Tag: parenting

Being Remembered

We were in Colorado recently, closing the sale of the house that we lived in when my son was born. Our agent sent us the lock code so we stopped by one last time. I hadn’t seen the house since we left it almost five years ago. As we stepped through the front door, it was like looking back into a forgotten time of our lives.

The house was smaller than I expected, but nostalgia has a way of making things bigger than they were. We went from room to room telling each other the stories that we remembered. There might have been tears, some of joy and some of pain and sorrow. The feelings that surfaced were raw and real and big.

We continued on until we reached my son’s room. We made our first memories with our son in that house. I remember bringing him home and putting him in the crib that we assembled together. I remember sitting on the yellow rocking chair singing to him as we looked out his window. I remember long nights, and changing diapers, and feeling that new-parent fear.

As we toured the house, my son listened and told us that he remembered things, too. He told me how I would be on my knees playing goalie, blocking his shots when we played hockey in the basement. He remembered us eating vegetables from our small garden. He remembered us playing in the backyard on his swing set that my wife and I put together. Fortunately, he didn’t remember that we finished it at midnight after too many bottles of wine.

My son was two when we moved to a different house and then four when we moved to Philadelphia. I wasn’t sure how of the stories he told us he actually remembered. What he said most likely came from us looking at pictures and telling him the details many years later. But whether he was remembering our memories or his, there was one thing in his version that caught me off guard. That thing was me.

I know why it caught me off guard, though. I had two drastically different experiences as a child with my father and my stepfather.

My parents split up when I was two, and I lived with my mother and my sister. My father was only occasionally in the picture. Sometimes he would take me to a hockey game or a baseball game, and we did “second Christmas” with his side of the family. I remember the hockey games, watching the Whalers on the ice and I can still hear their song echoing in my memories. I remember going to Yankee games, going down to the edge of the field during warm ups and catching balls. But the thing missing from those memories is my father.

My stepfather coming into the picture changed my life. My mother was much happier and I had someone who spent time with me. I have memories of my stepfather and I fixing bicycles in the driveway. I remember him driving our old wood-paneled station wagon towing our camper with me in the passenger seat on the two-way radio. I remember making him laugh when my mother was trimming his mustache and his face as he tried to fight back the smile. Featured in each of those memories is my stepfather.

I’ve often thought about the difference in how I think about my father and my stepfather. About how one is still in my life and one is not. About how one is in my memories and one is not. Neither is perfect but at least one of them was there and still is there for me. These experiences shaped what type of father I want to be to my son and how I want him to remember me.

I want to be a part of his story. When he is telling his own children memories from his childhood, I want to be in them. I want him to see my face when he remembers that time he got a foul ball at a baseball game. I want him to remember me sitting on the couch next to him playing a video game or a board game. I want him to remember me helping him boogie board in Hawaii. I want him to remember with joy the “my dad always” remarks that show that I cared and was there.

I want him to remember me, not for my sake, but for his. I want him to know and remember how important he was to me because I want him to feel important and loved. I want him to feel supported and strong. I want him to be a part of a childhood that set up for success instead of something that he will need to get over. My son is going to have enough things to overcome in his life. I don’t want him to ever question his worth or wonder where I was. Because I am here. And I love him more than anything. That’s how I want to be remembered.

August 1, 2017
One Thing

Lately, my wife and I have started a new routine. We sit next to each other on the couch, flip open our computers, pull up our calendars, and look at the week ahead. Even though it’s all digital and we share our calendars, it gives us a chance to get on the same page. We can add any events that we miss or decide who is picking up dessert for dinner at a friend’s house later in the week. But it also gives us a chance to create a manageable week for our son.

Fatigue plays a big part in the frequency and severity of my son’s seizures. If he gets too mentally or physically taxed, they break free from their confinement. Instead of happening only in the morning, he’ll have them during his nap or after he goes to bed at night. The more seizures he has, the less rested he is, which causes more seizures. It’s a cycle that we work very hard to avoid.

In most cases, that means we only plan one activity a day. While other kids his age go between team practices, play dates, and birthday parties, he’ll do one thing. Instead of “and”, our lives involve a lot of “or”. A birthday party or a movie. The museum or the park. A play date or a baseball game.

Some days, that one thing is school. Other days, that one thing is therapy. Those activities are so draining to him that, if he goes in already tired, he can barely function. We see that, too, when he leaves school early to go to one of his appointments. But on those days, we don’t have a choice. He wills himself through it but then he stays exhausted through the next day. If that happens, we adjust his schedule to try to prevent those demanding days from adding up. If we can’t, or if we miss the signals that he’s running on fumes, we lie next to him in bed, watching him pay the price.

We had a few of those nights in early summer. School was ending and we tried to juggle therapy and baseball practice. He loved baseball, but it broke my heart to see what the physical exhaustion did to him at the end of the night. It was all too much, but deciding what to cut and when was impossible. School is important and provides social opportunities. Therapy helps rebuild those skills that he lost and reinforce those that he will need. And baseball…baseball made him feel like he was part of a team. And that he was a normal kid.

I wanted to take this post in a positive direction. I wanted to say that “in lives packed with activities and distractions, having to choose what to do helps clarify what is important.” I do believe that, but I also hate having to decide what to take out of my child’s life. I hate having to limit him in any way. To have to pick one thing. For every day. Every week. Every month. With no end in sight. There is no positivity in that.

But as conflicted as I am, it has inspired me to try to make that one thing amazing and special. And I try to be mindful, present, and grateful for that one thing. Because I know that, no matter how much it hurts, one thing is better than nothing.

July 25, 2017
Leading With Love

Sometimes I look at my son and I see a tall blade of grass, swaying in the breeze. His legs appears rooted on the ground, but his body moves and bends as if it is being pushed by an invisible force. Or a corn stalk that is too thin to support the ear that is is carrying, bobbing in no particular direction but down. It seems an exhausting tasks to constantly keep from falling over.

When he moves, I see a puppet whose strings sometimes get twisted. The extension of his limbs or the gate of his stride are not quite right, and he sometimes tumbles to the ground. We do our best to pull him up and untangle his knotted strings, but each time he falls, my heart aches.

I wonder if, when he does fall, when he’s lying on the ground, if that’s when he feels the most stable. Like in my younger days after I had too much to drink. When I wanted to lay on the bed and prayed for the world to stop spinning around me. My prayers were rarely answered, but at least I felt like there was nowhere further to fall. I could close my eyes and feel the world spread out below me and holding me so that my body could release all its tension. Only, he shouldn’t be old enough to know what that feels like.

When he falls to the ground, I get angy and frustrated and sad. I look at him as that blade of grass, or stalk of corn, or sailor, or puppet. I can’t help myself but wonder if he wants to stay down for an extra second to let his body not worry about balance. But when I do, when he looks at me, I worry that he will see those expressions on my face directed at him. That he’ll think that I am angry and frustrated at him, or that he’ll see me sad and think that it is because of him. It’s a heavy burden to think that you are the cause of such powerful emotions in another person. Of course, he’s not. My anger, my frustration, and my sadness are not because of him, but because of what is happening to him. But what else could he think when I look at him the way I do? He shouldn’t be old enough to know what that feels like, either.

The cruelest thing that epilepsy continues to do is to try to make my son feel less than he is. Less than an amazing boy. Less than the best son. Less than a gift. Less than a miracle. It feels as if it is using me to do its dirty work, to project those feelings on my son through my worry and frustration. I catch myself doing it, but usually after the message has been delivered. It’s a terrible feeling to worry about what your child thinks you think when you look at him. Because regardless of what is visible on the surface, hidden underneath is always love.

I wish my instict was to lead with love. I want so much for that to be what he sees when I’m looking at him instead of the temporary emotions caused by a symptom of his condition. I don’t want him to have to remember that I also love him, I want that to be where he goes first. Because the pain and sadness at what his condition is doing to him is amplified by that love. Because loving him is where I am, first and always.

May 16, 2017
How People On Reddit Talk About Epilepsy

As a technologist, I’m fascinated about how people use social media. It’s such a vast space but people find places where they can make connections around any number of topics. Social media has fostered revolutions, saved lives, but also taken them. It enables freedom of expression but also allows an unprecedented level of hatred. Like a hammer, social media is a tool, and it’s up to humanity to use it to build or to destroy.

I read an article that described a language analysis done on comments from Reddit. Reddit is a community website that aggregates content. It also allows members to share, rate, and discuss the content. I thought it would be interesting to see how people on Reddit talked about epilepsy.

Why does it matter?

If you’re reading this post, you may have been lead to it by Twitter, Facebook, or Medium. Maybe you subscribed to the blog. In any case, you are using technology and the Internet to consume information. And there is a lot of information out there…some good, some bad, some supportive, some not. These types of analyses aren’t perfect, but they can provide some interesting insights.

I’m old enough to be able to navigate these platforms and decide what to take and what to leave. While my son is not of Internet age yet, he will be soon. And he’ll be more likely to look to social media for support. The more I know about the different systems, the abler I’ll be to guide him as he explores them.

More generally, though, these types of analyses can be helpful to see what aspects of epilepsy people are talking about. Or, not talking enough about.

What data did I look at?

For this project, I grabbed comments from March 2017 that contained the word “epilepsy“. That gave me 3,046 comments out of about 79 million (0.0038%). Literally, a drop in the bucket, but enough for a simple analysis.

Number of comments by day in March 2017

Here is how the epilepsy-related comments were distributed throughout March.

The big spike on March 22 was partly due to a question in AskReddit. AskReddit is where posters ask and answer “questions that elicit thought-provoking discussions”. The spike was the result of responses to the question “What are you sick and tired of having to explain to people?.” I can imagine people living with epilepsy having an opinion on that question.

Which subreddits are the most active?

Next, I wanted to break down the comments by the group they were posted in. On Reddit, the groups are called “subreddits”. Those discussions helped the AskReddit subreddit lead the comment count for epilepsy-related posts. The subreddit dedicated to discussions about epilepsy came in second.

What adjectives do people use when they talk about epilepsy?

Besides looking at simple numbers, I wanted to analyze the comments themselves. I ran them through Google’s Natural Language (NLP) API to see what I could learn. NLP takes a sample of text and breaks it down into parts of speech and sentiment.

First, I looked at the parts of speech. Here are the top adjectives most used in conjunction with the word “epilepsy.”

What is the sentiment of the comments about epilepsy?

Next, I wanted to add the sentiment piece. The NLP looked at each comment and to try to infer if it represented a positive or negative sentiment. “I won’t let epilepsy get me down” is an example of a positive sentiment. “I have epilepsy and am depressed” expresses a negative sentiment. I wondered if the adjectives used changed depending on the sentiment of the comment, and they did.

For comments characterized as positive, words like “good”, “great”, and “best” were included.

For negative comments, “bad”, different”, and “severe” made the list.

I also wanted to look at the sentiment across the different groups. The chart below shows the average sentiment of the epilepsy-related comments by subreddit.

Again, a positive score reflects an overall positive sentiment of the comments. Interestingly, the big negative score on the chart is for the subreddit “KotakuInAction.” The group relates to the “GamerGate” controversy and other gaming and Internet issues. The thread that contained the epilepsy comments related to the Eichenwald case. That was where a journalist with epilepsy was sent a seizure-inducing twitter message.

What else do people talk about when they talk about epilepsy?

Finally, Google’s algorithm also provides other topics (entities) that are discussed in text. Here are the most common entities mentioned in conjunction with epilepsy on Reddit.

Let’s look at January through March…

Since the data was available, I ran a few of the reports for the first three months of 2017, as well, to see if anything changed.

First, here are the number of comments for January through March.

I also wanted to see how different the entities report was over the three months. There was a lot of overlap from the March chart, showing that conversations about those entities are likely normal.

Finally, I also looked at the occurrences of specific references to a handful of positive and negative terms that often come up when speaking about epilepsy.

Looking at the two charts, clearly, references to medication, side effects, and depression were often discussed in the comments on Reddit.

What’s next?

This project was a first look at using natural language processing techniques to analyze social media posts about epilepsy. There are a number of applications for such technology, and it will be interesting to explore more sites and using different algorithms and techniques. If you have any thoughts or suggestions on other ways to look at the data, please leave a comment below.

If you’re interested in doing your own analysis, you can find the source code and other information on my GitHub page. A shout-out to Sara Robinson for her article, which was a guide and huge inspiration.

May 2, 2017
Part Of The Team

Spring is here, which means it’s time to hang up the skates and grab the bat and glove. This year, my son moved up from teeball, which I coached last year, to baseball. Since I’m not coaching this year, it meant having another conversation about epilepsy.

I still get nervous introducing people to my son’s condition. I try to strike the right balance between “he has a serious medical condition” and “everything is going to be fine.” It’s hard. Too much information can overwhelm even the most altruistic volunteer. But I’m not doing my job unless I am honest about all the potential challenges.

There are times when I wish that I could not say anything. I could hope for the best and let my son take part in an activity without a caveat. After all, he’s not likely to seize. And there are plenty of kids on the team that have a hard time listening or focusing. He could blend in.

That would be easier. The coaches wouldn’t have to be scared. I wouldn’t have to worry about him being treated differently. I wouldn’t have to face the reality of our situation. I wouldn’t have to make epilepsy a part of everything that we do.

But, the fact is, it is a part of everything we do. And it’s my job as a parent to do what is best for my son. I want to keep him safe but I also want him to enjoy the experience. The only way to do that is to have an open communication channel with the people in his life. We were told early on that we, the doctors, nurses, teachers, aides, babysitters…we are all a part of my son’s team. And like any good team, everyone needs to be informed so they can play their part.

When we talked to his coaches, they thanked us for telling them, then they asked what they could do to help. That night, they reached out to us again to let us know that they were happy he was on the team. To the father of a child with epilepsy, the best way to show that they were part of our team was to make him a part of theirs. They had done that with one phone call, and they continue to do it at every practice.

As anxious as I get about doing it, the more we have the conversation, the better we get at it. The better we get at it, the better people respond to it. And the better people respond to it, the less anxious I will hopefully be the next time. Which is good. Because it’s a conversation that isn’t going away.

April 25, 2017