We don't remember days...we remember moments

Yesterday morning riding in the car listening to Kids Place Live on Sirius radio I heard my daughter giggle. When I looked in the rear view mirror she was smiling at me and her beautiful eyes were shining bright. She was happy. Just happy. We happened to be driving along  the Tuckasegee River. The sun was dancing off the water and sparkling all around her like a spot light.

A moment that truly glittered.

Evan is 6 years old. She is smart and funny and pretty. She also happens to have and extra 21st chromosome. She has Down Syndrome.  This means she has beautiful "upside down moon" shaped eyes with sparkling Brushfield's spots. This means she does and learns things a little slower than her peers. This means she works harder at speech than most Opera singers and harder at gross motor skills than most Olympic athletes.

Mostly having a child with Down Syndrome means the moments that glitter punctuate our daily lives with big firework explosion size emotional exclamation points. Really. I'm not romanticizing Down Syndrome. I'm not trying to make myself feel better. Some things are different. Some things are harder.  Those things seem small and silly compared to the light and love Evan brings to our daily lives. Really.

 I wasted a lot of time worried about the unknowns and what ifs of having a child with special needs. I wasted a lot of emotion and tears over how hard her life was going to be.  I didn't know how awesome it was going to be. We celebrate life. We take every chance to dance, high five and beam at ourselves in the mirror.We got here together as a family. Most of the time Evan leading the way and teaching us how to discard the pretense most people spend their lives fretting about.

She was born at 35 weeks after a wonderful and uncomplicated  pregnancy. One of my best friends from childhood was the ultrasound tech in the hospital I worked at. My beautiful fetus and I popped in for a quick look and pictures about every 3-4 weeks. I am a pediatrician. I know what to look for on that ultrasound. I know what to worry about. Trust me Down Syndrome was at the top of my worry list. She didn't have any signs. No worries.

The weekend before she was born I worked a 3 day call weekend. She didn't move much and I went to Labor and Delivery twice to look at her on the fetal monitor. She looked great and I rationalized that I was up and moving around so much she must be snoozing. Monday morning I didn't feel her moving at all. We rushed to our doctor's office and on to the hospital for an emergency C-section.

That day is punctuated with lots of moments that do not glitter. In many ways my darkest day.

The look in Clay's eyes when the obstetrician said  "Do not stop for anything. Go straight to the hospital." The moment he realized what I had known all day. That we were in real trouble. Another dark moment as the ultrasound tech left the room after a fetal stress test of 2/10 (only points for heart beat). She looked back over her shoulder and solemnly told us good luck. A moment alone in the hospital room when I knew beyond the shadow of doubt that I would never get over losing my baby.

In many ways my darkest day.

My twin sister Kimmy was coaching volleyball at the time and was at a high school about 2 hours away. She finally got my message and called me. As she was talking Evan started to move. A moment of hope. A flutter of hope. A flutter of  little tiny movement and then big strong happy baby movement.  I knew then everything was going to be OK. It's better than OK. Life is good. Life is grand. I've got the dancing, high fiving, beaming in the mirror, laughing out loud because you're happy memories to prove it.

A laugh. A smile. Sunlight dancing off the river to shine a light on the light of my life. I just keep thinking of that moment. I just had to tell somebody. I had to tell everybody. I got it good. I got the prize in the Cracker Jack box.

in a quiet soul, in a peaceful mind
treasure does lie
there for the taking
if we take the time
A walk with your Mama
A sister's embrace
the laugh of a dear one
the curve of her face
this time we spend races by
and barely leaves a mark
except on the stories
we tell in our hearts
                 ~Carmen

Mountain Music

I've been listening to one CD for the last few weeks. My sister Regina has been working on some songs that are a mix of gospel and traditional Cherokee. She incorporates chanting with traditional language and music. May I just say that they are awesome! We are a musical family. Singers. Songwriters. Musicians. We come by it honest.

My grandfather Philip Arkansas was a proficient musician. He moved from Ft Duchesne, UT in the 1930s to teach music at the Cherokee School. I never met him but know of his musical prowess from all who did. He could play each instrument he taught and music was as much of his life as the sun in the sky.

His 2 daughters are also famous in these parts for their musical ability. Melba sang like a song bird. My favorite song she sang was "Without a Song". I can still hear her beautiful voice ringing true and clear. I've never heard a better rendition than hers. Her sister Azalea aka "Aunt Ozzi" played the french horn and piano and organ. She played with both the Utah and NC state Orchestras at different times.

A humorous aside here might be the nicknames my family has for each other. Aunt Ozzi's full name is beautiful. Azalea Arkansas Oocumma. There is also John Michael Arkansas aka "Dobbs". Steven Walker Arkansas aka "Stebo". And Max Hawk Saunooke aka "Max Hawkie Bird". As you can see the more phonetically pleasing the name , the sillier the nickname. But that's just us.

My mother's side is musically gifted as well. My Grandmother Yoder played the piano at church for more than 60 years. My mother played the piano and was a prolific song writer with a trunk full of songs. A favorite childhood memory is singing those songs as we barreled down the highway on the way to a ball game or a concert. (Both frequent adventures to be discussed in future blogs!)

Music was a part of my childhood. I had four older teenage siblings in the 70s. I cut my musical teeth on Bruce Springsteen and the Rolling Stones. I can remember the Stones album cover with a cake on the front and the one with a zipper that actually zipped.

So I've been listening to this CD over and over for weeks and cannot get enough of it. I'm looking forward to hearing the finished album. Regina always sang to us. She is 10 years older than I am. Some of my earliest memories are of singing with her. The Morning After, Down in the Valley, Little Bunny Foofoo and Cumbaya. Later I remember Bob Seger and Rod Stewart coming from the radio as she drove us around in her red 1979 Camaro with the wind in our hair and not a care in the world except keeping our hair out of our ice cream cones and the ice cream off the white leather seats.

She was and is the ultimate big sister. She never made us feel silly or bothersome. Ask her high school friends and they'll remember all the little Arkies hanging around. I know I was lucky. I remember a childhood of love, acceptance and feeling appreciated. Maybe luckiest of all to have a childhood filled with song. When I hear her sing I remember all of that. When she sings I know I'm lucky. My childhood has a voice and it is Regina Arkansas Swimmer aka "Sissy".

http://www.lori-h.com/reginaswimmer/

MOUNTAIN MUSIC
by Carmen Arkansas Nations

My Grandaddy came to teach the band
at the Government School on Indian Land
Left his home far away in the West
for that sweet mt music he loved best

Let the sound break forth
like water from stone
with a need to be heard
a desire to be known
Music to many
Gospel to a few
it ain't got to be pretty
but it has to ring true

It's a way of living/It's a way to be.
It's a way of loving that can set you free.
My song is not a secret/It's an open heart
As I take my place/As I sing my part

Let the sound break forth
like water from stone
with a need to be heard
a desire to be known
Music to many
Gospel to a few
it ain't got to be pretty
but it has to ring true

My Dad, Billy Mills and Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou is speaking at an event sponsored by our local hospital system in May. The event is called, "Flourish". After 5 or 6 emails inviting physicians to lead break out sessions at the event, I decided it was something I would like to do. I emailed the appropriate person and told her I would like to lead a session on "Nurturing Your Creativity". I got a prompt reply that they would make final decision about presenters in April. In other words: thanks but no thanks.

I would like to think I'm a good speaker. I've been speaking in public since running for class president in 5th grade. I've been asked to speak at awards banquets and graduation ceremonies. I give almost daily lectures at my house although I'm not sure anyone is actually listening to those.

My father was a gifted speaker. He could captivate an audience of 2 or 20 or 200. He had an extensive vocabulary and loved to tell a good story. I believe all of his children inherited that trait. He was charismatic and engaging. He was dark and handsome and had a mega watt smile that could light up the room.

My father died when I was 14. He and my mother separated when I was 7 or 8. Most of my memories of him are sparce and fleeting. I remember him most with people gathered around. He and my mother owned a restaurant and I remember him talking to customers as they paid their bill or the whole dining room captivated by something he was telling. I remember him speaking at church. His words have left me. His confidence and charisma are what I remember the most. He loved to connect with people. He had friends from all over the world. That is how I remember my dad.

The most inspirational speech I ever heard was given by Billy Mills. Billy Mills won Olympic Gold in 1964 in the 10,000 meter run. The second Native American to win Gold. I heard his speech at an Indian Youth Conference in Tempe, Arizona. He spoke about living clean and proud, about chasing your dream and not giving up on yourself. At the end of his speech he told us all to be ready when our opportunity came. Behind him on a movie screen played the actual footage of him winning his Olympic Gold medal 20 years before. The crowd stood and cheered. Roared really. It was awesome.

I have heard Maya Angelou speak before. As a student at Appalachian State University in the fall of 1990. I was running on campus and passed my best friend Kim Cole and her English class. They were going to convocation and she said I should come too. I did not know who Maya Angelou was. I didn't even know what convocation was. I just wanted to hang out with Kim Cole.

I don't remember the words of Dr. Angelou. I have thought about googling it. I do remember her passion. I remember students standing to cheer at her words of inspiration. On the bleachers in Varsity Gym I saw nerds and athletes, hippies and frat boys, students and professors rise and cheer as one. Looking toward the future and all the good we were going to bring to the world around us.

I am looking forward to Flourish. I'll be an active participant in the audience. I hope to be inspired again. I hope to remember the words that are said. Mention my name when you buy your tickets. I might get in for free. My ongoing lecture series will continue at home.

Here we go Tarheels!

Carolina and Duke faced off this week in one of the greatest sports rivalries of all time. I watched and cheered at home. I am and have always been a Tarheel basketball fan. All of the Arkansas are.

I grew up in a basketball family. My mother was a scoring machine averaging almost 30 points per game in high school. Any one who followed high school sports in Western North Carolina from the late 1970s to the early 1990s probably has an Arkansas story to tell. There were 8 of us and we all played high school basketball.

Regina and her teammates followed soon after Title IX and had the support of the community. I remember standing room only at her games. I am 5 years younger that Martin and by the time he played I was hooked on the sport. I sat on the bleachers beside the cheerleaders and cheered my heart out at ever game. Kimmy, Angie and I played on the same Varsity Girls team for 2 years competing for playing time but loving every minute of it. My younger brother Steve was poetry in motion. A play maker like none other.

One of my first memories is a newspaper reporter and photographer taking photos of my teenage brothers (and basketball stars) Mike and Phil in our living room. I must have been 4 year old. We were living in Juneau, Alaska and moving back to Cherokee, NC. The article ran in the Asheville Citizen Times about 2 phenomenal athletes moving back to Western North Carolina where they were expected to take the high school sports scene by storm. By all accounts they did just that. I can only assume the Juneau article was lamenting the loss.

Some of the greatest moments of my life have been great passes, cuts, shots or steals during a ball game. Player, spectator or fan I love the game. I guess I played 4-5 hours a day for about 20 years of my life. But a few years ago shortly after the birth of my daughter I simply lost interest. Didn't want to play, watch it on TV, or go to the local games. The Tarheels even had a National Championship run during that time.

But this week my mother and then my mother-in-law called to remind me the game was on so I watched, cheered and fell in love with the sport again. Carolina looked good! They did not win the game and Duke fans will tell you it was only close because the Blue Devils had a slow start. But watching that game reminded me what I love so much about basketball.

It is a metaphor for life. At least the life I want to live. It is blood and sweat and tears. It is camaraderie and personal growth. Give your best and expect the best from those around you. Give all you've got to give and then give a little more. Pray. Hustle. Cheer. Play and live and love so that as you close your eyes at night you can be a fan of you. Play and live and love so that you can know in the farthest reaches of your mind and the deepest corners of your heart you could not have done any better.

Here we go Tarheels! Here we go!

For my Mom

 I often remember walking some land with my Mom in the mountains of Western North Carolina. The land was for sale and we were walking to the house site. I think I was 7 or 8.  She spotted a lady's slipper on the forest floor and knelt down to lift some leaves around it so I could behold the treasure she had found.  I do not remember what the lady's slipper looked like. I'm not sure I could point one out to you today.

I do remember the sunlight streaming through the trees and the feel of my hand in hers. I remember her reddish brown hair as I stood above her. I can see her smile as I squatted beside her and turned to look at her face. I remember how it felt to have my mother all to myself and have her share something with me. Just me.
    
Don't get me wrong. I was never neglected or forgotten.  As one of 8 children (and a twin to boot) I rarely had time alone with my Mom. She was my biggest fan and my kindest critic. I thought well into adulthood that I was my mother's favorite and only gave that notion up when I realized she loved each of us enough to make us all feel that way. I wonder if she had asked us all to go and I'm the one that said yes? Did she know that I was the one that would enjoy it the most? I wonder what she would remember about that day?
   
My mother and I have shared many awe-inspiring sights. One of my earliest memories is being wakened in the middle of the night when we lived in Juneau, Alaska to stand in the yard and watch the Northern Lights. She and I have stood together at the base of the Delicate Arch in Moab, Utah, and at Mesa Verde, Colorado. We have stood in silence at countless sunsets over the Great Smoky Mountains here in our own back yard.
    

Yet, I hold a sacred place in my heart for those few stolen moments with my Mom when she knelt on the forest floor to show me a wildflower. That memory comes to me often. When I see something precious or beautiful. When my daughter reaches up to hold my hand. When I think about or talk about or write about moments that glitter, I think of my Mom. I love you Margie.

Open your hearts and your minds ~ Carmen

Moments That Glitter

How many comments akin to, "you should write a blog!" does it take before a 40 year old pediatrician who dabbles in photography and writing thinks "maybe I will..."?
Not many apparently. Ha! I'm kind a like that owl in the old tootsie pop commercials. So here we go!

I think most of the people who said such things were  hoping for comic relief and I'm sure there will be much of that here. True that I survived the rigors and general mental and physical punishment of Medical School at the University of Utah Medical school and that I have been a happy and successful pediatrician in the mountains of North Carolina for the past 9 1/2 years. However, I am and always have been a little quirky, clutsy and goofy. Despite my best intentions most things in my personal life tend to get just a little off kilter.

I'm not one to roll with it or go with the flow. Those attributes describe my twin sister Kimmy perfectly but not me. That brings us to the reason I decided to write things down for others to peruse and to muse. Maybe I'll learn to take myself less seriously? Maybe others will chip in and say things like "hey, me too!" or "you think that's bad, guess what happened to me!". Maybe. 

I hope you all like the title. My next thought about writing a blog was that I wanted to share  little moments that change me and touch me and never leave me. What if we all took the time to notice those moments? What if we all took the time to share them with each other?  The title comes from a song that I wrote.  (It's not bragging if its blogging! Right?)

open your hearts and your minds,
                                                    Carmen


Moments that Glitter by Carmen Arkansas Nations

Who do you think of when your world turns gray?
Where does your mind turn when memories stray?
A friend on the playground so long ago,
she came in the spring time and stayed through the snow.
A father who held on just long enough to say
how much he loved you and then slipped away.

There are moments that glitter in the dullest of lives.
Moments we cling to in this whirlpool of time.
Come dance just a little while my hand in yours.
Come drink of this sunshine, our cup runneth 'or.


Some times ring out they shine bright and clear.
Witnessed by others in triumph and cheer.
That home run, that touch down ,the lead in the play.
The blue sky, the white veil of your wedding day.
Dreams come true and answers come. Your there in the sun.
The feeling is yours to hold as life marches on.

There are moments that glitter in the dullest of lives.
Moments we cling to in this whirlpool of time.
Come dance just a little while my hand in yours.
Come drink of this sunshine, our cup runneth 'or.

In a quiet soul and peaceful mind treasure does lie.
There for the taking if we'll take the time.
A walk with your Mama, a sister's embrace.
The laugh of a dear one, the curve of his face.
This time we spend it passed by and  rarely leaves a mark
except on the stories we tell in our hearts.

There are moments that glitter in the dullest of lives.
Moments we cling to in this whirlpool of time.
Come dance just a little while my hand in yours.
Come drink of this sunshine, our cup runneth 'or