West Side Stories

There’s nothing like a couple of early spring days in the 70s to drive Tosans outside and walking. Like many of my neighbors, I took advantage of the balmy temperatures these past two days to give my dog a little extra exercise. Virtually every sidewalk and parkway path were heavily traveled by walkers, runners, cyclists and, of course, dog owners. The only minor irritation was the dog walker who decided that his two Golden Retrievers could run leash-free along Menomonee River Parkway. They didn’t really bother anyone, but his bold disregard for the law was unwelcome by most people that saw him.

Nevertheless, there was something incredibly liberating about this unexpected weather bonus. As I wound my way up and down streets, I couldn’t help but notice what a great community Wauwatosa is for pedestrians. Abundant sidewalks, interesting homes and friendly faces make every walk a welcome cure for cabin fever.

Well, they did it. Mayfair Mall management got tough. Today they released their PGR (Parental Guidance Required) Policy, and I have to say, it’s gonna bum out a bunch of teens, including the 15-year old that lives in my house. Gone are the days when we can get our teens out of our hair by dumping them off at the mall.

Basically, the policy states that after 2 pm on Fridays and Saturdays, anyone under 18 years of age must be accompanied by an adult who is at least 21 years old. And each adult can only escort up to four under-18ers. However, mothers who are not yet 21 will be allowed in the mall with young children. (That part still confuses me, but I’m going to assume the mall knows what it’s doing.)

As I mentioned, this will certainly affect my family – specifically my daughter. She and her friends did enjoy hanging out at the mall, especially on Fridays off of school or weekends. She’ll no longer have the luxury of cruising through Forever 21 or American Eagle without me hanging next to her. It’s that last part that is the most torturous in her mind. What could be worse than not be able to go to the mall with your friends? Having to go to the mall with your mother – ugh!

We’ll no longer have the option of dropping my daughter and her friends at the mall on a Friday or Saturday afternoon for something to do. Still, that’s just an issue of convenience, not hardship.

But that’s too bad. It’s the way it is. The few, who were starting to cause lots of trouble, have ruined it for the many. From the looks of the early comments in the Tosa Town Square or on the Journal/Sentinel website (other than the few close-minded and racist comments), people seem supportive. I encourage everyone to take a wait-and-see attitude and give it time to work.

I admit it. I do not like St. Patrick's Day. Although I am a tiny bit Irish, (so small you'd need a DNA test) I stay far away from any and all celebrations that involve green beer, green eggs or the overuse of the letter O followed by an apostrophe. Over the years, I've grown weary of the pomp and circumstance that surrounds this day that has truly become a Hallmark holiday.

I grew up in Chicago. I went to a parochial school run by Monsignor O'Rourke and each year we had the "honor" of marching in Chicago's St. Patrick's Day parade. My memories of those parades consist of the disgusting green Chicago river and freezing my you-know-what off, all for the sake of not going to school. I think this is where my anti-Celtist attitude was started.

I'm happy for you Irish folks and I hope you enjoy the day. I just wish we Polish had fair and equal representation. But I think it will be a long, long time before I see General Pulaski Day (October 11) bar specials with red beer and pierogies.

I know that we don't really have a lake here in Wauwatosa, but I can't help it. Every time I drive down Swan Boulevard and look East, our newest giant retention pond looks very much like a small man-made lake! And what better name to give it than....well, Swan Lake! It looks sort of peaceful and picturesque when you drive slowly by...until the sound of dump trucks and earth-movers awakens you from your daydream.

Well, I’m still here, are you? If you’re like me and don’t watch much news on TV, you may have missed the Great Big Scare of 2007. Apparently having Daylight Savings Time three weeks early could have thrown our world into chaos. People were interviewed. Experts were summoned and the potential hazards were forewarned. Alas, as it was in the year 2000, our panic was all for naught.

Here in our house, everything is still the same. Although I do know that this time change makes waking up teenagers just that much more difficult. On the other hand, anything that makes Spring feel a little bit closer is worth the hassle.

Shhhhh....don't tell anyone, but RECYCLING IS BACK!!! (I was kidding about that not telling thing. Tell everyone you know!) I know that I was out of town a bit last week, but apparently the City of Wauwatosa has restarted its blue bag recycling program, albeit in a bit of a stealth manner. And because it took forever to get the word out that we DIDN'T have recycling, I figure that I need to do my part to tell everyone that we once again DO have recycling.

Seriously, I'm not sure why they're keeping this such a deep, dark secret, but it shouldn't be, so tell your friends and your neighbors.

Here's the scoop, directly from the city website - www.wauwatosa.net:

"Curbside Blue Bag recycling has restarted again on your normal pick-up day.

Please place City Approved blue recycling bags inside your cart again if there is room. An unlimited number of blue bags will be picked up through March 23rd; after that only 5 extra will be picked up outside your cart."

I have just one more thing to say: YAY!!!!!

You can disagree with me on this, but I'll argue till the end. I'm pretty sure that I have the best neighbors and friends...in Tosa...anywhere, actually. In fact, I'd take mine over anybody else's any day. Bar none.

This past week, while my family and I were dealing with the grief of losing a son and a brother, our neighbors and friends swooped down on us, fed us, offered a shoulder to cry on, shoveled our snow, walked our dog, picked up our mail, house sat, helped us find photos and memories and were there for us at all hours. Rarely have I felt so loved and cared for in my life.

There is such an amazing community spirit here that it has truly eclipsed our sadness. To say thank you would seem trite. What we can say is we are so truly blessed.

A couple of months ago, this story was posted on Crocker Stephenson's jsonline blog about Tim Krahling, the young man with spina bifida. I was proud to share the story of our oldest son, Andrew, and his unique situation which seemed to have many similarities with Tim's story.

Today, I'm sad to report, Andrew died Wednesday after a brief battle with pneumonia. My husband, daughter and I were with him in his final moments. Just as much as Andrew fought his way into this world, he also fought his way out of it. Andrew's life has been a long journey that has taken us to so many unlikely places. Because of his many medical complications, Andrew never lived with us in Wauwatosa, but needless to say, he was always here in our hearts.

Andrew, you've touched so many people in your quiet way. Watch over us, buddy.

On November 18th, 1986, I gave birth to our first son, Andrew, via "crash" c-section. My husband and I had rushed to the hospital because my water had broken and we knew that something was wrong. When we arrived, the doctor on call hooked me up to a fetal monitor, gazed at it with a deep look of concern and then put her hand on my leg and said: "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." Seconds later, she saw what she called an "agonal" heartbeat and I was rushed into an operating room where Andrew was delivered. For eight minutes, he did not breathe. Then, he barely began to respond. They hooked him up to a ventilator and put him into the neonatal intensive care unit.

As the day wore on and my anesthesia wore off, we found out that despite my unremarkable full-term pregnancy, I had something called vasa previa which essentially meant that part of the umbilical cord had branched off separately. Often, women will have vasa previa and it won't be discovered until after they have a healthy delivery. In our case, it was different and oh, so wrong. My water broke at the exact point where the separate part of the umbilical cord had formed. Since it was a weaker part of the cord, it sheared and Andrew lost blood and therefore oxygen. The doctors assured us that there was no way to have known that would happen. We, and Andrew, were just unlucky victims of the odds.

Andrew stayed in the NICU unit where a battery of tests was run. Neuro specialists were consulted and within a day or two they told us that Andrew had virtually no brain activity. They and all of the medical experts felt that leaving him on the ventilator was to keep him alive by extraordinary means. And so, we made the gut-wrenching decision to have life support removed from our newborn son. First, we asked a Catholic priest to baptize him. The medical staff then asked if we wanted to be there when they removed the ventilator, but I couldn't do it. The idea of watching my son die was simply beyond unbearable. And so we returned to my room and waited. And in a cruel twist of fate, Andrew started to breathe on his own. He was sustaining his own life without a ventilator. We suddenly found ourselves caught in the parental hell that is grieving over the fundamental loss of a baby while wondering why God was keeping his body alive.

As the days and weeks passed by, we started to adjust to the idea of parenting a developmentally disabled child. However, his disabilities were so severe; they were beyond that which we could handle in our own home. We spoke to social workers and staff who unanimously advised us that bringing Andrew home would rip our marriage and our future family apart because he would require around-the-clock medical care. He was likely blind and deaf, would never walk or talk, could not feed from a bottle or ever swallow food and his cognitive age would always hover around 1-1/2 months. He would never be able to recognize or acknowledge us. Essentially, he was and always would be in a vegetative state.

We were in such a fragile state of confusion about what to do next for our child who was essentially living in the shell of a body. At one point, we petitioned the hospital ethics board to ask what, besides removal of the ventilator, were considered "extraordinary means." It was an agonizing path for parents to take but we did not want Andrew to suffer needlessly if his time with us was limited. The board basically said that all current measures should continue. We were comfortable with their advisement. Next we faced the decision of how to care for Andrew for the rest of his life.

We found out that our options were to find a foster family specially trained in caring for developmentally disabled individuals, or apply for a placement at a state-run center about an hour from our home. We chose the latter, feeling that they would be better equipped and trained for his care. That would also allow us visit him in comfort and convenience and give him access to the very best therapies and medical care available without having to leave his surroundings. Administrators from the center