Follow Up on Looking for Alaska and John Green

I've really enjoyed the discussion about John Green's Looking for Alaska and coincidentally it just debuted on the NY Times bestsellers list. I almost didn't finish it because of my interpretation of page 48. Here it is and a little set up: the narrator is new at this boarding school and at his first basketball game with his roommate the Colonel.

I wanted to abandon the book but these posts on Facebook helped me decide to keep reading.

And when I posted the blog there was more discussion both in the blog comments and on Facebook.

So then I set out to connect with Looking for Alaska author John Green. I found his twitter and since it was an active account with tweets by him, I wrote these:

I didn't hear back from him so I followed up with these:

And a while later, he responded! 

So I replied

but I didn't hear anything back. Hm. So what now? If he didn't think the characters were black, is it still racist? Another Facebook discussion ensued which brought me some closure on the whole thing. 

Whew. That was so fun! If you participated, thank you! If you waded through all of that, thank you too! If you care to weigh in on the topic, comment away...

Looking for Alaska, and finding my brain!

It's been a while since my last post mostly because I'm not sure what to blog about these days. So much of my life is caught up in being a new mother, and there are so many brilliant mommy blogs out there, I'm not sure my little tidbits are necessary to the conversation. So, for now, I'll keep my mommy-musings minimal although they may warrant a blog post every so often.

That's why I was so excited when I picked up Looking for Alaska, a YA novel by John Green, and I read twenty pages! In one sitting! My post-partum brain, it still worked. And then I read another 20, but then I came across a paragraph on page 48 and I stopped. The narrator had been a pretty stand-up kid, trying to find himself like most high school kids, but this one paragraph made me stop. So, I posted this question in Twitter and Facebook: "The narrator of Looking for Alaska, a YA book I'm reading, just revealed he's racist although he would deny it. Do I keep reading?"

I loved the conversation which followed and I decided to finish the book because I had been enjoying it, until that paragraph. I hoped at some point the narrator might revisit his misguided thoughts, but as I suspected, that paragraph, that racist paragraph, just sat there, and I chalked it up to character development. I mean, I guess it shouldn't surprise me that a white, middle class kid from Florida would exhibit racism. So I read, and I enjoyed this kid's quest for the Great Perhaps and how he seeks to escape the labyrinth of suffering. But after finishing the book, when I look back at that one paragraph, I think the author was revealing his racism.

I also wasn't sure why it bothered me so much. Why did this paragraph make me want to abandon a book I'd been previously enjoying? I've forgiven poorly written paragraphs, misogynistic paragraphs, wasted paragraphs that should have just been deleted, so why did this racist graph bug me so much? Well, I think, in part, because it is an extremely familiar form of racism, the kind I encountered too often growing up in Bend. Someone I really liked, a friend, a classmate, would say something racist and I'd have to decide how to handle it. Should I call them on their racist comment or say nothing and remember, oh, so-and-so is racist and begin to silently hate them? I usually called people on things which didn't garner many popularity points, but now, twenty years after leaving Bend and a couple of weeks after my high school reunion, I've forgiven and forgotten racist comments my former classmates might have made (although I've been known to hide racist "friends" on Facebook). And as for John Green, I'll be writing him to ask why he chose to include this paragraph in Looking for Alaska. 

"Unfortunately for the Culver Creek Nothings, we weren't playing the deaf-and-blind school. We were playing some Christian school from downtown Birmingham, a team stocked with huge, gargantuan apemen with thick beards and a strong distaste for turning the other cheek" (48). 

But mostly, I'm celebrating the return of my brain.

Kiara's Birth Story Part III

This is the last part of Kiara's birth story. It's a little painful so don't feel like you have to read it.

Here are links to Part I and Part II in case you missed them.

Part III

They rolled me into surgery and I told myself it would be okay. The room was bright and filled with people. I moved from the bed to the table. They were surprised I could still move so much. Yeah, the epidural had worn off.

They laid me out like I was on a cross, drew up a blue curtain, and prepped me for surgery. The anesthesiologists added an additional dose of pain meds. Cold numbness returned. I stared at the bright white ceiling and thought of my baby girl. She would be here soon. I would finally meet her. An anesthesiologist pricked me with a pin to help determine if I was numb enough. I guess I was numb enough. David came in and they started.

I felt the tugging of my body against knife. I tried not to think about my body flayed open, and waited as David held my shoulder. I could both feel and not feel what was happening and then there was a cry and. She was here. I turned to my left where a nurse held a bloody, screaming baby. “She’s beautiful,” David said, but I wasn’t sure.

Then the baby was gone, but the pain was there, a growing, burning ache. David went to cut the cord and be with our baby.

One of the anesthesiologists told me congratulations. I nodded. I just wanted it to be over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and I shook my head. I had no words for the pain I was feeling. The doctor was hard at work. It felt like he was vacuuming my insides. I couldn’t breathe, and then I asked, “How much pain am I supposed to be feeling?” The anesthesiologist paused for a moment. “What do you feel?” I described the tugging and pulling going on below my abdomen and the room went quiet. “We’ll give you another dose.”

David was with the baby. The doctor worked in silence. My body turned cold. I couldn’t stop my arms from shaking. The baby wailed. The pain persisted and the tears came. The burning pulling and tugging of my body against the doctor’s strokes was too much. “We’re almost done,” he said.

David was there with our crying little girl and an eternity later, they finished. Weeks later, David told me he thought was going to lose me on the table, but I never thought I would die. I just lay there, quivering, until someone crossed my arms on my chest. That’s when I started to breathe again. I stopped shivering and they rolled me into recovery. I held my gorgeous newborn daughter to my chest. She was here, crying but healthy. We were okay. 

Kiara Harper Nakada-Gantt April 1, 2012 12:34 am 7 lbs. 8 oz.

Kiara's Birth Story Part II

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Part II

By 5:00 am Saturday morning, I was exhausted. I’d been awake for almost 24 hours, laboring for about six. The nurse was optimistic. She said I was reacting well to the Pitocin. We would surely have the baby before April 1. She went off duty at 7:00 am when I was about 5 cm dilated. She was our good luck charm. When she left, things went downhill.

I asked for pain meds which they gave through an IV. Those meds sucked me into a fitful sleep. I couldn’t keep my head up, but I could still feel the tug and pull of contractions through the soupy fog of a darkened room where nurses and doctors came and went. They asked me questions, but my responses were sluggish and confused. I eventually asked for the epidural. I suppose this was my surrender. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. It was so much work.

There were a couple of C-sections happening, so the anesthesiologists couldn’t get to me for a while. When she did, she reminded me of one of my students. I was still under the influence of the first pain meds. I tried to play it straight, like the meds weren’t making me completely loopy. I was a drunk trying to fake sobriety. I wasn’t convincing, but I followed her instructions, at least I think I did.

The epidural froze me to my bed. I couldn’t move. My body was asleep but I was wide-awake. I couldn’t stop shivering. My body tensed, fighting the drugs that urged my muscles to relax. Finally, someone pulled a blanket over me. I warmed up. I fell asleep. I was still only 5 cm dilated.

The doctor decided to break my water. She pulled out what looked like a long chopstick. I think it was then she mentioned that in a couple hours, if I still hadn’t progressed, we would need to go C-section. I heard her, but I was still telling my body to open, urging the baby to drop, to let me push her out.

I didn’t progress. It was almost April first, a day for fools. The doctor said they’d prep me for surgery. The baby would be here before midnight. Through exhaustion and the epidural, I struggled to accept that there would be no pushing, no vaginal delivery.

My family arrived from Portland. As I’d struggled through 24 hours of labor, they survived a harrowing flight and arrived in LA before the baby. Through weary tears I told them we were having a C-section. They told me it would be okay.

The epidural started to wear off. The pain of contractions seeped back in. I told the nurses, but they were busy prepping me for surgery. They replaced the meds, but the pain persisted and then they had to unhook my IV to transport me.

As they rolled me to surgery I told them, “I’m not numb. I can feel the contractions. I need you to know I’m not numb.”

They told me not to worry. The anesthesiologists would make sure it was all right.

Click here for part III

Kiara's Birth Story Part I

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So, here's a first glimpse into how Kiara Harper came into our lives... The images are courtesy of David. You can check out more of his pictures on his photo blog. 

She waited like we asked. I’d been counting the days to spring break, checking items off my lengthy to-do list and on the last day of school before spring break, four days before my due date, I shed my mucus plug in a filthy faculty restroom. I looked in the bowl at the cloudy mess and thought, well, maybe she is on her way early. Good. We are ready. 

We thought we were ready. 

I thought I was ready. 

Apparently, when they say you’re never ready, they speak truth.

I didn’t know what contractions felt like. Sure, there was “tightening” around my abdomen, but I expected pain. I experienced a little cramping, but less painful than the first day of my period. I had contractions, but walked through them, breathed right through them. On Friday night, three days before my due date, something felt different. I stood and walked restlessly. The tightening started happening more frequently, and then there was a trickle. A dirty brown liquid trickle. It was no gush, but it was enough for us to call the hospital. It was enough for the nurse at labor and delivery to tell us to come in.

In the car we started timing the tightening sensations. They happened about every three minutes. That seemed too fast, but I was unconvinced this was labor. Where was the pain?

We parked the car and walked to labor and delivery. A nurse hooked me up to monitors and told me I'd just had a contraction. David watched the monitor and told me contractions were coming every two to three minutes. The nurse slid a bedpan under my hips so the doctor could see how far I’d dilated. A woman in another room screamed through a contraction.

“Only two centimeters,” the doctor said, “And a lot of bloody show so I can’t tell if the water’s broken.”

She took a look with the ultrasound. My fluid levels were low. She admitted me. This was game time. This was actually going to happen. 

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It was a full house that Friday night at Kaiser’s Labor and Delivery. We settled into the last room. An IV was inserted, and I was still able to walk around and keep breathing through the pain. I knew if I kept moving it would help things along. David and I walked around the quiet halls. Time took on new meaning. It was about 2:00 am when we settled in to try to get some sleep.

It’s impossible to sleep through contractions coming every two to three minutes.

I kept breathing, focusing, checking the monitors to see how close together the contractions were coming. They started me on Pitocin to try to move things along. I should have known then, things were not likely to go the way I imagined.

 
Click here for Part II

A Life in Revision...

As this past March came to a close, I knew life would be changing with baby on the way and Overdue Apologies finished. I decided to take advantage of an opportunity to workshop my writing with Lidia Yuknavitch (whose memoir I wrote about in January) even though I would be overwhelmed by life with a newborn.

Kiara came into our lives before I could submit work, but in the past two weeks I've had the chance to send her work and in an email exchange she said of childbirth, "what a revision it is of all the chapters of your life."

In that one line, Lidia captured precisely how I'd been feeling since the moment Kiara arrived. She changed everything. I'm not sure who I am as a writer, or a woman, a teacher, a mother, a wife, a daughter, or sister. Everything has a new context. All is subject to revision.

I don't even know who I am as a blogger! Is this a mommy-blog, a craft-blog, a baby-blog? I don't know anymore, and although I've been writing Kiara's birth story, I'm not sure it belongs here. And with David starting his own Daddy blog, I'm not sure how much of my baby-girl I'll be posting, but she has arrived, and she has changed everything. We'll see if I figure any of this out come next blog post.

Preparing to Give Birth

It isn't the best idea to try to give birth to a book and a baby at the same time. Unfortunately, I'm past the point of no return.

The book is finally done. I was too long in the works to abandon, and since I can't imagine having the time or energy to get back to it until our little girl is, I don’t know, a teenager or something, I made myself get that book done. It's a middle school memoir. It's taken over six years: endless cups of coffee, hours of painful reminiscing, more hours at coffee shops, and dozens of reads by an amazing group of friends and family. With all of that work and much help, it's finally here.

The baby has been growing for nine months. The whole getting pregnant process, well, that took much longer, four years, five if you count recovering from the miscarriage. At first there was grief, then there was the excitement of trying followed by mild disappointment each month. There were tests, and more tests, and more trying on our own followed by growing frustration. We eventually sought out help again. This time, with hormone shots and a long straw filled with cleaned semen, we finally got that positive test. Now we are days, maybe hours from her arrival and ready or not, she's on her way.

The book is here.

The baby is almost here.

Thanks for waiting with me. 

I couldn't have done either without help.

You should read this book. Then again, maybe not.

It's ready! Overdue Apologies is now available @ Amazon and, well, I think you should read it. Then again, it's a middle school memoir and I do some things in this book I'm not so proud of. I wasn't the nicest middle schooler.

If you grew up in Bend, or were in middle school or junior high in the 80s, this will definitely take you back. I know, middle school might have been pretty awful. Maybe not the whole thing, but I bet everyone had their share of awkward adolescent moments. You might be scared to revisit that time, but don't be scared. You should read it. Everyone's reading it, so you should too. 

If you are raising a middle schooler, you'll recognize this world. It might make you think twice about letting your teenage daughter go to the movies this weekend, or force you to sit down and have that sex talk you've been putting off.

If you teach middle school, you might want to wait until summer. You live this book everyday, but this will remind you what your students are really thinking about in class (it's not US History or Algebra).

And finally, if you are a middle school student of mine, you should NOT read this book until you graduate and I'm no longer your teacher. Seriously. I will not discuss this book to you if you go to Emerson.

But other than that, yeah, you should totally go get this book.

"Everyday it's a gettin' closer, goin' faster than a roller coaster..." Buddy Holly

After many months of planning, I get to check a couple of big items off the to-do list. The final edits Overdue Apologies are in and in a matter of days the book will be available for purchase. And the nursery is ready. I didn't think we'd be the kind of parents to put together a room for the baby like this, but we did. Now we wait, for the book and the baby. Here's a peek at the nursery and an excerpt from the book.
 

 

The End and Beginning 

On the last day of summer Mom and Dad plan what Chet needs for college. Laura has a boot on her foot and hopes that in a few months the stress fracture in her foot will heal for basketball season. School starts tomorrow and although Mitch and I will both be at Pilot Butte, we'll do what we usually do: ignore one another.

 
I shut my bedroom door to everything going on in the house on Jones Road: Chet packing, Laura clomping up and down the stairs; Mitch brewing a quiet hatred of me. I slide the Stand By Me tape in my boom box and Buddy Holly sings, "Everyday it's a gettin' closer, goin' faster than a roller coaster, love like yours will surely come my way."

 
Earlier, at Jamie's house, we decided on our outfits for the first day. We have to look accidentally perfect; like we stumbled upon these clothes and don't care all that much about what we wear on the first day of school.

"Everyday seems a little longer, every way loves a little stronger, come what may, do you ever long for true love from me?" 

I hum as I lay clothes out on my dresser and pack the canvas bag I'll be using this school year. My new notebook is stocked with notebook paper, dividers, new pens, and pencils. I slide into bed but can't fall asleep. I push the window open and look into the clear, cool night. The light in Robin's bedroom across the street glows in the darkness. I wonder what she's wearing for the first day. We haven't talked about it, but I know in the morning Robin and I will meet on Jones Road. We will turn our backs on our families and walk to school. We'll check out one another's outfits and hair. I'll make sure Robin looks okay and she'll make sure I do too. We'll discuss new schedules and possibilities for the school year. Seventh grade will start just like sixth grade ended: Robin and I walking to and from school together. 

Overdue Apologies: Eighth Grade Mix Tape

Ah, it's finally here! The eighth grade mix tape! We're the kings of the school! Awesome! And this is the mix tape for the 1987-1988 school year at Pilot Butte Junior High. Go Giants!







Scene: I decided to start the morning announcements like Robin Williams from Good Morning Vietnam. Might not have been such a great idea.



Scene: A night at the movie theatre to see La Bamba.



Scene: A little Faith is all I need to take me back to eighth grade.

Scene: Most requested for truth or dare prank calls.



Scene: Perfect slow-dance song. 



Scene: Post-break-up it was all about George Michael's "One More Try."



Scene: After a brutal game of truth or dare, we listened to the Less Than Zero Soundtrack.



Scene: Toward the end, I contemplate loneliness with INXS...



My turn as DJ ends here. Hope you enjoy listening while reading Overdue Apologies.