Oxroasts, German Clubs and “Why haven’t you had any more children?”

I’m in New York visiting my parents.

I make this trek every year, and most years, twice a year. My Dad doesn’t get a lot of vacation time with his job, (he is a car salesman,) so, we visit my parents, rather than having them fly out to California to visit us.

Usually, in the summer, my Mom picks a weekend, and all my brothers descend upon the family homestead.

This past weekend, my parents’ German-American Club was holding their annual “Ox Roast.” Yup, big summer tradition. If you hail from Pennsylvania-Dutch country, you are family with this tradition as well. (By the way, Pennsylvania Dutch is a misnomer. It should be Pennsylvania “Deutsch.” Those folks are my peeps, and are not actually Dutch. The mistake comes from Americans, years ago, being unable to pronounce “Deutsch.”)

In years past, the club did actually roast the a giant critter on a spit, rotating him slowly, and making some delicious platters of sandwiches and such out of ‘em. But, we invite the whole community to this festival, and some folks balked at the site of this huge creature turning round and round, with pieces of him getting sliced off and served to them for dinner.

A pity. It was absolutely delicious. But, I guess you’d have to have been raised in a German household to appreciate such things. I also eat such German favorites as “steak tar tar,” (which is not steak), and German “head cheese,” (which is not cheese, and as far as I know, does not have anything to do with the head.)

This year, to cater to the delicate appetites of those visiting from the community, who could not handle the site of the twirling animal on the spit, the club simply served very high quality roast beef, available in dinners, or sandwiches. They also served roast chicken, bratwurst, knockwurst, German hot dogs, (far superior to the American mysterious meat hot dogs), and potato pancakes, served with applesauce. And, of course, plenty of good German beer.

It was quite funny to see the signs for the festival, all over town. Some of the signs said: “Ox Roast.” Some said: “Summer Fest.” And, one member wanted to call it: “German Fest,” (which I thought was the best name.)

The members of the club are all volunteers, since the purpose of the club is simply to promote and preserve German heritage. The members are all folks like my Mom, folks who emigrated over here after World War II, when there were absolutely no jobs in a country that was absolutely decimated. My Mom left home at like age 15 or something, She was just a child during the era of Hitler, and her four-year old brother died as a result of an Allied bombing raid.

The members of this club are a very spirited group, and when they get into a debate over something, (like whether to rename the “Ox Roast” now that they are no longer roasting an Ox), well, these debates can be very, er, well... spirited. I think we’ll just leave it at that. But, the club house is beautiful, since there are a number of talented engineers and builders at the club, and many, many faithful dedicated volunteers. When I lived in New York, I put in many volunteer hours at the club myself, helping out in any way I could. I’ve washed dishes, hung up coats in the coat room during meetings and festival nights in the winter, acted as a cashier on the food line during the festivals, cleaned up garbage after the festivals, set up tables and chairs, taken down the tables and chairs again, swept the floors, etc. I think I started helping out at the club when I was 15, and now I’m 39.

A lot of the members have sort of a soft spot for me, (they are very kind to me), because I always helped out, and I was not even officially a member of the club. Since I was taking German in high school, I enjoyed being around native German speakers, overhearing their conversations. Plus, the town I grew up in was pretty dull back then, and I always had a pretty good time helping out at the club. (The town has since grown a bit.)

I couldn’t help out this weekend, even though I really wanted to. My Mom was working collecting admission money at the gate, and my Dad was directing parking in the grassy field beside the club house. I wanted to take over either Mom or Dad’s duties so that they could sit down and spend time with my brothers and their grandchildren. Mom hadn’t slept well at all for the past two nights and she was exhausted. Mom often doesn’t sleep well. She doesn’t know why. She just says: “I am not a good sleeper.” Dad was bit by a deer ticker, and was diagnosed last week with Lyme’s disease. The temperature was over 90 degrees and humid on Saturday. I also wished I could take my Dad’s place in the hot sun in the parking lot, so Dad could sit and rest, and be with his kids and grandkids. I was worried standing in the hot sun would be too much for him.

But, I couldn’t. I now had a child, and a busy parking lot was no place for a child. I was also watching one of my brothers’ kids for a few hours, so I had an extra two children under my care. I couldn’t care for my parents because I had three little ones to feed, soothe and entertain.

The one who needed the most soothing was my son Alex. The German band providing the entertainment was LOUD. Too loud. Ear-splitting loud. Alex was holding his hands over his ears, and I can’t say I blame him. On the second day of the festival, we took chairs out of the big tent, and simply sat by the bounce house, eating our meal there.

I am sure the volume of the music will be a big topic of debate at the next Club meeting. (Apparently, the volume was intentional, by order of one of the members who felt that the music was “too soft” at previous festivals. I’ll bet that will be a long and LOUD meeting...)

Anyway, the ear-splittingly loud music gave Alex one heck of a big headache. He was miserable.

I took him over to the bounce house many times, and he was happy there. So, I didn’t get to spend much time with my brothers, who were sitting in the tent, eating their meal, drinking some good German beer, and enjoying the music. Or, at least, I think they were enjoying the music. It was hard to tell if anyone was actually enjoying the music because it was just so loud.

I gave Alex two baby Tylenol and one children’s chewable Motrin. Claudia, at Dr. St. Amand’s office, had told me this is the most effective combo for kids to combat pain. More potent that Tylenol alone. Alex is still only slightly above 40 pounds, so I have to be careful about the Tylenol dosages. Hence, I use the baby Tylenol when combining with Motrin, as it easier to calculate out dosages.

We still left the Fest pretty early. By 8 PM, Alex was saying: “Mom, can we GO?”

His head was really hurting. Poor kid. He is showing all the signs of migraine headaches. His headaches are a different pattern from mine, because he is sensitive to both light AND sound, (photosensitive AND phonosensitive.) I am only sensitive to sound. Even when I hurt, I can still be in bright light. On bright days, I do wear sunglasses for driving, and prefer a baseball cap, or floppy white surfer hat, (the kind you actually wear surfing, (surfing instructors tend to wear these so their students can spot them in the water, “look for the white, floppy hat.”)

But, folks migraineurs who are both photosensitive and phonosensitive are the one who usually have to lock themselves in a dark room until their migraine goes away.

I’ve never had to do that. If I did, I would have spent most of the past 21 years in a dark room, instead of living my life. I get daily chronic headaches, (DCH), yeah, they are actually classified as a real type of headache, and yes, they are considered migraines.

For the record, for years, I didn’t think I had migraines. I just thought they were “stress headaches,” and I refused to take any type of migraine medications. It was only after my diagnosis of fibromyalgia, when I found out Dr. St. Amand has migraines, and they are, in fact, a by-product of the disease, that I took a more serious look at migraines. Once I did, I did have to admit that my headaches did indeed follow the pattern of DCHs and were more than just “stress headaches.” After all, the most stressful thing about my life are these darned headaches.

My brothers, and their brood of children, decided to leave at 8 PM, too. I felt bad that my parents still had to work. Again, I wanted to work in one of their places, so they could go home and rest. But, I was still on parenting duty myself, so I could not take care of my parents. Talk about a tug of war.

I hadn’t eaten at all during the festival, because: 1) I was too busy chasing after the kids, 2) trying to soothe Alex and his headache, 3) I don’t have a rental car here, and haven’t been able to hit an ATM. I was down to my last $20 and I used it to buy food for my son and my brothers’ kids.

One of my brothers’, Chris, the second to oldest, offered to barbeque up some chicken. As it turned out, without my saying a thing, there were a bunch of folks in our pack that were hungry. With our whole brood assembled, we numbered over a dozen people. Counting my brothers, their kids’, (Alex’s cousins), my brothers’ girlfriends (my three brothers’ are all divorced, or in the process of getting divorced) , and their girlfriends’ kids, I think we had 13 people sleeping in my parents’ house on Saturday night. (It was like an emergency shelter with air mattresses and sleeping bags everywhere.) :)

They’d had this contest at the Oxroast/Germanfest/Summerfest where you get 5 rings for a dollar, and if one of your rings lands around the wine bottle, you win a bottle of wine. Well, I guess my family has relatively-good hand-eye coordination, because all together we won six bottles of wine.

So, we sat on my parents’ deck, ate BBQed chicken, and drank three bottles of wine. After eating some chicken, the kids all went inside to play a Wii that one of my brothers had brought along. Alex had never seen or played a Wii. So, two Tylenol and one Motrin later, and free of the ear-splittingly loud music, his headache was long-forgotten. He was positively captivated by that Wii. Surrounded by his cousins, and what may or may not be “step-cousins” one day, he was having a grand ‘ol time, discovering the joy that is the Nintendo Wii.

I was free to actually have a conversation with other adults.

Whoa. Imagine that.

It’s not often that I get to talk to my brothers- especially not all at once.

I adore my brothers.

Sure, we went through a couple of years of sibling rivalry, but I think we got through that relatively quickly, and since then, we’ve geniunely enjoyed each others’ company.

When my brother Mike was first diagnosed with chondrosarcoma of the spine, a very rare form of cancer, ten years ago, I was positively devasted. I remember walking out into the ocean to pray, because for some reason, I always feel closest to God when I am in the ocean-- even closer than when I am at church.

I remember specifically saying to God in my prayer: “I know I have three brothers, but I can’t spare any of them. Please let Michael live. I can’t imagine life without him. Please spare the life of my brother Mike.”

I cried and cried. No one else was at the beach that day. It was cold, dark and gloomy, as it often is at the coast. I had the beach to myself. My tears dripped down my face and into the ocean. Even though I’d pulled my pants up to my knees, the tide was coming up, so the water was now sloshing all around, and I was getting soaked. I didn’t care. I looked toward the horizon. Since it was overcast, the water seemed to join the horizon in the distance, like the water and the sky were connected. I know this might sound strange, but I felt like the water was acting as a conduit for my prayer. I cried until I could cry no more, and I was cold and shivering from the rising tide. (The water in Santa Cruz never gets above 58 degrees, and that is at the very warmest time of year.)

As I stepped back on shore, I felt a complete sense of peace and serenity. I truly felt as if my prayer had been heard.

Although it was a very painful three-year recovery, Mike survived his first set of cancer surgeries.

Ten years later, Mike is still alive. The last set of surgeries he had in April of 2008, (three months ago), were the most major and life-threatening surgeries to date. We almost lost Mike. He stopped breathing. His recovery has been slow and painful. He just recently regained the ability to speak in his normal voice. His attitude through all of it has been amazing, yet I can imagine this must all be very frustrating for him. He loves to travel, ski, and is passionate about his work in the high-tech industry. These surgeries keep knocking him down, and he keeps struggling back, time and time again, against all odds. His neurosurgeon said to him: “We will find a cure for this, Mike. Your job is to stay alive until we do.”

So, getting to spend an evening with all of my brothers together is very special to me. It is not something I can ever take for granted.

Life is too short to argue with your family, or take them for granted.

So, we sat on the back porch, drinking German wine, eating BBQed chicken, and talking about anything and everything.

One of my brothers’ girlfriends asked the inevitable question:

“Diana, why do you only have one child? I picture you as the type who would have more than one kid?”

I explained to her that yes, I always thought I would have more than one child, as well. I have always wanted a little girl, in addition to a little boy, and in the sweater chest at the foot of our bed, are a couple of little baby girl dresses I once bought.

“Well, then why?” she prompted.

I started off with the generic answer we usually give: “Oh, we’re happy with the one we have.”

And, then I usually throw in the tacky joke: “And, Alex can be so much work sometimes, it is like having two children!”

But, I actually like this particular girlfriend of my brothers’, so I told her the real reason we never had another child:

“I’m on Category C medications because I have fibromyalgia,” I started. I studied her face to see if the terms “fibromyalgia,” or “Category C” meant anything to her.

“What’s fibromyalgia?” she asked. “I’ve heard of it, but don’t know what it is?”

You see, that’s what I like about this girl. She is honest enough to admit what she doesn’t know rather than faking it.

I kept the explanation of fibromyalgia very brief and just said it was an "arthritis-type of thing that affects the muscles." And, a "Category C" was the the category where they don't know if being on it passes through to mother's milk or causes birth defects. Category A means "safe.' Category B means "caution" and "Category C" is the red flag category with regards to pregnancy and medication.

She looked at me, and asked: “If you could have, would you have had another child?”

I sighed: “I always wanted a little girl. So, yes, if I hadn’t had fibromyalgia, yes, I probably would have two children instead of just one.”

She asked my age, and I told her. I’m 39.

Yup. Pretty border-line when it comes to the whole kids thing.

And, there’s still the issue of the Category C medications.

OK, I’m on only one Category C medication: Topamax. But, a study was just released in July revealing that lo, and behold, yes, Topamax can cause birth defects. No big surprise there.

OK, I am surprised they actually did a study, because normally they put a warning on a medication if they suspect it is a Category C, but it is considered unethical to do experiments on pregnant women.

The conclusion of the study? Use birth control if you are on Topamax.

Thanks, Einstein.

Last summer, my experimental summer of “no drugs,” I tried going off all my prescription medications to see what would happen.

I guess I could also have called it “the summer my migraines returned with a vengeance.”

Yeah, so I went back on Topamax.

My Category C medication. It’s the only migraine medication I’ve been on that has truly made a difference in my headaches, and believe me, over the course of 21 years with daily migraines, I have tried just about every migraine medication on the market, multiple times.

So, that is why Alex is an only child.

Do you see why now with most people I simply answer:

“We’re happy with just one child.”

and give them that canned smile, like it’s really true?

But, I believe very strongly in God, and in fate. I believe everything happens for a reason. If I were meant to have another child, it would have happened, or, one day will still happen, (through a pregnancy, or an adoption, or something.)

In the meantime, I trust in God that I am now living the life I am meant to live.

And, I am doing the best I can to raise the beautiful child God has blessed me with. I thank God for him each and everyday, and I am focused now on trying to resolve HIS nagging fibromyalgia problems. I am trying to reduce the number of headaches he is getting, without having to resort to any type of prescription medication. I don’t want my son on prescription drugs. So, I focus all my energies on being the best Mom I possibly can to the child I already have, and seeing if we can’t reduce or eliminate his headache issues before school starts up again in late August.

Ah, I wonder how many days it will be until someone asks me that question again...

It seems to pop up at least once a week, and often from complete strangers...

“You have just one child? Only one? Why one?”

(sigh)

(canned smile)

(canned response)

A few photos from the Oxroast