Showing posts with label medical maladies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medical maladies. Show all posts

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Take that, CP, pediatric stroke...my daughter can take you!

So we had our clinic visit at Shriner's Hospital yesterday, and the verdict is in...Hannah rocks. I sort of knew this but it is great to be told. I really struggle with accepting acknowledgment for doing well as a parent, because I am so full of self defeating thoughts about my abilities to take care of kids with better than expected needs, but the truth is, I have done well by her. Dr. Mike said so! In fact his words were "best job ever!" But enough of me and my issues, she is rocking it all, so much that we continue to not brace her during the day so she is not inhibited in her voluntary movements. We will continue the night stretching brace and knee brace to make the AFO effective when she might otherwise bend her leg during sleep. I was given the advice that ... Are you ready? ... We need not go to PT but once a year to have an eval and get ideas for activities but life is the PT Hannah needs right now, so I should encourage her to be as active as possible, continue taking walks in our hilly neighborhood, continue going to the bounce facility regularly, continue with dance and any sport or activity that she enjoys, continue to have a big variety of footwear (especially cowboy boots) and so on. We will continue with OT visits and activities, as her hand and arm still need more development but my treating team doesn't think surgeries or bracing will be needed for her gait and mobility. Ahem. Yep, she rocks. Of course we could have increased spasticity with a growth spurt but really the leg spasticity is still dynamic spasticity only.  Basically, no need to borrow trouble and look for negative outcomes. And PT in life rather than at the clinic.

Oh, happy day. Thanks be to God, Early Intervention, the Angel of PT, and an awesome kid. My heart is full.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Congratulate yourself today - you didn't give up!

Already the post title sounds trite, I know, but it is really what I want to say.

You did it! You didn't give in to the stress, the worries, the anxiety about the known and the unknown that lie ahead for you and your family, and the to-do lists, and the unending needs of those you provide for, and the fact that the long and winding road looks really long sometimes. You didn't decide that it was too much. You didn't let negative thoughts and self doubt sink your boat. You didn't feel the weight of the burdens you carry and decide to put them down. You kept going. You did your many, many jobs, and you went looking on the internet for help and inspiration and ideas from people who get it. You deserve to feel good about that. I think you should feel good about being you today.

Brought to you from a gloomy person trying to claw her way out of the abyss, who today, sees joy ahead, and hopes you do too.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Your child was diagnosed with MCADD but will live a full life, with care

When we got the confirmation of my daughter's MCADD diagnosis, we had an answer for the crisis she had gone through, but I was terrified of being able to keep her alive. Five years out, she is indeed alive, and MCADD was not a death sentence. A butt-kicking experience, but doable.

Most children will be diagnosed through the expanded newborn screening, done shortly after birth through the heel stick blood tests. The nurses who have practiced for years often refer to the test as the PKU test, since for years that was the main illness diagnosed by newborn screening. Now, most states have expanded their newborn screening for metabolic disorders, and MCADD is about as common as PKU, and the second most common genetic metabolic disorder.  Loads of kids are diagnosed years after their births, when a younger sibling comes up positive on the newborn screening and then all other kids in the family get tested, and the family learns they have been successfully living with MCADD for years.  Regardless of how you learn about it, being told your child may die from a regular average every day cold, is indeed terrifying. The scariest day is when the parent goes to the internet to learn about the new presence in their lives, and they find websites describing the tragic stories of children dying when the condition was unknown. Armed with the knowledge that as long as your child never goes into a serious low blood sugar state, she will live, you pick up the pieces and move on, fear in your heart.

My daughter's stroke and cerebral palsy were caused by the MCADD factor, but are certainly not a common outcome for MCADD.  Hannah was not a gifted nurser, and her blood sugar went down slowly after her birth, so that 2 1/2 days after her delivery she experienced a metabolic crisis.  If we had a normal delivery she would probably have died and people might have called it SIDS, but since she was born by Cesarean section, we were still in the hospital.  Nurses charted her low temperature and took her from my room, her blood glucose was measured, they tried to feed her, and measured her blood glucose again, and again, and eventually charted "glucose IV stat" but it was not given for another 20+ minutes.  She became fully hypotonic, with absolutely no muscle tone, and experienced a metabolic crisis.  Doctors were baffled by her condition, gave antibiotics and monitored her closely, and about six days after she was born, we were given the MCADD results. At the time, no one expected there to be lasting complications, and the stroke was not diagnosed.  I had enough to worry about, being told that a few hours delay in feeding could kill her and that fever and vomiting might be cause for a hospital admission to avoid a hasty death. We came home without her, brought her home a couple weeks later, and I pumped breast milk for the next 18 months, since she never was an adept nurser.  I was terrified, I wondered if I should quit my job to stay home with her or try to get a nanny rather that putting her in day care, and I wondered how I could keep her alive if a world class medical facility nearly couldn't.  Three times I have taken her to the pediatric ER for testing and a glucose IV and three times she started keeping food down while there, recovered, and has never had to be admitted to a hospital for her MCADD condition.  Now that she is bigger, fasting is less risky, provided she doesn't fast for long or have other illness of a significant nature.  Day care was fine, in fact, given her CP, it was a huge part of her successful development to date.

If I could tell parents of kids with MCADD anything, it would be - you are good enough to do this. You really, really are, so don't waste any energy with fear and self doubt - just be mindful and do your best.  If you get here because you are in a similar situation, please email me for support. If you struggle with your fears of being adequate, get help.  If you are trying to be supermom, don't hurt yourself to do it.

I don't want to blame my meltdown on my daughter, but instead on how I reacted to her condition - but having a daily fear like this contributed in a big way to self medicating myself into a pain pill addiction that could have robbed my daughter of her mother altogether. Not cool! Not good parenting! I hope that other parents are smarter than I was, and don't let self defeating beliefs, the depression and anxiety that can come with family illnesses be part of why you sink under the weight of what is on your plate.  I wish I could go back and tell myself that indeed I was good enough to care for this child, that I was up to the task. History has proved that I was, so far, yet I didn't invest appropriately in my own health and well being and I very nearly blew it.  Having other family issues come along means I can no longer cushion the blows with pain meds and anxiety drugs, so now I must do it all sober, which is both harder and easier, and now I need not engage in further beating myself up for daily acts that affirm my negative beliefs. But I wish I had forgiven myself sooner and in a less gut wrenching fashion.  So my message to other parents who have similar burdens to carry, take care of you, so you can take care of the kids.  You deserve to be proud of what you do to serve your kids of every flavor, and to be good to yourself.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Friday Haiku - Psoriasis, Death, and Taxes

O, psoriasis!
Bane of my adolescence,
I have not missed you.

Next time you come back
I will punch you in the throat
and I won't feel bad.

But for now I will
hide my spotty self in lots
of baggy clothing.

And think of all the
weird baths, lotions, creams and pills
you brought to my life.

I can blame taxes
getting filed with a dead man.
Why ever, you came.

You're a right bastard.
You actually suck out loud.
Please take a long hike.


World Mental Health Day came and went

I didn't celebrate it.  I am hanging on to my mental health as best as I can, and sometimes I think there has been a bit of healing in little fits and starts, but neither grief nor wellness follows the notorious stages as described by folks in the helping professions.

Take denial, for instance, as it applies to dealing with death. I had a boatload of denial in the weeks following my husband's suicide, but then less. However, denial comes back but not in good ways-now I feel denial that he ever lived.  My kids burst out with things like "I'm starting to forget what he looked like!" followed by tears. I feel reluctance to get rid of the last bits of paper with his handwriting in case that means he gets totally erased himself. And this from someone who is not wholly grieving his passing because I am actually quite angry with him, still. I sometimes wonder if he was really real, at all.

This is where my existential angst gets me stuck - my kids didn't exist, and then they did, and even if it kicked my butt the experience of being a parent has been amazing...yet now the other parent exists no more. Wha??? I don't get it. No wonder my head hurts and my heart aches and my hands shake. All this bursting into existence and snuffing it out leaves the pile of consciousness that us "me" dizzy with the breathtaking power of it all.

So as usual, a folk song plays in my mind, from the inestimable Cheryl Wheeler.


Life is short, but the days and nights are long
Time will heal all these wounds
Some day soon
I'll be rising I'll be strong

But now I'm loosing all my battles
Now I'm down and dropping still
And this snow's blowing through
Like some ghost
With this blue I know too well

Broken hearts keep on beating just the same
So I guess I can too
Go through these moves
Facing forward, walking straight

But now my glance keeps drifting downward
Now my feet can't find their way
And this cold's creeping in
Through my bones
Whisperin it's here to stay

I'll bide my time, like there's any other way
It moves too slow, moves too fast
It's gone and past
And stopped entirely today

I know there's light on some horizon
But I can't see so far ahead
Patience and grace, blessed is love
I'm loosin my faith
In most of that stuff those wise men said

Friday, September 20, 2013

Bouncing to beat CP

What do you think, did intervention work on this stroke survivor? Do you see hemiplegia or a little girl having fun? Yeah, I thought so too.  (heart swelling)

I've been meaning to write about this for ages but got far too busy with whining about my head.  However, after suggesting it to someone I figured it was time to share. We started going to this bounce place more than two years ago with the Angel of PT,  Michael Workman, creator of the Bamboo Brace, and our PT spirit guide. Actually it terrified me back when Hannah was a new walker and quite unsteady, but I was assured she needed a place where she could safely fall down, and he was right. Not only did it give her a safe fall, but it gave her a whole lot more, especially one more place where she could do what all the other kids were doing, and just have fun.

When we stopped going with our PT, after aging out of Early Intervention, we just kept going for fun. Especially during the day, during open bounce, when bigger kids were in school, Hannah could bounce on the trampoline floor, and crawl on the floor, and climb the ladder of the inflatable slide using her affected arm to assist her in climbing up, and mostly she just had a great time without knowledge that I considered it therapeutic intervention.

Between divine intervention, Early Intervention, and me taking a lot of time to do stuff like this with Hannah on a regular basis, she just is not all that impaired.  Sure her leg and arm are still smaller in mass and less effective than her unaffected side, but she can do way, way, way more than she can't, and she is mainstreamed at school.  We are hitting occupational therapy the hardest now, and I don't know what we'll be doing to get those gains, but flailing her arms while she jumps seems to have strengthened her shoulder and upper arm enough that she doesn't flex her wrist and currently doesn't need that brace anymore.  I'd like to see her not favor that hand but she does a lot of two handed play, because her upper body is strong enough to move the arm naturally, so that weaker hand is not relegated to waiting all the time.


The Bamboo Brace was the beginning of this, but the bouncing kept it going, we think. We bounce at Jump Around Utah in Salt Lake City.  The owner sometimes laughs when we come in for half an hour before closing, just to get a little gross/fine motor skills work in on the fly, but every time we drop in we are glad we did.  Somehow, we have arrived at a time and place where I can come in with the kids I have with me and just sit down and look at the internet while they play independently. Yep, my child with CP plays independently and successfully in a rough play environment.  Did I picture myself saying that three years ago?  No.

Bouncing is for everybody.  My family and kids' friends can go for a playdate/babysitting event and work up a sweat while getting the ya-yas out.  A friend whose twin boy was eight months behind his sister in learning to walk made huge advancements when his big sister started bouncing with him on their trampoline, so I feel bouncing is indeed universally beneficial to build strength and balance but especially for those of us whose kids are otherwise limited in activities they would naturally do, I can't think of anything better. When my PT explained it to me, he described these benefits: fast movement on a soft surface builds muscle strength, challenges and therefore builds balance, develops the vestibular system which is important for our kiddos with impaired sensation so they better learn where their bodies are in space and relative to other stuff, and learning how to fall.  And, as you saw in Hannah's video, how to bounce back up.

This is not a sponsored post.  I would do a sponsored post, for the right people, but this is just a shout out to some very real folks and places that made our battle with stroke and cerebral palsy a battle we could fight.



Monday, September 9, 2013

posting my way through anxiety without mind numbing drugs - bite me, MCADD

Argghh, just a simple little cold/flu, the ubiquitous second week of the school year bug in all its minor chord glory, is here to rattle my cage in my new single mom state. I have decided that Hannah ate enough, is large enough, that the fact that she threw up does not mean we need to race off to the Children's Hospital in the middle of the night, getting a blood draw, IV and having her catheterized to check all relevant levels of stuff that matters in the world of metabolic disorders.

This is one of those places where my late husband was in some ways helpful, in that he didn't get so wound up with worry and count approximate food vs. vomit ratios, and yet, I always knew that if we separated I couldn't count on him to get Hannah to the hospital should she actually need to go, and I could lose her to his lack of worry.  And still I hated having to worry so hard about her since I had to worry for the both of us.  The three times I have taken her in to the hospital with vomiting and illness were all times where her test results showed she was just beginning to experience a metabolic process that could indeed be serious and ultimately fatal should she not get her glucose into a normal range.  I know at those times I did exactly right to take her in, and get a glucose IV that would load her up and keep her going until her appetite returned as the virus ran its course. But what about the times we  just rode it out and treated her like a normal child who has a brief illness? Am I risking her life when I don't take her in?  I know from the patient education we have received that she doesn't always need intervention and the best person to gauge that is her caregiver but I don't really trust myself to get it right, even though history has proven I do. And so anxiety kicks my butt, every single time her little regular virus with a high fever comes calling.  Every. Single. Time.

Last night I kept her in my too large bed, felt the heat waves coming off her body, and gave her sips of flat Sprite, apple juice, and water in between hurling into my stock pot that I kept at the foot of my bed. But it always seemed that every sign showed she was not in distress beyond expected levels for vomiting and fever, and if I could get her to keep high calorie fluids down by morning we could make it through.  And we did.  I imagine she will not go to school tomorrow either, and hope we both get more sleep tonight, and today I have one more example to tell my PTSD addled, anxiety riddled mind that I actually am up to the job of mothering this child. And that may sound more credible tomorrow.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Time. Marching on. Thank all that is holy.

By golly, is that the time?  Time to sit down and consume all my remaining outlandishly overpriced and calorically overdense foods before reentry into reality tomorrow morning?  Yes, it is time, apparently, since I sat down to blog with a crusty roll (less crusty than a few days ago) the last wad of pâté (I am so hoping Blogger can read pâté as pâté and not pate because, ooooh, ICK!) small slices of dilled Havarti, half a cheese danish and a chocolate caramel nut thingie (name of which escapes me but this goody will NOT escape me).  And an eggnog with rum, natch.  Sadly, this year I couldn't even keep up with my previously set standards for eggnog consumption because this year I was too busy to drink.  Yes, strange but true, we haven't restocked our eggnog from Costco for three weeks, and that is not like us.  Over the past few weeks I have countless times found myself failing to urinate when the urge occurred, only to realize that hours have passed before I finally decided I could pull that off.  Now you may hate me for this, and I do apologize, but I lost four pounds in December.  Before you throw something heavy at my post, do remember I am actually overweight, and fair is fair - someone has to lose pounds in any social circle because the number of pounds compounded between any group of people is a constant, shifting back and forth between the folk according to a fairly complex mathematical statement that if I revealed, you'd have to kill me, so my lips are sealed.  Will you feel better when I tell you that not one person set foot in my house over the holiday season?  Not one?  Not my sister, my niece, my aging parents, my bestie, my other lesser but still beloved friends, not even a neighbor (they left their shit on the doorstep and ran).   So I have to eat the food now, before the break ends, because no one else did.  I don't think people meant to ignore us, I think I only invited people who were unavailable, or so I like to think.  My bestie was in Puerto Rico, my aging parents are too decrepit to climb three stairs to my front door and so prefer we gather as a family at my sister's house, and everyone knows people with kids don't actually have friends. 

So what did we do from that point about three weeks ago until now, when I finally did three loads of laundry and put it away in the same 36 hour span rather than allowing it to mound on the window seat amongst the toys and handmade, glitter saturated Christmas decorations (glitter, as you may know, is Satan's dandruff, and remember the Satan / Santa conundrum, then add laundry and I think you'll see what I mean).   Well there was the shopping, and the wrapping, and the sickness, and the illness, and the wrapping, and the shopping, and the unwellness which delayed the shopping and the wrapping.  Anyway, the aging parents decided to go for broke and check into a nursing home and a hospital simultaneously two days after we had a child with a serious illness which requires the maintaining of a constant normal blood sugar barf her way through the night, Christmas night (bringing our percentage of children who barfed on Christmas to a respectable 50% of the four children in the household).  If it were me, and I were three years old, I'd be pretty upset to find vomit in my hair and my naked parents running around rapidly doing laundry and making me bathe in the middle of the night, but she handled it with all the grace a three year old can muster when she hears "good job, honey, you got it in the bucket!!" 

We did have fun.  We did have lovely gifts, some loud and some not, and some that brought great joy to their new owners.   We fully and finally realized just how much work my dear departed dog was doing to keep the floors clean - having now noticed that the rate of increased mopping is causing the kitchen floor tiles to buckle and rise up (the sort of uprising which leads to an all out revolution, eventually.  I know other parts of the house are planning insurgencies and I am turning a blind eye to the rebels, like many a colonialist before me).

The de rigueur photo post is coming . . . the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future are coming . . . and possibly so will I when you tell me this whole rigmarole going on repeat is at least nearly one year away. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Only an empty place





Farewell sweet Sophie.  She has been known as Soph, pumpkin, the beast, pumpkinette, muffinpie (everyone in my house can be a muffin), puppykins, pupster, Sophster, a demon of shoe eating evil, Soph-a-loaf (as a puppy she often looked like a loaf of bread while sleeping), half of "Soby" when in the middle of a roiling, rolling ball of puppyness all intertwined with her dear friend Toby (you couldn't see where the Toby began and the Sophie ended)   When I said my farewell I called her my baby. And mostly I called her mine.

People have asked me lately "how are things?" and mostly I discuss how the upcoming changes in our family life are intimidating: aging out of Early Intervention, having to fly solo on making therapy choices for Hannah, Claire starting Kindergarten, having two drop off points and two pick up points for day care each day, and now I have a new change for the list - we are a family without a dog.  In only the first two hours without her I had twice looked to her to see if she wanted to come out when I stepped outside.  Repeatedly since Monday, when I had her put down, I have looked to where she normally camped out and I've been so startled to have seen only an empty place. 

Sunday night I said my real farewell to her, when I'd carried her outside to go potty.  She'd been 48 hours since her sudden onset of "idiopathic neurological inflammation" - meaning the wiring is fried in the old dog's brain - and 36 hours since we'd begun a course of steroids that should show signs of working 24-48 hours after beginning treatment.  I knew then that she wasn't improving enough for me to feel it was fair to force her to stay for me.  I can only imagine what it is like to suddenly develop noticeable nystagmus (rapid jerking of the eyes) and to experience having one's entire visual field jerk back and forth repeatedly, causing a pronounced head title, dizziness, clumsiness and a general utter lack of well being.  After I helped her to walk and to do her business, I hunched down and cradled her shaggy head between my head and shoulder and I sobbed to her all my sorrow to send her away, all my regret that I'd not had more time for her since I'd had children, all my joy in having her in my life for fourteen years, and I told her I could let her go to Dog Heaven if she was ready. 

I am glad I could give her a peaceful ending.  I am glad that I didn't waffle and wait a few more days to see how she did, I am glad I had the courage to see it through and send her on her path.  I wish I'd laid down near her to cuddle her sooner before the vet came.  I wish I'd read Dog Heaven to her more than once that day.  I wish I'd petted her more in the years since she became so old and stinky.  I wish they'd all live longer, to match their families. 

Even on the day I had her put down, Claire shouted at her sister to stop her from walking in the grass and getting her feet covered in dog poop and then she quickly remembered that Sophie would no longer be pooping in the yard.  Since then she keeps noticing the good things about not having a dog, and then quickly adds that she misses Sophie and she is about to cry.  I keep realizing how I am not yet ready to be glad I don't have a dog.  I like my glass to be half full but counting my blessings in this regard is not yet on my list of things to do.  It took me days to get the dog food and water bowls up off the floor and have the kibble tossed out.   I keep finding myself listening for toenails going clickety clack across the floor, and for her annoying heavy panting and sharp coughing/gagging throat sounds that have become the soundtrack of my life and are now strangely absent.  Last night Claire decided she wanted to give her picture of the day to Sophie, so she put it in the place where her bed was in the corner of my room. It is only an empty place. 


Sunday, January 30, 2011

One more thing that is all my fault.

I put away the Childrens' Ibuprofen.  And the Children's Tylenol.  It is all my fault. that Hannah got sick again.

Every time I put away the purple stuff, within three days someone gets sick.  I tell myself it isn't so, that only coincidence could produce this result.  But time and time again I scoff in the face of anecdotal evidence and I put away the fever reducing medicines, only to have someone develop a fever in pretty short order.  I don't really believe in this kind of magical thinking.  My mother does, I know, and I've felt some pull toward it in my life certainly, but of course it makes no sense at all.  When I was a much more angsty young woman in my teens and early twenties, driving at night, I would always notice when for some reason streetlights would turn off as I drove under the light they cast.  I'd notice the pattern and then be unable to not notice.  I'd wonder if my ions were wrongly polarized or fate had a plan.  I would think back to when I'd learned that one developmental stage of childhood has a child wonder if she or he is the center of the universe - that they are the only real part and everything else is just a construct.  Certainly I was relieved to know I wasn't alone to have had these thoughts as a child, and toasted my good fortune in not being mentally ill or stuck in that phase (I probably toasted with quite a lot of cheap beer).  Perhaps I even drunkenly discussed existentialism, even though I hate philosophy.  I might have had deep thoughts, or just thought I did.  But how is it that now, at forty three and well encumbered with relationships with people that really bring home the concept that real is indeed real, how do I now believe that whenever I put away the Ibuprofen, my kids will need it again?  And even if I could make myself sick with my thoughts how am I making my children get strep or viral illness?

I live in a one hundred year old home.  Nothing about my kitchen is spacious.  My counters do not need piles of things that never go away.  OK a knife block, a hodge podge of long handled utensils crammed in a somewhat attractive but mismatched jar.  The phone.  The pile of baby bottle parts and binkies that will finally go away soon.  Hannah's carnitine, and syringes to measure it.  My vitamins and supplements, lest I ignore them for months at a time.  I don't need medicine for potential use to remain out and at the ready.  We don't need it everyday.  We possibly need it for five days at a time, longer when the girls split their illnesses up rather than share them.  I don't want the bottles to live there.  So I hired the most powerful sorceresses I could find to cast a banishment spell with their sparkly pink wands.  It better work.  I'm keeping the bottles on the counter until next month, though, just in case.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Day three and counting

House date (I hate star dates, space bores me silly, except in Galaxy Quest): January 25, 2011

Today is day three of Hannah's third illness in two and a half weeks.  We started a few weeks ago with the delightful virus with a gastro bonus feature, had five days of normal eating and living, then Hannah's first bout with strep throat, probably courtesy of big sister who gets strep if someone talks about it, and after six days on antibiotics she got sick AGAIN.  Like God, she was supposed to rest on the seventh day but maybe because she can't read yet, she did not get the memo.  This would be your basic streaming nose and eyes, coughing (OK, hacking), high fever kind of virus.  Bonus feature add on: hands, lips, and nose turning blue when she either is cold or feels cold despite actually being 105 degrees.  Lest you think I am a crappy mother, I will tell you I asked Metabolics about the blue hands the first time it happened, when she was not actually even sick, and they sent me to Neurology, who said it was not CP related since it hit more than her affected side and so it must be metabolic, who again denied coverage.  My regular old garden variety pediatrician says it is vascular and inexplicable and not to fret.  A win for the GP!  Inexplicable!  Woo-hoo! But I digress . . . The strep was sort of anticlimactic, Hannah had a fever but never considered reducing her food, she was too busy catching up from the previous weekend.  Strep was small potatoes in her mind.  We were concerned she could get sick again without having even finished the pink stuff but a check yesterday says no UTI, no ear infection, just a suspected bone chilling, lung shattering, neck baking, snot making virus.  On the upside, the only body fluid currently distributed about my face and shirt are all snot or spit/snot related.  Hannah is napping right now, and just coughed so hard she said "Owie!" in her sleep, which is cute but distressing.  So far, in order to get her to consume enough calories to fuel this fever I have used the following: Polycose added to milk or in juice (a blend of secret not sweet sugars that have both quick and longer acting molecules to add calories) which is new to us, I have served almost all of her most favorite foods (many of which elicited no response at all, including pot stickers) I have squirted syringes of liquid in her mouth while sleeping as well as inserted bottles of milk until she remembers she doesn't want it, I gave her home-made buttercream frosting (hardly painful for me at all) and tonight I will try The Soup of Healing and the Rice of Togetherness (egg drop soup from my favorite Chinese place, which I swear really does have healing properties, and we need the rice of togetherness because if Lord Honey fails once more to understand my dosing instructions about Hannah and fever reducing medicines this family will have a reduction in force, effective immediately).  I just remembered marshmallows, and that I could perhaps offer her two big fat ones right before bed so I could feel I could safely sleep though the night.  I might make some brownies and frost them with buttercream frosting.  For lunch I made tea sandwiches (she wolfed them down the last time I made them for a party) and she managed to eat one third of the triangle which was 1/4 of a full sized sandwich minus crusts.  Success!  But I will please Claire with my tea sandwich efforts, and that is worth something. 

So a colleague in my office emailed me to ask how Hannah was and I gave her the update.  She wrote back how the coughing could make a parent feel so helpless.  I told her how empowered I felt when I got the child to eat nearly 1/12th of a sandwich.  She thought it sounded like I'd have Hannah mended soon.  I pondered whether I knew anything at all about any of this.  I decided I felt more like a fat old Idaho salmon, trying to get upstream to do my duty but not having a fucking clue how to work fish ladders when I don't have hands or feet. 

After trying to draw you out of your shells I had planned to be bitingly funny, poignant, witty, maybe even worth forwarding.  Oops!  Someone is calling "Mooooommmmyyyyy" so I must fly.

Edited: updating with the news that she can now cough enough to lose her lunch.  Lovely!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

She's better, we're better, wouldn't you like to be better too?

So Hannah did in fact need to go to the hospital Sunday evening when she got up from a nap, turned purple with cold, then cooked up a 104 degree temp in the blink of an eye, and I knew that dehydration needed to be beaten.  Only two little results on a big broad metabolic panel showed anything funky going on, which would be stopped by the dextrose IV solution we were given.  I was sort of concerned by the size of the IV bag, and that if we had to wait to absorb all of that then I had not brought enough changes of clothing with me.  Ultimately they had us fluff up with dextrose/saline, using maybe a tenth of the bag, and the ER sent us away to follow up with the metabolic clinic the next day, which upon seeing Hannah seemed frankly surprised I was concerned, pronounced her as healthy as a person with MCADD and raging diarrhea could be, gave no answer whatsoever as to why the child sometimes turns purple and sent us packing.  Back at home we changed clothes a lot and tested the retention capacity of size 4 Kirkland diapers (poor when challenged by power pooping)  I have resumed my role as forensic scatologist looking for anything remotely turdlike in the diapers of disaster so we could at least tell ourselves the er, um, end?, was in sight.  It was.  A lot.  We saw a lot of that tiny behind, the laundry room, and diaper Genie.  And I spent some time wondering why diarrhea is spelled that way: doesn't the extra "r" seem excessive? Is that the point? It is meant to be a run-on word?

Today Hannah made a big turnaround and begged to go to school, so I took her in midday and she spent the evening cheerfully being herself with extra verve - I think she is pleased to again be capable of knocking her big sister down (she lost only 1 pound of her 25.5).  I am rewarding myself with an early bed and a new book.  For you - I hope for peace and an absence of runny poo.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

It's four o' clock and all is well enough to go to bed for three hours

People, what are you dreaming about? Send some this way, will you? I've been up all night so far, dozing holding Hannah, and now that I feel she has enough blood sugar to get her through until she wakes, of course I am so awake I need a blog and a snack. I don't feel entirely comfortable taking a sleep aid in case the human vomit comet fires up the engines. It's funny how every time Hannah has any risk factors for an MCADD metabolic crisis all thoughts of the ass face of stroke or CP or cloudy indistinct brain damage all fly right out of my head and I am paralyzed with fear that I won't guess correctly and Hannah will expire because I didn't take her to the ER. However, the two times I've been to the ER in the middle of the night she did stop puking by 2:00 a.m. but we were held hostage until at least 6:00 only to get sent home. Once they utterly failed to follow the emergency protocol outlined in her emergency letter (written by the genetic metabolic docs at that very hospital) and the second time they only failed to follow about 30% of the protocol. Each time I felt I may have jumped the gun, that if I'd waited two hours I'd see that she would start to keep fluids down on her own if given in small doses, and as long as I kept at her she'd be fine and not spend one more night as hospital baby but instead just as baby down for an evening but well cuddled in the arms of Mama. And yet the smaller she is, the shorter period of time she can safely fast so things only get better for us with the passage of time. But now I don't have breast milk to give her, not that the hospital wanted me to last time because "milk is not easily digestible." Last time we were told we could go home when she could keep down Pedialyte, which tastes like ass (purple ass, but still ass) and I gave folks a lecture about how it was unreasonable to expect that a child who doesn't like the taste of ass should be asked to consume it after vomiting her guts out and that breast milk was actually made for her and not by Monsanto and was more digestible than anything else available to her. I'm pretty sure that got me an "uncooperative wacko mom" note in the file but I did actually later lodge a complaint and request for additional training after the nurse who discharged us advised me to give my daughter nothing but apple juice for at least 36 hours. I had reminded her of my daughter's specific diagnosis and how diarrhea could be as devastating as vomiting for her risk of hypoglycemia and she said even breast milk was just a really bad idea for anyone who had suffered from vomiting. When I talked to the on call genetics doc the next day he wisely (I thought) told me that a physician he trained under said "no human condition is improved by hunger." I've begged the docs we see to give me greater guidance about how to know Hannah's sugar is dangerously low, and are they sure I shouldn't test her sugars, and all of that and what they keep sticking to is how she looks/acts/presents when other indications are she may be low. Once they said she could go as low as about half her normal intake for a while but not for too long (isn't that nicely specific) and they tell me to keep cake decorating gel on hand to squish inside her cheek if I think we are in danger and need time to transport to get her an IV. Didn't I tell you this disorder was strange? So after one barf before dinner, a happy perky child running about later, three changes of bed linens and two for my shirt/bra, I just sat in the nursery chair with her nestled happily on me on the giganto extra large boppy on my lap, and we dozed on and off and had sips of apple juice and Gatorade and she kept telling me off for trying to sing the wrong songs or telling her to sleep. She has ten ounces of liquids containing sugar on board and hasn't hurled for more than two hours. My neck and back are screaming in pain but she is now snoring peacefully, back in a clean crib and smelling only faintly of vomit, and I have hung my hat entirely on how she kept reaching about to pat my cheek, forcefully insisted I sing the Hannah songs only and pulling back to look me in the eye in the dim glow of the night light over the diaper pail (that makes it sound more romantic, right? Like moonlight on a river but somehow more fundamental) with BOTH hands on my cheeks and smiled delightedly at getting to go to sleep on Mommy over and over and over.  I'll keep you posted, please send positive thoughts of clean laundry and a dearth of extra bodily fluids.

Monday, January 3, 2011

2010, bullet by bullet

Numbers to explain the year in review:

Health category:
  • therapy sessions for my daughter:
    •      PT - about 45
    •      OT - about 35
    •      Hippotherapy - about 20
    •      bonus play time at Little Gym -  about 30
  • Doctor visits for daughter - 10 ish
  • Doctor visits for me - skip that
  • times my children went under general anesthesia because dentists don't do "light" sedation on people under 30 pounds - 2
  • kinds of brain damage identified in immediate family - more than, one for hell's sake
  • physical therapy sessions for me:
    •      neck related - 10
    •      broken butt related - 8
  • physical therapy sessions where I went to cheer my mom on - 3
  • number of times she didn't remember my name correctly, before therapy - 2
  • number of times she said she didn't want to do therapy - a bunch
  • number of times she did it anyway - enough that she gets an A++ for effort, and will be released home in a few days, having achieved more strength than she had pre-stroke
  • number of times I've felt inspired to chuck in the legal job and become a PT - a whole bunch
  • Jazzercise classes attended: 50 or so
  • Pounds lost - about 20
  • Months not spent doing regular exercise - 6
  • Bra size letters down - let's just rate this as moving in the right direction.  If I were one of those medical weird ass types (as in "patient denies pain" WTF?) I'd say the bra size is downgoing
  • Number of times I creatively visualized punching "STROKE" right in its stupid ass face while doing a punch move in a Jazzercise routine - at least 150
  • Number of times punches made me feel infinitesimally better - 150 
  • twenty zillion - number of times I had to explain to someone what Hannah's hand braces and taping methods are, how different methods work, separately and together, and what a cast is doing on a perfectly good arm
  • a few - number of times the above made me cry when I really didn't want to
  • a whole bunch more than a few - number of times I did the explanation without tears because I rock.  Well she rocks, and I have been practicing.
Wealth category:

  • Raises - none
  • Expenses - up, up and away
  • Vacations I paid for without charging the whole thing - one big honkin' trip to Disneyland, in my minivan, because I am that cool
  • Bankruptcies, job losses, unpaid bills (debt floating on credit cards excluded) - zero. We'll call this a win, because fortune didn't frown on me here, and the credit card debt far predates 2010, so it doesn't really count as an annual statistic, right?
Happiness category:
  • Belly laugher now identified: Hannah is a belly laugher.  She also hits people a lot and honks your nose while looking you right in the eyes to watch how you react.  Claire was very much a smiley baby but Hannah is more of a laugh out loud baby, and I have to say both traits are quite pleasant in one's offspring.
  • Husband has not been killed by me or anyone else.  This is probably good.
  • I can't say I didn't try, because I really did.  But it made me tired.
  • Claire says I am the best Mommy in town, and she loves me a lot.  She loves me "forty-three" - I think she arrived at this number based on my age, which is the biggest number she has spent any time pondering. I'm trying to teach her about eleventy zillion but she hasn't grasped that concept yet.  Both children seem quite fond of me but Hannah only recognizes two and five, so she doesn't quantify her affection for me, but I think, in the fullness of time, she will. 
  • Debris removal shoes may be available soon. 
2011, bring it on.  You only scare me a little bit with your potential ass-kicking.  It's just a flesh wound. 

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Can a girl really get past a stroke? Well, yes.

I know I've been woefully absent again. By the way, butt not officially broken, but I did re-injure it when, after my mother had a stroke and was hospitalized last week and was then to be released, my sister texted me "come to St. Mark's - hurry" and I fell right the fuck down again, on my dining room floor as I stood in my stocking feet and read the message. My sister wanted me to hurry, but I didn't really mean to hurry that much. Oh well, my odds are better than my mom's. She is much better now than the last few days after episode number two, and will be sent to an acute care rehab tomorrow for a make or break stint of therapy. If she makes the effort, she'll make it home, and if she doesn't, then she'll never go back into her cocoon of safety and comfort. So I'll post more about it when I get the chance, but I wanted to share these pix of Hannah Rose, stroke survivor. In the last two days she has run through the house wife a play knife in each hand, practiced walking with both hands in her pockets, practiced walking with her eyes closed and while covering her head with a bucket.  Here's hoping my mom can learn from her granddaughter.



Friday, December 10, 2010

"Let me tell you about your butt" is a crappy pickup line

My butt is broken, or at least looks, feels, and acts that way.  On the advice of my physical therapists (a fun family has physical therapists for both adults and children) I had an x-ray of my pelvis today, to determine if my tragic fall caused a fancy schmancy injury - the pelvic avulsion fracture. This type of injury occurs most often in athletes, and ya'll know how athletic I am. I am at least athletic enough to be suspected of being able to wrench my own body heroically to save my precious baby from a smash to the head, and in so doing create enough torque to break bone. It is true that I saved her very well, her coat was not even wet after our crash to the pavement. I am powerful, but secretive. Deeply secretive. I was hiding the answers even from myself, and then I got professional help.  The physical therapists don't want to treat me anymore until we rule out a higher level of injury.  I think they are bored because the depth of the color of the leg length bruise is waning but that is a different post.

I asked the radiology clinic staff if I could speak to the radiologist or technician myself, to learn about my results, since the x-ray gets developed pretty much instantaneously. No, they could not speak to me about my butt. HIPAA prevents disclosure of private information. Even to me. My ass is officially top secret, strictly a need to know topic. Hopefully tomorrow, in the fullness of time, the radiologist will share the information with my regular doctor, who will hopefully have time to call me before the office closes for its Christmas party. So more people can know the secrets of my ass. Including me.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Fifth disease, because six is too many and four is not enough

Well, we need not have feared what Claire would learn watching Grease and hearing the entire crowd singalong, because the night was scuttled by the contracting of the fifth of classic childhood illnesses diagnosed by a distinctive rash, fifth disease, also know as "slap cheek disease" which sounds a little more like something I'd like to inflict. This is how Claire looked coming home from day care:



Normally Claire looks like this:



As Claire mended, I was felled, then Hannah, who was spotty from head to toe. I actually had one evening where I took to my bed then had the bonus symptom saved for adults, with aching arthritic joints that normally feel quite spry, like hips and elbows. So we lost days of work, days of day care fun, therapy and Little Gym sessions, took a lot of pain meds and fever reducers and generally had an ass kicking time. And a big who-hoo to that week, don't think you'll be getting some whiz bang Friday Haiku, because I have to get ready for an upcoming holiday celebrating the baby turning two. Bite me, stupid week. Wait, is that begging for trouble? Let's agree to detente, shall we? It's just a flesh wound and we'll call it a draw.


Thursday, June 24, 2010

Hippo week two

Again, the uncooperative video loading slowed this down, and will deny you the option of hearing these highly trained therapists and volunteers singing "Twinkle, twinkle little star.





Hannah's affection for the horse has extended to each and every picture of a horse in any book or magazine. I can't pin this on the hippotherapy, but she really does have her hand more open now, and less sensitive. For months we have sat and read together and I use her right hand to turn the pages of the board books we read. Every now and then she forgets to resist it, and turns page herself with her right hand. I have a few of those "touch and feel" books that have textures for things like farm animals and so on, and this last week she has been much less resistant to me rubbing her right hand on the books to get that extra sensory input. Two nights ago we watched her purposefully put a noodle in her right hand and examine it, then she got it back in her left hand to eat it, but still, we were suitably impressed.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

A horse of a different color

Finally, an upbeat post for the Gingerlings, one and all.

By Saturday Hannah was back at full speed so we had her first actual hippotherapy session (as opposed to the $175 eval session).



It is probably a little difficult to tell from these two shots that she was in a much more upbeat mood about the horses. Well, maybe the absence of screaming tells the tale, but she was happier.



I had asked for permission to watch another child's session so Hannah could observe another child not hating it, and I'd talked Claire into riding to show Hannah how it was done. We'd practiced putting helmets on now and then over the past few weeks, tried for pony rides and failed, but this week we just went for it. She watched the horses and we ate our picnic lunch in the car and then came back in, expecting Claire to go first to set the stage, but the therapist pulled the bait and switch on me, got Hannah to come willingly into her arms, asked if she could do tough love and just get her started. Claire was a bit disappointed not to be needed to get things going, but then Hannah started wailing so they sent me to the office to get out of her sight. By all accounts, as soon as I was missing from the picture, she stopped crying and performed every task and riding position as requested, including color identification (WTF, she doesn't talk much) but she apparently rode like a pro. Finally after the session was done they came and got me out of the office, where I'd been reading a book on the body parts of the horse to Claire (she liked flanks, loins, and manes) and then they let Claire have a spin on Rocky while Hannah looked on jealously. I guess I have to get horseback riding for them both, which definitely won't be covered by my insurance. And probably neither will Hippotherapy which my insurance considers to not be really a type of OT since it doesn't work on the hand. Now, I'll appeal, and quite possibly kick some ass while I do it and possibly succeed, but it burns me that I have to spend any energy doing this. So it is OK to pay for my child to stick a hand she doesn't want to use in a tub of kidney beans but not to ride a horse and ultimately hold the reins?

Now, Hannah hugs the pictures of horses in her books every time instead of just some times, and if I ask if she wants to go ride Rocky again, she nods yes instead of squealing "un-unh!"

Hooray for progress!

Now, to get an extra job to pay for the sessions.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Haiku Friday an ode to fever

Grape Ibuprofen
smells awful but works wonders
bless its purple soul