up at 7 am, do my PT, eat some breakfast (usually a bowl of Cheerios), open the living room curtains, brush my teeth, and organize my gym bag to go to the YMCA for a 9am water fitness class.  After the class, I take my daily shower, come home and have lunch (a protein shake) and then either rest, write, listen to audible books, or work on chores (watering all plants, cleaning the living room, and cleaning the main floor bath are my chores.)  Sometimes other things “come up.”  I have spent a couple of afternoons with one of my housemates who I view as the “pain management” guru.  She has introduced me to acupuncture, cupping, brushing, and massage ball use.  I am trying a number of these for my arthritis pain—trying to stay as open as possible as I learn of new possible treatments.

My pain has actually been less here, but since I am trying so many strategies for pain management, I’m not actually sure what is working best.  The fact that I have been totally off sugar for two weeks is what I believe is helping the most.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I start my morning routine around 9am so I can hit the YMCA for a 10:30 Zumba class.  The afternoons are all basically and pleasantly the same with a call to friends in Michigan interspersed here and there.

In the mornings, the house starts to creak alive around 5 am as some of the housemates head off for work, but then quiets down after 9 and starts coming alive again when people return from work around 5 or 6 pm.  But the kitchen will start talking mid afternoon when whoever is responsible for dinner starts cooking.  The smells drift into the living room and tempt my appetite such that when dinner is announced at 6:30 pm, I am usually the first one at the table which is usually set for 6-9 people but could seat as many as 20.

Dinner is begun with a moment of silence and then followed by the lighting of a candle.  We have different faiths present in the house and all are welcome and honored.

After eating, we all gather in the kitchen to wash dishes, prepare lunches for the next day, dry dishes, clean the stove, sweep the floor, and put food and dried dishes away.  We all work around the 1-year old who is always welcome and most often likes to sit in the center of the chaos.  

Following the cleanup, I like to read with the 1-year old if it is convenient to her schedule for the day.  She is a beautiful child that I will refer to as “G”.  She refers to me as Grandmere Odie and her mother is a daughter in my heart.  So that makes “G” the grandchild of my heart.

I read to “G” books that are intentionally inclusive and beautifully representing the best we have to offer in our world.  Her favorite word is “baby,” which she will whisper in a very serious manner as she grabs my heart with her big black eyes.  Everything about her is beautiful, which only makes sense since her mother is a beautiful, strong woman, making her way in this world the best she can.  Maybe someday, I will have the privilege of telling her story, but for now, I need to honor her with privacy.

When labor begins, the plan is for Sarah and Ali to spend the first part of labor here at the house accompanied by their “doula.”  Their doula will then drive them to the birthing center (40 miles away), and I will meet them there, driving another car with the infant seat.  This is also the moment I will call Michael, who will then start to drive to Baltimore in my car with a few more items that I may need this winter.

At the birthing center, I will “hang out” in the lounge area, checking in periodically with the girls  and to take a few pictures.  Eventually, the baby will come (it was due Oct. 1) and who knows what the schedule will be after that!  

But then each night when I go to bed, I will at least know the birthdate of my first grandchild.

THE COMMUNITY

There has been much curiosity around the community in which I live. Years ago, we called them “communes,” and in today’s world, we call them “communities.” It is living as I have never believed I could.

Basically, in our six-bedroom, three-bathroom house (2 full baths), we have 9 adults and 1 child (soon to be 2) living. There are two couples sharing rooms and then everyone else has their own personal room (one adult shares with her child).

The house runs systematically. Each person is assigned weekly chores (rooms to clean, grocery shopping, bread baking, etc.).  Everyone has assigned cooking nights (mine is Thursday) and everyone is asked to attend at least 3 community dinners per week. We fix our own breakfast and lunch (using anything in the kitchen that is not marked reserved for a meal). We are asked to not buy personal food items to keep in the kitchen as the goal is to have all items available to anyone who wants them. We are encouraged to invite friends over for meals if we would like with the exception of Monday nights. Monday nights are “housemate night” when we have a meeting covering logistics that need to be brought up. We also use Monday night to be accountable for the chores we have done throughout the week and catch everyone up on what is happening in each of our lives. On the last Monday of each month, we have “game night” where we play a group game.  There are reasonable quiet hours, but, the house is old (built in 1911), so if there are people present, it speaks constantly through it’s consistent creaking. There is chestnut wood baseboard throughout the house and beautiful wooden parquet flooring. The living room is graced with and crown molding ceiling design as well as an croqn molding that is approximately 18 inches down on all four walls. The floor to ceiling windows look out to their small covered porch that houses a small picnic table and a porch swing.

My space is in the back part of the living room. The wooden pocket french doors are pulled closed at all times and there are curtains at the other entrance that can be closed when I desire privacy—otherwise it is invited to be a common space. The living room also has a small fireplace topped with a mirror that houses several green houseplants.

The dining room contains a large table, able to seat 9-20 of us if necessary. It also has a fireplace and a large window to the outside as well as built in bookcases that house a variety of books including vegetarian cookbooks and children’s board books. 

The kitchen is at the back of the house and even though it is small, we all manage to fit in there after each dinner—one person washing dishes, 2 people drying, 1-2 people using the leftovers to make lunches for everyone who wants them for the next day, 1 person cleaning the stove, 1-2 people putting dishes away, 1 person taking care of the garbage, 1 person taking care of the compost, 1 person sweeping the kitchen, and all of us working around the 1-year old toddling around trying to help. The work is generally done within 10 minutes after dinner is finished and the kitchen is ready for the next day’s cooking activities. If you cook for breakfast or lunch, you’re responsible for washing your dishes and then placing them in the dishwasher (which is used as a drying rack) and then the dishes are put away when the after dinner work is being completed.

All meals are vegetarian with a legume and dairy free option (to meet the dietary needs of members of the community). If you cook, you plan your meals around what is available in the house although you can request specific things to be bought if you plan your meal ahead.

Two people with full-time jobs own cars to transport themselves to their jobs, two people who work full-time ride bicycles (which hang from the ceiling in the large hallway and are lowered via a pulley-system every morning). There is also one car for community use that has been on loan for over a year. 

The backyard is full of native plants, a beautiful vegetable garden that is watered from the rain water in the rain barrel. It also has a fire pit and yes, even a few rats that show up every now and them (“Mom, just think of them as squirrels with long, skinny tails” my daughter encourages me.) And that is really helpful advice.

There are guidelines for communication and conflict resolutions and statements of support for the neighborhood community. There are also a few “non-negotiables—no televisions in common spaces and no excessive alcohol/drug use to name a few.

It is a positive, happy space. One of the housemates who spends a lot of time trying to manage her own pain with a variety of strategies has reached out to me in such positive ways teaching me and allowing me to try some of these strategies myself for my knee pain.

Since my mobility is so limited, I do not climb up the beautiful wooden three storied staircase or down the flight of steps to the laundry room in the basement. Sarah gathers my laundry once a week to wash with her own and I visit the YMCA daily not only for water exercise to help with mobility and range of motion, but also to take my daily shower. It all works!!!

Quite honestly, to be given this gift of engaging with such a positive, caring community in a healthy way along with the opportunities to make new friends at the YMCA, I honestly feel like I am being given a huge gift. I feel honored to have my daughter to want me here and my very favorite moments are the ones I have been able to share with her.

What more could a mom ask for?

                     THE LIES & LEGENDS OF HARRY CHAPIN

In 1984, Michael and I went to the Apollo Theater in Chicago, Illinois to the musical theatrical presentation of The Lies and Legends of Harry Chapin.

Harry Chapin was an American singer-songwriter, humanitarian, and producer best known for his folk rock and pop rock songs, who achieved worldwide success in the 1970s and became one of the most popular artists and highest paid performers.  He was killed at age 38 in a car accident.  

When we went to the play, I was struck by the beauty of his songs and the meaningfulness of his ballads. A warm feeling came over me as I listened to his music throughout the evening.  It was as if he had an inner communication with the world around him.  It was fresh and it was beautiful.   The experience was like eating from a buffet of unfamiliar foods.  Even though I was a teen ager during the time of his success, Harry Chapin was not a singer that I listened to, but watching this play highlight his life and music made something come alive inside of me that made the world seem like a better place and made colors appear more brilliant and beautiful.  I remember leaving the play that night and walking in the cool summer heat several blocks to our car feeling hope for the future and the highest intention to live my life aware of everything around me.  

I share this experience because this is how I feel living in a community with my daughter, her wife, and six other adults.  This is a concept totally foreign to me in my life and yet, I have been given this gift offering me this opportunity for the first 6-7 months of my grandchild's life.  

The community is made up of a diverse group of adults:  teacher, a youth/children's minister,  a nurse, an artist, a mathmatician, a couple, and a young woman seeking asylum.  Each person has gifts and talents they bring to the house,  caring spirits for each other,  Justice and acceptance for all, caring for the environment, and being the best they can be.  Along with the nine adults, there is a beautiful one year old and my soon-to-be grandchild. 

Living in community--it's kind of like hearing Harry Chapin for the first time.

DETAILING DETAILS

There are many details to deal with when moving to a new environment. I spent my first week amazed at living with people of color surrounding me and feeling very comfortable. I go to the YMCA every morning for water workouts or water zumba and I am overwhelmed at the kindness shown to me by everyone.

I have met several people that I greet when I go and some that I have had extensive conversations with.

John approached me in the water workout class, welcoming me my first day and making sure I knew what the exercises were but encouraging me to work at my own pace. Wayne and I immediately hit it off, teasing each other kindly. Harriet, a retired nurse, talked with me for awhile sharing some of the struggles of her retirement and encouraging me to stay with the water fitness class to help strengthen my body. When she learned I was going to be a grandma for the first time, I swear her excitement may have even exceeded mine. Such good people, so many potential good friends!

Growing up in the 1960’s, I have not always been comfortable with people of color. Memories of riots, rumbles, and even “Christian” teachings that we should not be “unequally yoked” lie deep within me. I used to use that as an excuse for my racism, but as I grew to love others and life itself, I realized we are all the same. We ALL matter...at least that is where I have been until now. The “black lives matter” slogan did not make a lot of sense to me until this past week.

As part of the detail of moving, I had to have my prescriptions changed from the Paw, Paw, MI Walgreens pharmacy to a Baltimore Walgreen’s Pharmacy. I stopped by last week to talk to them in Baltimore with my medications in tow to ask them how to do that. The young lady copied down all of my medication information and said they would take care of it. She later called for the phone number of the Paw Paw Pharmacy which I gave to her. The next day I had a message on my phone that they needed me to call them. I decided instead to stop by on Sunday afternoon to see what I could do to help expediate the process.

“How can I help you?” the pharmacist on duty asked. I noticed her name tag said, “Blessing E.” I told her who I was and asked if my prescription was ready.

“Well,” she said, “we faxed your information to the Pharmacy and they transferred everything, but did not include some information that we need to complete the order. Do you have their number by any chance?”

“I gave it to someone on the phone last week,” I said.

“Well, here let me do this,” and she proceeded to look the number up and call it herself. She waded through all the electronic prompts with the phone on speaker so I could hear what was going on.

“This is Walgreen’s in Baltimore and we need some information for a patient,” she said in her soft black accent. CLICK.

Paw Paw hung up.

“Why did they hang up?” I asked, shocked that she had waited so long to no avail.

“I have no idea” she said as she redialed. I stood there while the same conversation was repeated and once again, CLICK.

“What is going on?” I asked. “We have gone to that Pharmacy for the last two years with no problem, why do they keep doing that?”

“I don’t think they want to talk to me,” she said. She noticed my cane. “Why don’t you go sit down and wait. I will call again.” she said.

“Thank you.” I said, moving toward a seat to relieve my left knee.

Once again she called and in the middle of the conversation said, ‘Please don’t hang up on me again!’

Twenty minutes and three phone calls later Blessing E. finally had all the information she needed.

I turned to my daughter, Sarah, “Why do you think they kept hanging up on her? I am just doing what THEY told me to do when I left Michigan. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Mom,” she said, “that is racism. This is a common experience for people of color.” I was livid. I was embarrassed and appalled that this could even be a possibility. Blessing called me to the counter, treating me with kindness and sensitivity. I gave her my insurance card and asked if they could just let me know when they were ready and I would come back the next day. “Absolutely,” she said, “and I am so sorry about the wait.” I’m sure my face was red with embarrassment. “No, I’M sorry and they will be getting a call from me when I get back to my daughter’s house.”

And then we left. As we drove home, I was hoping so hard that when I called the Paw Paw Pharmacy that they would have a reasonable explanation for their actions. They had served us well for two years, what had happened?

I dialed the number and waded through the very same prompts Blessing E. had to wade through. Finally, a person,

“Walgreens Pharmacy, this is Beth”

“Hi Beth,” I said kindly, “This is Lori Tupper and I need to speak with the Pharmacy Manager.”

“I am the Pharmacy Manager,” she said.

“Well Beth, I was just at my Pharmacy here in Baltimore, MD. I am trying to get my prescriptions transferred out here so I can get the medications I need. I talked to someone in Paw Paw before I came out here and this is what they said I should do, but then I listened as the pharmacist out here called your store twice and was hung up on both times. It sure felt like she was hung up on because she was obviously a black person and I’m really hoping that is not the case.”

“Actually, Lori, I am the one who talked to her and I hung up on her because the first thing she said was that she needed some patient information and we don’t give out patient information.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted her, “you didn’t even ask what information she wanted?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she defended, “We cannot give out any patient information. It wasn’t until the third time that she said she needed to know the name of the pharmacist on duty that transferred the prescriptions.”

“Don’t you think maybe a clarifying question would have been in order instead of just hanging up on her?” I asked.

“Well, we have been very busy and I have had calls from people trying to get personal information to commit insurance fraud and we know this because we know it is a former employee who is doing it. In fact, I even called the patient and told her that her insurance company was asking for information on her. So she called them and they said they had not called.”

It was clear to me that Beth had her “song and dance” story and was convinced she had done nothing wrong.

“Well, let me clarify with you that I AM indeed trying to get my prescriptions changed to Baltimore and I would appreciate it if you would cooperate with them when they call.” I said, tired of listening to her poor excuses.

“Okay,” she said, “I’m really sorry.” I hung up, but what I should have said was, “the person you should be apologizing to has a name. Her name is Blessing E. She is a kind black lady who lives in Baltimore. She is a PHARMACIST who works at the Walgreens Pharmacy and she matters!”

As I processed this experience further, I wish I would have asked Beth, “Is it really EVER appropriate to hang up on someone? As an office manager myself, the only person (?) I ever hung up on was Google or other electronic calls. I wouldn’t dream of hanging up on someone because they asked the wrong question! And wouldn’t you think a big conglomerate like Walgreens would have a method for pharmacists to identify themselves and train their pharmacy managers to be respectful of ALL people no matter what they sound like on the phone? As a white person with many privileges, I have never had to convince others that “White lives matter.” Isn’t it sad that anyone who lives in America has to claim such a slogan? I pray that as I live here in Baltimore, I can build relationships with all sorts of people around me and delight in the rainbow of colors and personalities surrounding me. Thank you, Blessing E. for being exactly what your name says to me as I try to detail my details!