Anna Penenberg - Dancing in the Narrows: A Mother-Daughter Odyssey Through Chronic Illness

DANCING IN THE NARROWS

Copyright 2020, Anna Penenberg

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-838-5

ISBN: 978-1-63152-839-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900785

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Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

To my beloved daughters, Cayla and Dana, who inspire me beyond words.

When Dana was twelve, I went with her sixth-grade class to Death Valley on a camping trip to study its unique geology. Fifty-mile-an-hour winds greeted us as we unpacked and set up tents. We ate with sand on our plates, slept with the moon, and rose with the sun. The desert spoke to us each day as we visited the fascinating geological features. On our last day, we explored the Eureka Dunes. When we arrived, the kids split up into groups, and I led one group on a trek into the monolithic sand formations, while Dana went off with a group led by another parent, seizing the chance to be on her own. Lagging behind my group on the way back, I glanced up toward the ridge of the dunes, and there, a silhouette against the sun, running like the wind across the spine of the world, arms flying, feet splayed like a dancer, was my daughter. I will see this image for the rest of my life.

M any people today are affected by chronic illness, and Lyme disease is epidemic. I want to acknowledge all those, and their families, who have struggled to find a diagnosis, medical care, and/or alternatives that provide effective treatment options.

This memoir is a personal story and not intended to educate the reader about how to treat Lyme disease. I have used fictitious names and modified identifying details to protect the privacy of the doctors and practitioners with whom we worked.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

Richard Bach

I n 1997 Dana was seven years old and her sister, Cayla, nine. We were giggling and learning about life at our big house on Stone Canyon Road in Los Angeles, where the days were always sunny. Friends and their children came over to play. There were naked water fights on the lawn, hands covered in cornstarch goop, and cherry tomatoes popping into mouths. Toy cars roamed our patios adobe tiles, and easels held bright colors of paint, brushes, and large pads of paper. Our home was a haven for creativity, wildness, and discovery.

I planted a sunflower playhouse for my children in our vegetable garden. I had seen a picture of a garden house made of full-grown, six-foot-tall sunflower stalks with large yellow heads and spindly pole bean plants winding through them with big fat green beans dangling. I loved having a vegetable garden outside the kitchen, which made it easy for fresh picking and quick cooking. My two adventuresome girls played outside on both sides of our kitchen, which had plenty of windows for keeping an eye on them. Cayla moved swiftly and laughed loudly, while Dana had a slow grace and was quieter and more patient. They were inseparable.

Our sunflower house grew from the tiny seeds I painstakingly planted. As the stalks rose, I began weaving the pole beans through, except in the twelve-inch gap I left for the entry door. I entered it on my knees, slinking like a cat, smelling the musky green stalks, crawling all the way inside for secret meetings with my girls. It grew taller and taller, smiles bursting in yellow, seeded faces, giving hours of pleasure to two little girls hiding in living nature.

It was there that they became interested in caterpillars. They found them on the milkweed just outside the sunflower house. One day at the toy store we visited regularly, Dana found a cute little bughouse.

I want this to put my bugs in! she exclaimed.

Me too! said Cayla.

Holding her bughouse, Dana looked up at me and asked, Mommy, can I have a pet caterpillar?

Thats a wonderful idea! You know your book The Very Hungry Caterpillar? Remember that the caterpillar builds a cocoon and then it comes out as a butterfly?

I cant wait! she shrieked, as she launched herself off the floor, landing in a joyous thud, over and over again.

Pretty soon we had two caterpillar pets living in clear plastic bughouses in our house. Every day the girls fed them with fresh water and leaves. Every day there was something new to see.

Mommy, he ate the whole leaf I put in there!

This entry into the world of a small being who naturally transforms itself from one who crawls to one who flies, suddenly became important to me. I knew that by witnessing this we would be changed forever. Nature was teaching us something. I thought of all the things I wanted my daughters to learn: to enjoy nature, to engage with living things, to understand the natural world is about relationships. I was grateful that nature, through the caterpillar to butterfly transformation, was exemplifying the process that occurs inside of us as we grow through life.

It was time to provide for the cocoon, so each girl selected a twig and placed it inside her box. We waited for the miracle. Finally, Danas caterpillar formed a cocoon one night when we werent watching. It looked like beige cotton candy, about an inch long and wrapped tightly around the twig at one end.

Mommy, nothings happening. How long will it take to be a butterfly?

Around two weeks, I read.

Before I could stop her, Dana reached into the bughouse, clasped her fingers around the twig, and lifted it out.

Oh my! We dont want to disturb him while hes sleeping. He needs more time to grow into a beautiful butterfly. Let me help you put him back in his house until hes ready. My hand moved light as a feather as I took hold of the twig, cocoon hanging, and settled it back safely.

I just want to see the butterfly!

I know, honey, I soothed.

Off she ran out the door into the garden just as the sprinklers went on. I could hear her shrill giggles.

Delicious summer days went by and soon it was time for our family vacation, a trip across the country to visit my in-laws and attend a family camp.

Dana protested, Mommy, we cant leave our cocoons here. What if the butterflies hatch? We have to take them with us!

Realizing that we were deep into the transformation of chrysalis to butterfly, and that they would die if we left them indoors for two weeks, I felt determined to take them. We packed and prepared and still both caterpillars were hanging in brown pouches from their twigs in the little bughouses. We smuggled both pets onto the plane heading cross-country from Los Angeles to New Jersey. I had no idea if Dana and Caylas not-yet-butterflies would survive the altitude and change of air quality, but we continued with all the faith that magic can inspire in little girls minds.