Facebook Depression? Facebook Repression for My Daughter

“Have you seen Jordan’s Facebook page recently?” my mother-in-law asked over the weekend.

“Not in the last day or so,” I responded, knowing it was probably one day too long based on Bonnie’s question.

I grabbed my laptop and logged onto Jordan’s account, and immediately found the post of interest: “I think my mom hates me. She always takes my $ and won’t give it back, even my charity $. I don’t know what 2 do. I’m so sad.”

Count to ten, count to twenty, feeling my eyebrows inching closer to each other with every throb in my head and beat of my heart. Breathe in, breathe out, fill my lungs and expel with an accompanying “Jordan, get the hell in here right now!”

Jordan came bounding into the room, all happiness and sunshine, until she saw the lovely expression on my face. “What did I do?” she asked, slightly annoyed.

Bad attitude to start with, I thought. “Well, apparently you have done nothing, but I have robbed you of all your money and I won’t give it back. Does that about sum it up for you?”

“It’s true, Mom! You always take my money and never give it back!” she screeched, going from a one to an eleven.

“First of all, we use your money on the mornings when you notify me at 7:10 that you need lunch money as we’re walking out the door. I don’t carry cash and at 7:10 you’re barely ready to leave, let alone to add a pit stop at the ATM and make it to school on time. So, yes, Jordan, we use your money for your lunch and inability to plan ahead.”

“I was really upset, Mom, you keep taking all my money and you’ve been so busy you don’t have time to talk to me anymore. I needed to talk to someone about it, so I posted it to get advice!” The full-court drama press was on.

“Jordan, give me a break,” Jim interrupted. “Mom was too busy? Your mom who is working from home EVERY day? You needed to talk to someone about it, so instead of talking to mom, you chose to post it on Facebook instead? Spare me.”

Jordan tried to crank the drama to Broadway opening night level, repeating the same argument over and over, just getting louder and louder. Neither Jim or I were taking the bait.

“Hand me my laptop, Jordan, and go to your room until further notice,” I instructed. I logged on to her Facebook page and posted the following: “I will not be on Facebook during Spring Break because my mom and dad grounded me for posting my problems instead of just talking to them first. I might get my account back if I learn to be more responsible.”

Jordan is still in Facebook jail, and as her trips to the mall have been curtailed, her embezzling mom has yet to return her cash. Funny enough, she has not had access to her account for more than six days and she has yet to ask about it (although it is Spring Break and all her Facebook friends are actually interacting face-to-face).

There have been a few other incidents where Jordan has crossed the line between private and public matters, and as message postings are instantaneous, even the vigilant viewing of our daughter’s account every twenty-four hours makes damage control near impossible, and simply not worth the risk.

There is quite a good chance that while Jordan will be allowed to play games on Facebook, she will no longer be allowed to visit with others. Her dinosaur and unhip parents will instead only allow for those old-fashioned standbys, email and phone calls. How dorky, right?

Our Next Generation and Cancer Awareness

On a recent trip to the mall, my son turned to me and asked, “Mom, does walking cure cancer?”

I sat for a moment to figure-out where that question came from, although Jamie can come at me from left field at any given moment, constantly keeping me on my toes. In the silence between us, a commercial for the Susan G. Komen breast cancer walk played in the background.

“Oh! No, Jamie, walking doesn’t cure cancer. This is a walk that people join to help raise money for cancer research. The researchers then have the money to keep working on trying to cure cancer once and for all.”

He thought about it for a second, then said, “So we’re just all going to end up getting it until the researchers cure it?”

“No, honey, not everyone gets cancer, but it is going to be a great day when the researchers do cure it forever,” I explained.

“Almost everyone we know gets it,” Jamie insisted. “Even people in my friends’ families. Even kids at school.”

I started to disagree, but realized he was correct. Sadly, like almost every other family in America, cancer has affected close and distant family members, friends and co-workers. Happily, however, these same people have battled valiantly, and thanks to early detection, enormous strides in medical treatment, naturopath and holistic therapies, the majority of them are still with us today, happy, healthy and cancer-free.

I was struck by how different a cancer diagnosis was thirty-odd years ago when I was Jamie’s age. Cancer was discussed amongst the adults in hushed tones and essentially was a death sentence. The radiation and chemo treatments were brutal, and the end of the patient’s life was not a matter of if, but when.

Flash forward to today, when improved recovery rates, patient success stories and the bombardment of cancer public service announcements have brought cancer to the forefront of our public consciousness; we as individuals no longer keep a cancer diagnosis a secret. Support groups for patients and their family members are readily available from the moment a diagnosis is made.

Cancer treatment centers and hospital-based treatment programs coupled with the “Happy Birthday” public service campaign from the American Cancer Society fill cable and radio airwaves in mind-boggling levels. Any time one of the commercials play, my mother-in-law changes the channel or walks away from the television. “I just can’t take one more cancer commercial” (she lost her sister close to 25 years ago to breast cancer, and the pain today is still too much to bear).

From my son’s point of view, based on our family’s experience, cancer is a curable disease that many people have, get very sick, but then get better; messages reinforced by the ACS public service announcements promoting bringing families more birthdays, and cancer treatment centers promoting better treatments and survival odds.

Is it possible that these overtly positive messages about cancer and the various available treatments are sending a confusing mixed message to the next generation of adults who will still face one of the most frightening diseases of our time? This disease still does not have a cure, sadly cancer takes many people from their families on a daily basis, yet many young adults view cancer as my son does: You get it, you get treatment, you get better (a prime example suggested to me was teens who continue to use tanning booths and bake in the sun without sunscreen because skin cancer really isn’t a ‘bad’ cancer).

I fear our next generation may become desensitized to the disease. Will it become more difficult for two of the largest fundraisers for breast cancer research, “Avon’s Walk for Breast Cancer” and “The Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure”, to raise money for cancer research? Are the positive cancer treatment messages necessary to buoy the spirits of patients minimizing the messages of the medical community that cancer is still a deadly disease that requires early detection and intervention for successful treatment in the long run?  

I’m not remotely saying that tweens and teens do not care about those patients and their families who are coping with cancer on any level: But I do fear many young adults are reaching a saturation level and beginning to tune-out important messages from cancer-related organizations.

The American Cancer Society’s public presence is necessary now more than ever, yet it will somehow need to address a timely and pressing concern: How much information is too much when it comes to cancer awareness, and when do the messages begin to fall on deaf ears? How can a cancer discussion, when timely and age appropriate, be frank and honest, yet not lean too far toward the positive or focus purely on the gloom and doom?

As Jamie continues to ask questions, I will continue to answer in honest and age-appropriate ways, reminding myself to strive for balance. 

An Attitude of Gratitude

This past week, I had the honor of participating in our school district’s annual “CAPE Recognition and Reception Awards Ceremony”. As the fourth-largest school district in the state of Illinois, with a total of thirty pre-school, elementary, middle school and high schools, Plainfield Community Consolidated School District 202’s CAPE organization honors parents, teachers and support staff in recognition to their contributions to our students, schools and community.

Comprised of a parent representative from each school, CAPE (Coordination of Administration and Parent Groups for Educational Efficiency) meets monthly, and provides an opportunity for an open exchange of information and ideas among the various parent groups, administrators, board of education and community liaisons.

In a two-hour presentation, our thirty schools honored more than 180 individuals for their hard work and dedication demonstrated in either their volunteer efforts, their commendable teaching styles which engage students across a wide range of subjects, or a combination of both.

In a near standing-room only high school auditorium, winners’ spouses, children, neighbors, past and present co-workers, board of education members and district administrators sat side by side to applaud their efforts as each school’s winners took the stage, with glowing comments of gratitude delivered by the school’s principals. Standing before their own names in the PowerPoint presentation projected behind them, they accepted the kind words with grace and some embarrassment, as well as flowers, small tokens, plaques or certificates.

Dedicated school volunteers are hard to find, and harder to retain. My parents remember in grammar school it was always the same handful of moms who were busy preparing the school newsletter, making purple-ink “dittos” (I’m dating myself, I know), running games at the fun fair and prepping for endless bake sales. My dad at some points worked second shift, so he was able to help as one of the few ‘volunteer dads’, an anomaly thirty-plus years ago.

Parents (and grandparents and aunts and uncles, too): If you haven’t had or taken the opportunity to volunteer at your child’s or even a neighborhood school, you have no idea how much your help is needed and would be appreciated. Whether you can commit to once a week, once a month or once a year, every hour helps.

Can’t make it into school? Many of us can’t during school hours. Explain your situation and ask your school’s PTA, PTO or PTSO President how you can help out. Many activities take place after-school, on Friday evenings, and even on weekends – one or two activities a school year may be more possible than you once thought.

And remember, the next time you see that very familiar face of a parent volunteer at school, at an after-school event, or you know the name of your children’s room mom or dad, take a moment to say thank you. This very special handful of moms, dads and teachers dedicate their time to make your children’s school lives brighter and better, do so selflessly and ask for nothing in return.

And to all the wonderful parent volunteers in Plainfield District 202, from all those recognized earlier this week to all the other (yet) unsung heroes, thank you for everything you do when you put the children first. 

Preparing Children for Recovery

Jim and I thought we had all the bases covered with the kids regarding his knee replacement surgery: We talked about the operation itself, the doctor and the nurses, how long he would be in the hospital, and how this operation would help Jim feel better. What we failed to do was describe what ‘better’ would look like.

Jim’s three-day, two-night stay was anything but restful. Morning rounds with the orthopedic surgeon and his team kicked-off at around 6:00 a.m., followed by Jim’s pain management specialist, and then an ongoing stream throughout the day and evening of nurses, physical therapists, medical social workers, home health aides, case managers, an RN supervisor and finally an occupational therapist.

Physical therapy started the day of surgery, with two therapists helping Jim walk from his bed to an oversized chair twelve hours after arriving in his hospital room. With a nerve block in place and a personally-controlled pain pump in hand, Jim had tubes and wires everywhere: Oxygen tubes were clipped to his nose, compression balloons were strapped to his legs to prevent blood clots, one contraption pumped ice water to the incision site, another mechanical contraption automatically flexed and straightened his leg with or without his permission, and his intravenous pump kept necessary fluids and pain medication flowing at a constant stream. Medicated and sleep deprived, Jim looked like hell.

As his days were busy and by evening Jim was tired, we decided to keep Jordan and Jamie away from the hospital. He spoke with them on the phone constantly, assuring them he was doing well and getting better, but he needed his evenings to sleep. Once Jim was able to walk up and down stairs with the assistance of the physical therapist, he would be discharged from the hospital. Each day I came home from the hospital, I shared how well Jim was doing and that he would be home before the weekend.

We forgot the perception difference between adults and children: Jim left the house in high spirits, excited to have the surgery behind him, clean-shaven and walking with a cane; he returned hunched over a walker, moving like a turtle, motivating the staircase with baby steps, wearing compression stockings and a scruffy stubble on his face. Jim did not look ‘better’ by any stretch of the imagination to Jordan and Jamie, he looked worse.

“Dad walks like an old man,” Jordan worried. “He can’t drive himself around, and now he can barely walk at all. His knee still hurts, but you said he was better.”

Jim and I were so focused on keeping Jordan and Jamie calm about Jim’s surgery and safety during the hospital stay, we forgot to share how long recuperation and physical therapy would take to bring Jim’s knee back to normal, back to better.

Jim’s surgery is one week and one day behind him: Five physical therapy sessions at home have left Jim tired and sore, but take place when the kids are at school. The family is beginning to fall back into its normal routine, with homework and play dates and crazy dinner hours to accommodate everyone’s schedules.

Jordan and Jamie are adjusting to Jim’s recovery, and have even taken to teasing him about his white pantyhose and bed head hair. Slowly but surely, our family is healing, and is getting better.