Sadie

I had the most extraordinary dream last night.

Truth be told, I’m not sleeping well, not waking rested, even though I am unconscious for at least 8, sometimes 10, hours. I awake feeling very heavy in my body and feeling like I cannot physically drag myself out of bed. I’ve also gained 10 pounds inexplicably.

I know now that my body is telling me my thyroid is off again.

The energy it requires to call my NP and schedule the labs is almost insurmountable. I called my Louisiana sister instead. She’d been texting me from her doctor appointment, so I just hit that little phone button next to her name. Somehow that was easier than calling my NP, even though I have her number memorized.

We chatted briefly. I confessed my sin to her of neglecting to call my NP because she has a similar health issue and knows how it feels to be trapped under something heavy. And then she very abruptly had to go. They were calling her back.

So I called me NP.

Closed for lunch. Dammit. See?!

There was a heavy sense of urgency. That tightening of the jaw where I also thrust the tip of my tongue high and hard into the roof of my mouth but seldom realize I am doing it. A cinder block sits on my shoulders and chest. Breathing is difficult but I am forcing myself to take regular, purposeful, noisy breaths.

I can feel tremendous pressure between my legs. Something is presenting, and in quite a hurry.

I make my way around the corner struggling to walk faster and yet trying to prevent the mass between my legs from falling out.

I see Chris and verbally sigh a relief. “Oh, God, Chris. I’ve got to get into a bed. This baby is here!”

Chris grabs an instrument, kneels down before me, and peers under my dress to see all but the baby’s head protruding from my body.

In a flash, I am reclining on a hospital bed and being handed my baby. “Sadie,” I say aloud, and she clamps perfectly onto my left nipple, and the milk flows heavily into both my breasts. She feeds fully and deeply, and I can feel the difference from when Jackson fed. And my heart aches from the damned memory of our struggle.

She is perfect. Beautiful. Tiny. Pink. Healthy. She is a dream.

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A Slight Change of Plans

We had the best weekend planned...

My sister had a baby almost six months ago, her second but our first girl--Georgia. Finally, we would get to meet her and love on her.

My brother and his lady would also come in to visit with her, and we would all bed down and chill at our place, small but cozy, with lots of good food and warm love.

Then Jackson got sick.

Well, technically, Jackson has been "sick" his whole life. When he was still in my belly, he was diagnosed with kidney reflux. Vesicoureteral reflux (VUR), to be exact. We knew as soon as he was born that we would have to discharge from labor and delivery at the hospital and go straight over to the pediatric hospital. I remember pushing exhaustively through 3 hours of active labor, and Dr. Morgan saying to me, "If this baby doesn't soon come, we're going to have to do a C-section." I knew I was not about to be separated from my son recovering from surgery while he was undergoing his own treatment across town at Children's. No, sir.

Seven minutes later, Jackson Luke Corbett was born.

My legs were swollen three times their normal size for almost two weeks, but we did it. That's just who we are.

Now, kidney reflux for Jackson has been almost completely a non-issue. He takes a daily antibiotic and has an occasional UTI, and by occasional, I mean to say that he has had maybe 5 episodes his entire life, but this past year we've been making up for lost time.

So what is kidney reflux?

"VUR is the backward flow of urine from the bladder into the kidneys. Normally, urine flows from the kidneys through the ureters to the bladder. The muscles of the bladder and ureters, along with the pressure of urine in the bladder, prevent urine from flowing backward through the ureters.

VUR allows bacteria, which may be present in the urine in the bladder, to reach the kidneys. This can lead to kidney infection, scarring, and damage" (http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/tc/vesicoureteral-reflux-vur-topic-overview).

So with loved ones in town and the weekend agenda set, Jackson gets a really bad UTI, but he starts off with a nasty sinus infection that tricks us into thinking only chest-up with respect to his treatment. When we could not get his fever to break and he finally admitted that it hurts him to pee (Saturday around noon), we knew we were in trouble. The ER admitted him that afternoon.

It is now Tuesday and we've been here for 4 days. Fortunately, my loving husband was able and willing to stay with Jackson so that I could tend to our guests and make the best of our re-worked weekend. Rob and Katie drove back home yesterday and Sarah was due to fly out today. Weather, however, in ATL is sketchy and a dear friend at the airport was able to rebook her on a flight tomorrow to avoid her having to bunk down in an airport with a six-month-old after multiple cancelled flights. This was very good news (Thanks, Abbye!).

Some things I know for sure.

Hard times don't care if you have out of town company. When it is least convenient, most intrusive, life will creep in on you and remind you that you really aren't as in control as you think you are. How we respond in these moments is the true stuff of life, what we are really made of. Thanks to Prozac and Jesus, I am made of pretty tough stuff.

Friends often feel like family. We are so far away from family, but it never feels like we are alone. We are literally and figuratively surrounded by loved ones who reach close when we feel need and lack in our lives, which is rare. We didn't know a single soul when we first came here 8 years ago, so clearly we have worked to build a network around us. We have found the most precious people in our midst who love us so freely. Such a gift.

Jackson is dearly and deeply loved. I mean, truly. He is a charming little boy with a warm personality and an excellent sense of humor, but he is also living in a place where people love so deeply and freely. We are overwhelmed at times with the love that radiates over, through, and around us. Our friends and loved ones pray for him, ask about him, and delight in him. It make my heart so happy.

Shreveport-Bossier has magnificent health care. When we first moved here, I had a terrible malady--I believed that nothing here could ever be as good as what we had in Virginia Beach. I was wrong. Before we left Virginia, Jackson's pediatric urologist gave us a referral for one here in Louisiana--Dr. Mata. Never before have I felt more allied with a health care provider than I do with Dr. Mata. He is a true partner with us in Jackson's health care, and he makes sure we understand exactly what's going on in his body and with his treatment. We are grateful that he is Jackson's doctor and cannot imagine working with anyone else for Jackson's health and well-being.

We have everything we need because we have all of you. From a kind word, to a Starbucks, to a much-needed essential oil we'd left at home--our friends have come to the rescue. We are grateful for your love and support.

Today we received word that Jackson's fever is acquiescing. If he remains fever free tonight and tomorrow morning, then we can take him home to finish his recovery there. He will likely start school next week, but he will be able to be home with us. They will perform a special test in the morning, a VCUG, or "a voiding cystourethrogram, a minimally invasive test that uses a special x-ray technology called fluoroscopy to visualize your child's urinary tract and bladder" (http://www.childrenshospital.org/conditions-and-treatments/treatments/voiding-cystourethrogram) to determine whether the infection treatment has been effective. We expect to be discharged by early afternoon, if all goes well.

Long term, we will look into more aggressive treatments of the VUR condition, even as we are grateful that he has not been hospitalized more than just this once, rare for patients with Grade 5 (the worst) VUR.

So how was YOUR weekend? :-)

When a Bible-reading Challenge Spans the Centuries and Hits Home

We, the people of Grace Community, have been challenged by our pastor to read through the gospels in 90 days, starting August 1st. Last night, I got caught up. Today's reading in from Matthew 4: the familiar stories of Jesus' wilderness temptation, his preaching and healing ministry throughout Galilee, and the word about him spreading through all of Syria.

Syria caught my attention. Driving into work this morning, I heard an NPR story on Red River Radio about the siege in Syria and how it is cutting Syrians off from basic human needs to the point that, since January of this year, men, women, and children have been dying of starvation. The story featured the mountain town of Madaya, about 25 miles northwest of Damascus.

"And so Jesus went throughout Galilee. He taught in the synagogues. He preached the good news of the Kingdom, and He healed people, ridding their bodies of sickness and disease. Word spread all over Syria, as more and more sick people came to Him. The innumerable ill who came before Him had all sorts of diseases, they were in crippling pain; they were possessed by demons; they had seizures; they were paralyzed. But Jesus healed them all." (Matthew 4:23-24)

The embedded video is old news, from back in January. Once the story broke there was a huge push to get aid to these people, and the government temporarily acquiesced and allowed the aid entrance. But it wasn't enough then and it certainly isn't of help to the 40,000 people currently living (dying) in Mandaya on this very day.

I cannot help but read Matthew 4:23-24 in light of the story I heard this morning, pray for the people of Mandaya and those scattered all throughout the nation of Syria, research ways that I can be of help, which seems so pointless, since Syria's own government won't let supplies and relief aid past the country's heavily-guarded borders.

My prayer then becomes, "Lord, please help the people of Syria, especially Mandaya. Show me how I can be of help to these precious ones whom, though we may have, you have not forgotten."

Things I google late at night...

I have a terrible habit of googling late into the night. And let me tell you, there is a serious devolution to it. Last night it started with Pinterest (usually does) and moved on to Hotel Chelsea, then Dylan Thomas, and finally...death masks.

"Before the widespread availability of photography, the facial features of unidentified bodies were sometimes preserved by creating death masks so that relatives of the deceased could recognize them if they were seeking a missing person" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_mask).

Can you imagine having the job of creating such a thing? That's a fairly high level of tactile engagement with a dead body.

It could have been worse. One night, I spent the evening googling Jeffrey Dahmer.

The Calm Before the Garth

It's twenty minutes past six on a gorgeous July evening in Bossier City. Somewhere in this building, beyond the four walls of the conference room where I sit and wait, is a man and his wife who are about to unleash their artistic gifts on a crowd of thousands at the CenturyLink Center.

But I hear the sound of the air conditioner (thankfully--I live in Louisiana and Hell is cooler in July). I hear a few venue staffers walking to and fro, chatting to each other and laughing. I hear the sound of my own typing.

It is eerily quiet.

This is my usual routine as house photographer for the two SMG venue properties in my region. I show up early. I field specific instruction. And I wait. It is a pensive and reflective time for me.

I am quite literally living one of my lifelong dreams, to photograph rock stars, just like Linda McCartney and Annie Leibovitz. I am able to do this because good people in the right positions know me and trust me to do my job and play by the rules, and to deliver quality photos on time that make them look good. It's what I do.

But y'all....

This is extraordinary and commonplace all at the same time. So much so that it amuses me. I prefer to arrive early and bring work with me. I take my place in the quiet of the conference room and set up my desk. I usually bring a drink and a snack because what takes me 9 minutes to photograph takes sometimes 3 hours to wait out. I chit chat with my friends on staff, catch up on the latest, and basically chill.

Then, all of a sudden, I get the word from my handlers that it's time to roll. This moment always has a highly urgent, charged, and intense feel to it. I grab the camera I have already prepped and readied for the assignment and follow closely behind my handlers. I must be escorted throughout the facility and there are strict rules that are different with every entertainer's rider about where, what, and how long I can shoot.

Once we enter the arena, I usually take long glances across the sea of faces to see if I recognize friends among the crowd. Almost every time, I see a hand fiercely waving and my face breaks into a warm smile to greet the friendly face staring back at me. This is a happy place where people are excited about what they are about to see. And regardless of the artist, I'm excited, too, because I know what a privilege it is to be there and have the opportunity to capture these moments. I am grateful for each of them.

As we take position for shooting, there is yet another wait for the lights to dim and the show to begin. The quiet of the conference room is replaced with the low roar of an expectant crowd that crescendos into a raging thunderous applause of claps and screams as the artist takes the stage. I'm in a fever to capture as many quality shots as I can, often from the center of the arena with a telephoto zoom lens that I am praying will give me shots that feel so much closer than I actually am. It is a frenzy of shutter clicks and light checks to make sure my settings are on target and my images are sharp. In most cases, I have three full songs to capture--that's like nine minutes.

For Garth, I have one song, barely 3 minutes. It is maddening.

Too soon, I feel the leg tap I am expecting from up on my step stool and quickly disengage, gather myself, and follow behind the escorts back to the conference room.

It's all over. I've grabbed 206 shots. Here are a couple:

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

"Love after Love" from COLLECTED POEMS 1948-1984 by Derek Walcott. Copyright © 1986 by Derek Walcott.

Weekend Highlights

Good Monday morning, Bloggers!

Today, my thoughts are with my friend Jill who lost her fur baby over the weekend. I remember April 26th, 2010, like it was yesterday, the day I lost my Miss Rosie. I still miss her but am thankful to encounter her frequently, alive, well, and purring happily, in my dreams. Here's the post I wrote about Rosie's passing back then. I hope it brings peace and comfort to all of those who've lost furry loved ones along their way.

Yesterday was a full and fun day for We Corbetts.

We started out at Grace Community #surprisedbyGrace, like we do most Sundays since Christmas 2015. This morning we heard the compelling story of the McCormicks in Africa who are about to embark on a life-transforming mission to Mozambique where David will serve as a hospital administrator and Elizabeth will serve as the pharmacist for a rural 200-bed hospital that serves a large coastal

region of the Southeastern African nation. I feel so grateful to be close to a family that will be living and working in Africa, and Charlie and I talked about how beautiful it will be to support this family and know that women and children, in particular, are getting the medical attention and care they need, at least in this part of the world. I'll be checking in on David and Elizabeth along their at-least three-year journey. Excited to walk alongside!

After some kick-ass church (yeh, i said it), we headed over to Bon Temps Coffee Bar for a second Town Hall discussion about race, policing, and community in our town. Hosted by owner Marcus Mitchell, the Town Hall has become an ongoing series of conversations in our community in a safe place where opinions, fears, joys, and sorrows may be freely shared in the pursuit of mutual understanding and shared peace. I'm so proud to be a voice in the conversation but so privileged to be a hearer of the many other voices rising to the microphone to be heard. Mitchell is also a local law enforcement officer (LEO) and African-American and brings a unique perspective to the discussion of race and policing to

our conversations. Juan Huertas, pastor of Grace Community, has also been attending with me and sharing a new, more progressive Christian perspective that we believe has pleasantly surprised some among our group. We look forward to future conversations toward the goal of bringing peace and understanding to our diverse community and to tackling other issues among the marginalized and disenfranchised communities of homosexuals and women, who also need to have their voices heard in the public sphere. Though at times frightening, I also believe it is an extraordinary time to be alive. Grateful for a place like Bon Temps to get down to the nitty gritty together in harmony.

Finally, I'd like to remind all my locals that The Cotton Boll Grill is OPEN for Business at 1624 Fairfield Ave. I stopped by this morning, desperate for coffee, and was greeted warmly by Gregory and presented with a delicious fix of the elixir of life. Open Monday through Friday, 6a to 3p, the Cotton Boll offers daily lunch specials.

Monday is Baked Chicken or Chicken and Sausage Gumbo. Tuesday is Meatloaf or Southern Fried Smothered Pork Chop. Wednesday, New Orleans Style Fried Chicken or Chef's Choice.
Thursday is a Cane River Pork Chop or Chicken and Dumplings. And Friday is brimming with Southern Fried Catfish, Shrimp Gumbo, Jumbo Fried Gulf Shrimp, or a Seafood Combo.

Guess what I'm having for lunch today?

Troubled Waters and Having a Plan

The office flooded on Tuesday. Got the call at 8:45am. A fire on the third floor above us. Sprinklers and SFD water hoses. And water gushing through the ceiling tiles and onto everything we've worked hard to accumulate and maintain to run our businesses. Devastating. And now happening for the third time.

Most all is well. No one was hurt or killed. Things can be replaced, repaired. We have insurance. Life and work, thankfully, will go on. I am grateful, but this recent episode got me and a friend of mine thinking: what are pictures worth in a moment like this?

Friends, they are priceless.

Every one grabs shots when the shit hits the fan. Hell, even the ServePro people were taking photos with their phones during their short-lived clean-up (too expensive for Corporate, so they pulled them off the job). We were all frantically grabbing shots of the ruins of our equipment, the soggy ceiling tiles disintegrating all over our precious professional belongings. I found my beloved camera, the money-maker of my business, standing in a pool of water on top of my particle-board-constructed desk. It is no longer serviceable. These are definitely times to capture the damage visually.

But now I will show you a more excellent way.

Document. Document what is valuable to you. Whatever that is. Have a digital copy and a print copy in a safe, water- and fire-proof place. If it makes you money, take photos of it. The insurance company will need to see the item as it was as well as damaged. Better yet, have a professional do it for you! The higher the quality of those photos, the harder it will be for the claim to be denied. Don't trust your livelihood to fuzzy, blurry, too-dark or too-washed-out photos.

Holiday Lights, Merry and Bright, from #mocopho

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Mollie Corbett Photography: Capturing Captains of Industry in Louisiana

Owner & President, Rick Roberts, of Valveworks USA in Bossier City, Louisiana, courtesy of Shreveport's Mollie Corbett Photography

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Your team: it's about people and relationship

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Manufacturing is GROWING in Shreveport

Recent tour photo of Libbey Glass plant in Shreveport, LA, courtesy of Shreveport's Mollie Corbett Photography

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Shreveport's Willy Wonka, courtesy of Mollie Corbett Photography

Morning Pages

Little and Full of Wonder

Things I do for Jackson because, through him, I get to be little and full of wonder all over again... #happyhalloween

River City Repertory Theatre's Bus Stop: Sex, Booze, Heart & Soul! MUST SEE!

Go see River City Repertory Theatre's Bus Stop at East Bank Theatre. You've got Friday and Saturday nights (7:30p) and a Sunday matinee (3p) left to catch it, and you definitely WILL want to catch it. Here's why.

The show opens like a heavy door into a warm room to the strains of Gustavo Santaolalla's brilliantly-moving theme music from Academy-Award winning director Ang Lee's feature film "Brokeback Mountain." Right away, your senses are attuned to a deep, abiding relationship to which you are not immediately introduced. You will love the sassy, brassy Diner-owner, Grace, in whose restaurant our story takes place and with whom Carl, the clever and eager Bus Driver, has a lascivious dalliance (ah, there's the sizzle!). Young, blushing Elma will melt your heart with her old world naiveté and charming sense of wonder at life and love. I personally want Will to be the Sheriff of all towns everywhere, with his protective and authoritative demeanor, tough-love wisdom and even-handed sense of fairness. You will cringe and laugh nervously at the antics and innuendo of Dr. Lyman who may or may not be a lecherous old man on the lam with a penchant for young, unsuspecting girls (look out, Elma!). And the frenetic appearance of the lovely, fluttering butterfly of a leading lady, Cherie, will thrill and woo you with her all-at-once demure, dramatic, and desperately angst-ridden delivery.

But I'm not sure how you'll take Bo Decker. The instant he entered from stage left, I hated him. Cavalier. Domineering. Rambunctious. Unaware of or oblivious to those around him. Bo is just plain rude, in my book, initially. But I instantly loved his buddy Virgil. Quiet. Kind-faced. Fatherly. A large but unassuming, muted presence. There has to be something redeeming in Bo for a good man like Virg' to keep him around. Their friendship turns the head (cue the music) as Virg' confides intimate detail about Bo to Cherie in a turning point that virtually midwives a transformation in all of our new friends at the Bus Stop.

And then you realize, somehow, you got invested in the happiness of this wayward cowboy and the object of his unrequited love! You want him to win. You want good things to happen to him. You want there to be a change of heart. You are rooting for it, clamoring for it, expecting good news.

You'll have to see Bus Stop for yourself to find out if that good news comes. And you're in for an aesthetic treat, too, because the play is a feast for your eyes with set design by the masterful Jim Hayes of LA House of Props, LLC, who transports us back to 1955 with a diner so realistic you'll complain about the slow service to order your eggs. At the start of act two, watch for the endearing and compelling light design that draws your eye and ear into the tenderness of Virgil's actual guitar-playing as the diner scene comes back to life. Don't miss the adorable diner costumes, Cherie's "little number" she slips into for an impromptu performance, or the way she coddles and nurses her coffee cup in her worrisomeness. Catch every bright-eyed marvel that flashes across Elma's face as Dr. Lyman regales and woos her. Struggle to understand how someone so handsome and in such tight Wranglers can be so unaware of himself and how bullishly he moves through his world!

Just go see it. Get your tickets at here. Then tell me what YOU thought~MC

Today is Charlie's Birthday

River City Repertory Theatre's 8th Season opens with BUS STOP starring JEREMIAH JAMES!

Tickets are on sale for The Rep's eighth season opener, BUS STOP. Support the area's only professional theatre company! BUS STOP is a tribute to the centennial of William Inge the playwright who brought us Picnic, Dark At The Top Of The Stairs, Come Back Little Sheba. Get tickets and see this great playwrights words brought to life by the River City Rep company. BUS STOP plays Oct 9 - 13 at East Bank Theatre. For reservations call 318-868-5888 For online sales visit busstop.brownpapertickets.com

Texting with Dad, episode 2

Hey, Daddy! Been a busy week, so I'm late getting back to you. This week I've mentored a parkway high school student interested in photography, shot a corporate calendar on a firefighter theme, coached a new vocal student who doesn't realize he doesn't need me, hired two contract photographers for my firm, worked with trusted colleagues to develop a new department for community building at our coworking space, shot a fashion preview, made a contact for a Bed & Breakfast trade in beautiful Natchitoches, and shot some promos for an upcoming theatre production. It was, for the most part, a good week. I know Mom and Sarah are having fun preparing for Tiny's arrival. I remember those times waiting for Jackson to come to us. Precious memories that certainly linger.

How's the little pickup coming along? Have you named it yet. Seems like we give everything we love a special name. Have you done that yet?

You said you were listening to me sing. Was it online? What was I singing?

Old cars DO have lots of options! LOL I've been thinking about old cars a lot lately. I love to tell the story of how I learned to drive. I will never forget the Saturday you hollered up the stairs to tell me it was time to go for our driving lesson. I was instantly flu-like. Sick as a dog from fear. I wasn't gonna be driving some sedan with a heavy gas pedal. We were taking the cutlass

supreme, which as you well know boasts that big, beautiful 455 rocket engine. I was terrified. Now, nothing satisfies quite like that full-throttle on an open road. I'm lucky to have experienced it, and miss it a lot these days. Maybe next time I'm home, we can take that 442 for a spin. I'm itching to hear that big block purr.

Today, I have a little modest wedding to shoot in south Shreveport and a cabaret show to support in central Bossier. Right now, I'm thinking about you and Momma and my first home, which will always be there, with you. Miss you, Dad. Love you more.

LA Film Prize needs YOU

Texting with Dad

Good morning, Daddy. I am at my office now. It's 8:56a CST and I've already crawled on top of a building and taken some pictures for the city of the downtown skyline. In a few minutes I'll be taking headshots of a couple new guys at a firm that uses me for their photography needs. Then I will have an uninterrupted day to work and complete tasks until about 3pm. That's when I got mee Jackson at the school bus, which he rides to and from school this year. You should know that all three of us want to come home for Christmas and Jackson asks me weekly when we will go to "Mimi's House," as he calls it. Sorry. Dad, that house belongs to her in my son's eyes! HAHAHA Our biggest concern is Charlie getting time off.

Regarding your hand, opening and closing is easy. You want to make sure you got some torque in the hand, so you can squeeze, lift heavy things without losing your grip, and do meticulous hand work without the hand tiring out too quickly. These are the aims of physical therapy. I strongly recommend you reconsider. And that's all I'll say about that.

I often daydream about driving my mustang, which I loved to do, but my favorite drives are in the real muscle cars like the 442. There's just something about full throttle in a 455. I miss it. I truly do.

As far as we know, none of Charlie's people have been affected with the flooding in CO. It's interesting to me how little attention it's being given locally. I hardly hear about it except through the internet, facebook and so forth. Those poor people...

Miss Scout, Louie's mama, stays real tight to me. I love it because I love her. She's a Luke 15 kitty cat--lost but found. The most precious of all. I see why God has such a tender heart toward the one's that almost got away.

I love you, Daddy.

Find a Way

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