An onslaught of memories...

As I walked around the block, I steadied my breathing. "In through your nose, out of your mouth," I told myself. I could feel my heart-rate increasing and the tears threatening to over-spill. "Not now, Amanda. You gotta do this." The intimidating building loomed in front of me - a place of healing, a place of hope. Unfortunately, for me, healing and hope were not the feelings that filled me as I approached Akron Children's Hospital this morning.

The last time I stepped through the giant automatic revolving doors on Bowery Street and held onto the handle of the two-story escalator was almost exactly four years ago - when my two-year-old son spent six days under observation. He wasn't walking, he had unexplained pitekial hemorrhaging on his face, and the doctors had no idea what was wrong. Two months later, he was dead from a rare heart condition called Myocarditis, an inflammation of the myocardium, the middle layer of the heart wall, usually caused by a viral infection. The viral infection - whatever made him stop walking and caused the pitekial hemorrhaging. The viral infection they sent us home with saying that there's nothing wrong and it would work it's way out of his system and he'd be fine. No need to worry. Obviously, they were wrong. And, today, I had to face the same room we spent nearly a week in, some of the same nurses and doctors, and the same building.

I rode the two-story escalator to the main lobby with the thought of turning around when I reached the top and riding it back down, walking through the huge revolving door, and back out onto Bowery Street. But I knew that there is a family that I care deeply about up on the Seventh Floor of this building. I needed to toughen up and take the elevator.

Today, my little "nephew" was admitted into Akron Children's Hospital due to respiratory problems he's been having over the past few days. As the elevator climbed the seven floors to his room, I braced myself for the onslaught of memories that would pour into me when I exited the elevator. Sure enough, as soon as the doors opened, it seemed like last week that I was there with my own sick child, not four years ago.

The woman at the information desk was kind enough to give me Lee's room number. My knees nearly buckled when she wrote the room number down on my visitor's badge - the same room Ayden called "da baby's room" for six days. "What arethe chances," I thought. "Of all the rooms in this gargantuan hospital, Lee would be in the same room?!" I don't really remember walking down to room 7232. I didn't need to look at the signs telling you which rooms were in which sections - I knew. I'd walked this course dozens of times during that week. With Ayden. Without Ayden. Crying. Anxious. Pissed. Melencholy. You name it. I felt it.

Today, though, I couldn't do that. I had to separate myself from those emotions that I felt those years ago and be strong enough to hold the hand of my best friend who was facing the raw emotions that I had felt. As I approached the end of the hallway, knowing full well that if I took a few more steps past the room, I'd find vending machines and a laundry area, I took a deep breath, paused and thought of my son, as I do quite frequently. I asked him to keep me strong for the baby in "da baby's room." "He's real sick," I told him. "He needs to get all better." And with that last longing picture of my child's beautiful face in my head, I walked into room 7232.

The Brain Project

I am currently researching an article that I will be writing for a Hattie Larlham publication. For any of you who are not familiar with Hattie Larlham, it is a non-profit organization that provides services to more than 1,500 children and adults with developmental disabilities. The focus of this article is Pediatric Acquired Traumatic Brain Injury (PATBI).

In my research, I've learned that PATBI is the #1 leading cause of death and disability for children under 15 years of age in the United States, resulting in over 5,000 deaths and over 17,000 permanent disabilities each year. These are staggering numbers, to say the least. Not to mention, PATBI can be PREVENTED.

PATBI includes all brain injuries caused by a trauma including:

• falls
• motor vehicle accidents
• being struck by an object
• violence/assult
• sports incidents
• gunshot wounds
• bicycle accidents

What I would like to address, however, is where my research has led me - Shaken Baby Syndrome (SBS). There are roughly 1,500 cases of SBS per year in the United States, and of these, 25% are lethal. For the other 75%, these children's lives, more often than not, are changed forever. For the worse. It is believed that less than 15% of shaken babies ever recover.

So, if you haven't been living under a rock, you've heard of Shaken Baby Syndrome. But, do you really know what happens?

• The brain rotates within the skull cavity, injuring or destroying brain tissue
• Blood vessels feeding the brain are torn, leading to bleeding around the brain
• Blood pools within the skull, creating more pressure within the skull and causing additional brain damage
• The retina (back of the eye) often bleeds

Wow. I'm not sure about you, but when I read these, I get that sick feeling in my gut, just thinking about something like this happening to MY child.

But, alas, I don't want to just talk about SBS today. I want you to visit this website now that you have a little bit of a background. Be sure to read the "Friends" pages. Then come back to me.....

.....All done surfing that site? Sad stuff, huh?

Sarah Jane's life was changed forever by the carelessness of one person. Sarah Jane, along with so many countless others, will be fighting an uphill battle for the rest of their lives.

After perusing this site, I began to think of what my reaction would be had this happened to my child. What would I do? Would feel such anger and hatred that I could wish physical harm or, worse yet, perform physical harm to a person who did this to my child? Or would I find a way to forgive them realizing that what they did may have been an accident? Honestly, I can't say for certain, but I strongly feel that I may not be able to hold my emotions in check long enough.

I don't mean to be a downer today, but this stuff is real. It's out there. It may never touch your life immediately, but it has definitely touched many others'. So, today, readers, I ask you to take a moment and reflect, pray, light a candle or skip a stone for Sarah Jane and all the children in the same boat. And remember: never, never, NEVER shake a baby.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship

I thought quoting one of my all time favorite movies, Casablanca, would be a fitting way to start my new blog.

Although I have (plentiful) experience writing about what is going on with other people in my day-job, I have zero experience - besides Facebook - writing about what is going on in MY LIFE. I hope that with this simple Blog, I am able to reach out to friends, family, colleagues, and those who share similar interests (and, let's be honest, dilemmas). I will try to talk about things that people care about and not so much as what I had for breakfast this morning.

Topics I hope to cover - single-parenting, lifestyle choices, single-parent careers, long-distance relationships, coping with grief, and some not so heavy topics like adventures, photography, music, concerts and even a movie or book review or two.

I will also be using this blog as a networking tool so from time to time, I may talk about what is going on in my professional career and some insights into the PR world.

I won't be asking for any work on your end - if you want to leave feedback, ask questions, or tell me how I'm nitpicking things, go right ahead. But don't feel obligated to do so unless you feel passionately enough to spend a few minutes gathering your thoughts.

So, although Ilsa offers a franc for your thoughts, as Rick says, "In America they'd bring only a penny, and, huh, I guess that's about all they're worth."