bloom

It's not gas.  It's not the stomach flu.  It's not reflux.  What Baby M has been experiencing is likely called infantile spasm.  And if you google it, which I don't recommend, you will most likely find these words: cataclysmic seizure disorder.

I know because it's what I read after googling the term a neurologist used to describe the worst case scenario (and very unlikely, so meant to ease my fears).  It came after a long two weeks of trying to get answers and reassure myself that it was, as I was told, just gas or reflux, and facing that gnawing sensation that it was something else.  I made that now predictable error of using google and youtube for research.  Will I ever learn?!

So there I sat, desperate and terrified, staring at a screen, hardly able to breathe.  I tried to fight back tears, to quiet the voice that wanted to scream, "It's just not fair!!!" and managed a prayer-demand: please, God, just one good thing.  Can't you give me just one good thing?!?


And then there was a knock at the door.  Literally.  At that exact moment, somebody knocked on my door and tore me from my selfishness and blindness.  I stumbled downstairs, scrambling to assemble myself and push the dog back and listen to the boys at the front window describe a woman who'd gotten out of a minivan.  The door opened to my friend, whose name means the same as my daughter - bitterly wanted - standing on the porch with a giant vase of hydrangea blooms.  I stammered, and choked, and could feel a rush of heat to my tear ducts, which could no longer hold back the pain, frustration, and exhaustion.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled.  There were other words, but I could only shake my head.  One Good Thing.  When she asked, I stammered out something about the new possibility of a terrifying disorder.  My fear.  My dread.  My anger.  My prayer moments earlier. I clumsily fumbled when she said she just didn't know what to say: "just be thankful it's not your child."  My internal tantrum against the unfairness and injustice of life raged behind my tears, but I bowed my head when she asked to pray for me.  When she was done, I felt a glimmer of calm.  Perhaps I'd be able to cope.  It would be only the first of several times a friend would stop that day and pray for me, giving my thirsty soul and heart relief - if only for a bit longer - and helping me face forward.

I put the flowers on the table, and thought to myself how they reminded me of myself.  Blooming, in spite of the winter months.  It's possible, even if they are more naturally suited to a sunnier climate.  They were beautiful, and they reminded me of the many gifts - the many good things - in my life.  This diagnosis would be scary, but not insurmountable.  I pointed out the flowers to the boys; we admired them as we ate cold cereal for dinner and waited for Daddy to get home.  Exhausted, I let them watch a movie while another friend came over and processed with me, letting me cry.  When Mr. Kenobi came home, things settled for a bit, but when our baby had another "spasm," it did me in.  I burst into uncontrollable sobs, wailing to a God I wasn't sure was listening, "Please!  Please make it stop!  Please fix this!  Please!  IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!"


Mr. Kenobi took the baby from my grasp.  I hadn't been this way since we heard the words, "chromosomal abnormalities."  It's finally happening.  It's finally too much.  Everyone has her limits, and I've just crossed mine.

The night was long.  Every sound she made, sleeping within an arm's reach of me, made me jump to check on her.  I slept in scattered 15-minute naps, mostly laying awake in worry.  When I woke in the morning, it was more like conceding a battle lost.  I would not have rest, nor perspective, to start this day.  So I went downstairs.

Soon joined by the little feet of Obi-1, I sat quietly in the living room, snuggling him and trying to reassure him that Mama wouldn't cry all day.  I willed myself to hold back tears, and then he noticed something.

"Oh, no, Mama!  The flowers - they're dead!"

Sure enough, my beautiful blue blooms had wilted.  I nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity.  There they sat, poised on a dining room table, and wilted within a day. The heat from our fireplace, which I'd worked so hard to keep going the day before, had likely proven too much for them  Yup.  Just like me.  Couldn't stand the heat. Nice message from God.


Obi-2 came down soon after and noticed the arrangement with grief.  "Mama!  Your flowers died!"

Sarcastic prayers filled my mind, but somewhere - somewhere much deeper in me - words came from my mouth.  The teacher spoke.  "Actually, they died when they were cut from the plant, sweetie.  They just wilted because the air got too dry around them."

Died when they were separated from the roots.  Oh.  My ears didn't listen to my own words until later.

Obi-1 stirred oatmeal, I zombied my way through morning routine.  The phone rang - an EEG appointment was available today.  I began calling friends, trying to find help for the boys so they wouldn't have to come with us.  Cripled, wilting, I called a friend.  The friend who lovingly burped my gassy baby last week.  The friend who hosted my soul and my son in her home.

She's a little like my mother, this friend.  No pitty-parties.  Sympathy, but no wallowing allowed.  She began to point out the good things.  The reasons for gratitude.  She quoted this book - ironically one I gave her when I left her home - reminding me that miracles follow thanksgiving. With grace and compassion and steely resolve, she turned the lenses on my heart's kaleidoscopic and pointed to the colors.  And when she had heard enough of my, "yes, but..." whining, she asked if she could pray for me, and thanked our common Father for the long lists of blessings in my life.

Because sometimes, that's what friends do.  They write the thank you note while you're still staring at the ripped wrapping paper.  Or, as I realized after the call, she watered my roots.

From that moment on, I could see things - the very same things - in my day with a different perspective. We didn't have to get an EEG. We had to gift of the premier facility in the area putting us on the schedule today.  We had a neurologist calling into the head of pediatric epilepsy, urging a quick review of our case. Friends' messages streamed in, gifts of hope and kindness in thought and prayer.  Dear friend "Auntie V" rescheduled a client so she could stay with the boys, and arrived declaring how wonderful it was that she got to spend part of her day with them (with no indication that it was an immense favor for me).  Another friend penned me sweet words of encouragement, birthed from a heart that walks a similar path to mine.

Searching to satisfy my hunger for tangible reasons to be grateful, I remembered a friend who'd walked through an EEG with her son, and called for insight on our appointment.  No sooner did she hear what we faced than she said, "that's what my son had."  Reassurance.  Her bright, capable, beautiful (non-DS) son had come through this.  So had she.  So could we.

And so, perhaps it shouldn't shock anyone when I nearly burst into a dance of joy as the doctor - the same pediatric neurologist who had emailed back-and-forth with me and first mentioned the words that sparked my panic - called.  Dance with joy?  I was hearing the words that had only been a worst case scenario the night before. He had patiently consulted me with emails throughout the past few days, and paved the way for our daughter to be reviewed by the best of the hospital's experts.  It was eight at night.  He was likely home, but reviewing her brain waves via remote system.  He had already left a message on my home number, but then called my personal cell phone to try to talk to me in person.

It is likely infantile spasms.  Without missing a beat, he assured me that this will likely be okay.  Children with Down syndrome are a bit more likely to have this, even as rare as it is.  They also tend to do better - responding to more treatment options, responding well, recovering more quickly, with fewer or no long-term affect - than typical children.  If your baby is going to have these, it is to her benefit to have been born with Down Syndrome.  He spent about 15 minutes explaining, educating, encouraging.  We've caught it early, and she's going to recover.

What once felt like one more unfair thing was, divinely, a gift.  Her underlying genetic differences made her stronger.  More able to fight and win, not less.  More able to shine on the other side of this.  Less likely to wilt in the heat.

I'm so grateful.  I'm a little nervous, too, of course.  Treatments and epilepsy are a big deal, even if we're under the care of the best.  This Mama carefully researches everything that goes into her babies' bodies, so the thought of what we're about to do to my youngest makes my stomach tense, but a grateful heart is a good antacid for that.  Armed with more information, but more importantly, new perspective, I'm back.  A living plant loses some of its prized blooms when pruned, but leaves room and nutrients for new growth.

Love,
MamaToo



p.s.  for those wondering the health background...
She started doing little hiccup-like crunches a couple weeks ago, when the rest of the family was falling to a brief-but-vicious stomach bug, but she never got sick.  When we realized it was happening at least once a day, for several days, we called the pediatrician.  I remember using the words, "I'm afraid it could be seizures." The nurse asked many questions, and concluded that it likely wasn't seizures.  More likely was that dratted stomach bug.  We had an appointment already scheduled for a week out, and could check it then.  Unsatisfied, I asked her to review that thought with the doctor and call me back if he'd like to see the video I took.  She called the next morning; they had discussed it more and while she asked a few more questions, it just didn't strike them as something urgent.  It was likely gas or upset tummy.

So I went to visit a dear friend, and when she saw it, she said, "Oh, that baby has gas!  Don't worry!"  I got back to town and took our baby into the pediatrician for her visit.  She happened to have an episode when we walked in, and a nurse observed it, seeming to think it was odd, but not alarming.  Another nurse came in, discussed with me, and watched the video from my phone.  Everyone seemed to conclude it was classic signs of reflux.  Except our baby doesn't spit up (that was Obi-3 - ufdah!) and it doesn't always happen around eating.  It's more likely to happen upon waking up, or shortly after falling asleep, or when she's quite tired.  The pediatrician (not our usual one, but a partner in the practice) came in, asked more questions, and viewed the video.  "Hmmm... yeah, it's probably reflux.  We can get an EEG if it would make you feel better, just to be on the safe side."

Feeling like that mom who was insisting on extra testing for her perfectly well child, I emailed the neurologist we'd seen when we enrolled in a children's hospital program for Down Syndrome.  He mentioned infantile spasms (the first I heard the term) were a very rare thing that would be ruled out by an EEG, and said it wouldn't be an unreasonable precaution or defensive medicine to go ahead with that.  He also offered to take a look at the video I'd shot.  Within hours, we were on the schedule at two hospitals (I cancelled the later appointment as soon as I got into children's hospital).  The EEG went well, and the test results are still in process but the neurologist feels the data supports infantile spasms, which is what he saw in my video.  He does think her spasms are quite mild, which is probably the reason (along with the rarity of these seizures) our pediatrician didn't spot it initially.  He also says we've figured it out early enough to diagnose and treat quickly, hopefully averting any long-term issues with her.  For those of you in my close circle, I'll keep you updated with other information as I know it.

stepping forward

With a diagnosis like Down Syndrome, there are many "next steps."  We have hardly had time to catch our breath since she was born, let alone return a phone call or update a blog.  Still, I'm thankful for these next steps because each one has reassured, empowered, or  educated us for the road ahead.  Here's a quick recap...

Blood Tests.  The diagnosis requires a full genetic panel of tests.  This came back confirming a Down syndrome, and eliminating some other (more rare and complicated) diagnosis.

More blood tests.  Her bilirubin was high (indicating jaundice), and her platelets were low (indicating her blood's inability to clot).  However, numerous doctors, nurses, and others felt the labs might be wrong, as she didn't show any signs confirming these problems.  More on this later.

More blood tests.  Thyroid tests have come back inconclusive.  In the womb, she received my thyroid hormone and antibodies, which are "wacky" due to my own thyroid disorder.  While mine is well-managed, it is still detectable in blood tests, which means we can't determine if she has a similar thyroid issue or if her levels are simply a reflection of her mother.  Another test in six months will tell us more.

More blood tests. Most other tests have come back wonderfully normal, eliminating (at least for now) worries of leukemia, metabolic disorders, and a range of other things more commonly found in babies like her.   Also, most recently, a third test confirmed that her platelets are in the normal range and the doctor feels no further concern of jaundice.

Do you notice that there have been a lot of blood tests?  This little girl has had quite a lot of blood drawn, sometimes with wonderful technicians, and other times with people who seem unaccustomed to newborns and their mamas.  It started at two days old, then at five days we had the biggest draw.  When some of the original numbers came back and caused concern, we were back again at 9 days, and again at one month.  It looks like the bulk of these tests is behind us at this point - there is one more scheduled at the end of September.

EKG and ECHO tests on her heart, complete with a visit with a Pediatric Cardiologist.  This is because nearly half of babies born with Down syndrome have heart defects, sometimes requiring surgery.  Obviously, nobody is eager for open heart surgery with her infant, and I was anxious for this appointment.  Our baby came out of it with wonderful news of a healthy heart and strong circulation.  We'll have a follow-up in a few more months to confirm that everything develops as expected, but this was a huge relief.

Lactation assistance.  I've breast fed all of my babies, and was determined to do the same with our youngest. She started out well, nursing and latching wonderfully, but days into her first week we realized that she was doing something odd while nursing, because (graphic warning here) it was getting pretty painful for me to nurse her and I began bleeding.  Ouch.  Fortunately, I have nursed babies before, and I knew this was not normal or something to just "deal with."  A quick call to our midwife (she came over right away) and a few simple adjustments later, and we were back on track.  By a week later, it was as if she'd never had any trouble at all and I was completely healed.  Now, she's eating (and growing) like a champ.

New pediatrician search.  Our family doctor, beloved and trusted as he is for us, recommended that we find a new pediatrician for our daughter.  He felt we should have somebody who worked with many other infants and children with Down syndrome, which is not the case for him.   There are wonderful, world-class specialists in our area, and he recommended finding a primary doctor with relationships and knowledge of those specialists, to help us access everything we can for the benefit of our child.  And, in a true sign of caring more about his patient than his bank account, our doctor told us that the cost associated with her healthcare could quickly drown us if we didn't have somebody who knew the "system" of dealing with insurance in these sorts of patients and their specialized care.  Frankly, I had many tears over this, but eventually was able to find a doctor I thought might work for us.  It was the hand of God, I'm convinced.  Not only is the new pediatrician a great fit and very experienced with children like our daughter, but he knows and highly respects our family doctor.  Yay!!

Early Intervention.  There are a variety of resources which can help encourage development, growth, and health in children with special needs.  In our case, these are available via an arm of the local school system and are free.  We have an appointment setup for an assessment, the first step in gaining access to professionals and programs we may need.

Community.  This is a long topic, and deserves its own post.  Hopefully I can do that soon.  Suffice it to say that our church, while disbanded from the local campus, has been connecting with us more lately.  What's more, we have many friends and family loving us well, encouraging us, and showing us incredible understanding.  We are blessed and very grateful.

Overall, our girl is incredibly healthy.  A normal baby, really.  She is eating well.  She's sleeping really well (oh - this is another good story - I'll try to write that soon, too).  She's getting her money's worth from our diaper service.  Life is hectic, full of appointments, but so far, so good.  I've said that each of my boys has a small folder with his medical info and history documents, but she has a three-ring binder.  She may end up with multiple binders.  As one who isn't a big fan of doctors, medical systems, or insurance rigamarole, this is a hard pill to swallow.  However, I'm learning and thankful each time we encounter somebody very kind, knowledgeable, and helpful.  I'm especially grateful that there are professionals out there who will help us navigate all of this.

There's more... much more.  Instead of writing right now, however, I'm going to go enjoy my family.  Love to yours,
MamaToo

what's in your feast

*** Updated 11/24/10 ***
THE ANSWERS ARE HERE... (in bold, under ingredient list)
Happy Thanksgiving, friends!


It's that week again... Time to pull out the menus and stuff ourselves silly.  Somehow, all of this cooking, eating, and eating some more is related to a celebration of gratitude.  It's also a time that brings back memories for many of us, often stirred up with the smells and tastes of the week's feast.  I distinctly recall not liking certain parts of traditional Thanksgiving dinner when I was a child, so now I make different items or eliminate the offending items completely.  Happily, I can report that some of those dishes were pretty unhealthy, so it would be hard to consider them a loss.  I'm not just talking decadent or deliciously-guilt-inducing unhealthy.  In reality, a lot of Thanksgiving favorites have more to do with modern chemistry than old-fashioned harvest bounty.

One of the topics that I get pretty excited about is nutrition.  I don't follow a lot of complicated, calorie-spouting, gram-checking dieting, but I do try to live by simple, basic health values.  For example, we like the Real Food Rule: a grocery purchase should be a real, identifiable, item, as close to it's original state as possible.   We aim for nutritional balance, and believe that some things add flavor (i.e. butter, salt, sugar), so they're worth the investment.  Basically, eat less or make less, but don't bother with fake stuff.  And save the road trips for summer vacation: with a few exceptions, buy food that hasn't travelled too far.

They're simple rules to live by, of course, and they don't neglect the biggie of any feast: food should taste good!  Frankly, real food tastes better.  I'm not a gourmet cook, but I do feel like it honors our bodies & those who grow food to take the small effort required.

So, in the spirit of good food and better health, I bring you a little quiz.  Given only the ingredient lists of many a Thanksgiving dinner staple, I challenge you to a game of name-that-menu-item.   The idea is simple; take a look at the ingredients and guess the dish.  All are common Thanksgiving feast options, and likely available from your local grocer.  If the answer is obviously listed as an ingredient (some aren't!), I've substituted an * in its place.  Put your guesses in comments and I'll publish all appropriate efforts, as well as the answers, later this week. Enjoy!

1. Canola Oil and/or Soybean Oil, Egg Yolk, Sugar, Salt, Cultured Nonfat Buttermilk, Natural Flavor, Spices, Garlic (Dried), Onion, Vinegar, Phosphoric Acid, Xanthan Gum, Modified Food Starch, Monosodium Glutamate (MSG), Artificial Flavors, Disodium Phosphate, Sorbic Acid and Calcium Disodium Edta, Disodium Inosinate and Disodium Guanylate.
Club Crackers

2. Wheat Flour, Niacin, Reduced Iron, Thiamin Mononitrate, Riboflavin, Folic Acid, Partially Hydrogenated Soybean and/or Cottonseed Oil, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Salt, Spice, Yeast Parsley (Dried), Cooked Chicken and Chicken Broth, Hydrolyzed Soy and Corn Protein, Celery (Dried), Monosodium Glutamate (MSG), Soy Flour, Onions (Dried), Sugar, Whey, Corn Syrup, Garlic (Dried), Caramel Color, Turmeric Disodium Guanylate, Disodium Inosinate, Sulfites, Corn Oil, Bha and Bht, and more...
Stovetop Stuffing


3. *, Powdered Cellulose, Salt, Maltodextrin, Cream, Sugar, Modified Wheat Starch, Butter, Natural Flavor, Nonfat Milk, Mono And Diglycerides, Buttermilk, Partially Hydrogenated Soybean Oil, Natural And Artificial Flavor, Sour Cream, Disodium Phosphate, Artificial Color, Soy Flour. Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate, Sodium Bisulfite And Bht.
Betty Crocker Homestyle Reds Mashed Potatoes

4. Water, *, Salt, *, Modified Food Starch, Wheat Flour, Corn, Cottonseed, Canola, Soybean And Partially Hydrogenated Cottonseed And Soybean Oil, Cream, Milk, Soy Protein Concentrate, *, Monosodium Glutamate (MSG), Potassium Chloride, Maltodextrin, Disodium Inosinate, Disodium Guanylate, Spice Extract, Yeast Extract, Dehydrated Mushrooms, Flavoring, Dehydrated Onions, Dehydrated Garlic, Butter, Cream Powder, Soy Lecithin, Enzyme Modified Butter, Nonfat Dry Milk, Lipolyzed Butter Oil, Oleic Acid, Butter Oil, Enzyme Modified Butter, Acetic Acid, Lactic Acid, Palm Oil, Wheat Flour, Soy Flour, Salt Dextrose, Tbhq, Citric Acid,in Propylene Glycol
Campbell's Green Bean Casserole

5. Corn Syrup, Sugar, *, Water, Modified Food Starch (Corn), Dextrose, Gelatin, Natural And Artificial Flavor
Sweet Potato Casserole with Kraft Marshmallow Topping

6. Water, Lemon Juice Concentrate, Sodium Bisulfite And Sodium Benzoate, Lemon Oil, *, Wheat Flour, Shortening (BHT), Brown Sugar, Sugar, Modified Cornstarch, Salt, Dextrose, Spice, Water, Propylene Glycol, Artificial And Natural Flavors, Alcohol, Methocellulose, Defoaming Agent (Mono- And Diglycerides, Acetylated Monoglycerides, Fatty Acids, Ascorbyl Palmitate), Caramel Color.
Frozen Apple Pie


7. Water, Corn Syrup, Hydrogenated Coconut And Palm Kernel Oils, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Sodium Caseinate (From Milk), Natural And Artificial Flavor, Xanthan And Guar Gums, Polysorbate 60, Sorbitan Monostearate, Beta Carotene
Cool Whip


mmmmmmm.....  Enjoy your feast!

firsts

It has been a while since I could take the time to properly update things here. Much has been happening, so I'll try to create a few highlights for all who faithfully check in on the Kenobis.

It was a Monday evening, and we'd just finished dinner. I was literally on my way out the door for a meeting. Because of our schedules, other people's schedules, and distances across this urban area, I often have to plan meetings for evenings. Thus, it was about 7 pm and I was just leaving the house. The boys had a special "movie night" planned with Daddy before bedtime, and Mr. Kenobi had just finished making popcorn for the occasion. Always eager to help in the kitchen, Obi-2 was getting up on a stool to help pour the melted butter over the bowl of popcorn.

Suddenly, I heard a scream of pain and Mr. Kenobi say calmly, but quickly, "put your hands under the water." I quickly returned to the kitchen to find that Obi-2 had lost his balance a bit and caught himself by setting his hand on the still-hot cooktop. (Sidenote to say: I really dislike glass cooktops. I know many people love them, but I am not a fan for many reasons. For instance, even when it's turned off and it looks "off," a burner remains blazin' hot for a while.)

In near-perfect cooperation, Mr. Kenobi handed Obi-2 off to me and an ice pack, while he went to get our book of health concerns from the shelf. Within minutes, we read the first instructions: do not put ice on a burn. Back under running cold water for little Obi-2's hands! The next thing we read is that burns on hands, faces, or soles of the feet require immediate medical attention, regardless of how serious they appear.

We looked at each other with dread: here we go, on a Monday evening, to an urban emergency room. In between my son's cries, a call to cancel my meeting and ask for prayer, & quickly organizing our family exit from the house, I could only imagine the germy, lengthy, and gruesome scene we'd be entering at the hospital. Honestly, my compassion for my son was only slightly greater than my dread of an emergency room on a Monday night.

The boys instinctively sensed our nerves, and began protesting the hospital visit as well. Obi-2's only experience in a hospital was visiting a friend and her new baby. Obi-1 has him slightly beat, as he was actually born in the hospital. Both were positive experiences, but brief encounters nonetheless. Neither has spent much time in a medical facility (yet?), which is a blessing but also leaves them with great unknowns.

Mr. Kenobi scooped the freshly buttered popcorn into a ziploc bag, and promised all would be okay. We gathered our shoes, coats, and a couple books to keep us company, and set out on the short distance to our local trauma center. I took Obi-2 inside while Mr. Kenobi parked the car and brought Obi-1 in behind us. As we entered the doors, we were greeted with a few questions about the "victim" and his medical needs. Then, as quickly as everything else, we were whisked into a separate "children's ER" area.

I walked in and realized many of my worries were unfounded. Sure, the place was probably covered with viruses, but it was not filled with inebriated folks, gang-related injuries, long lines, or barfing patients. Rather, "Hannah Montana" was on a TV, and cheerful children's posters decorated the walls. We were basically the only people there. No sooner had we seated ourselves to wait than we were greeted by a nurse and ushered into "triage," where she assessed how the evening's events, Obi-2's basic information, and the type of care needed. She was so patient and clearly skilled with little ones, and everyone felt immediately at ease.

From triage, we were escorted into an exam room, where a doctor cheerily greeted us, took a careful look at Obi-2's hand, and began to explain the needed treatment. He was compassionate and patient, distracting Obi-2 and carefully asking questions. Obi-2 had suffered a second-degree burn, which is fairly serious. However, the doctor didn't believe there was nerve damage, and the burns were fairly isolated, which was very good news.

He then explained that he'd have a nurse come in and bandage it up and be given some medication for Obi-2's pain. I know I had a slight grimace at the thought of Tylenol with Codeine, which the doctor recognized immediately. We don't do many medications around here, and this one sounded pretty serious. The doctor perceived my slight resistance and quickly commented that it is only humane to take care of my child's pain...

Thanks. Humane. I felt bad enough that my poor baby was hurt. I hardly needed to be accused of inhumane treatment of my son. Drug him up, Doctor!

So, a nurse handed Mr. Kenobi a dropper of orange medicine for Obi-1, began to clean & dress his hand, and another doctor conferred with our original doctor on the diagnosis. As the nurse wrapped gauze around his hand, I was instructed on the daily care and follow-up treatment. Meanwhile, another person entered the room with a rolling cart and computer. She gathered gather all of our information, insurance card, etc from Mr. Kenobi.

Only then did I realize we had never been asked to fill out a form, let alone the expected pile of triplicate forms, during this whole ordeal. We never actually had to let go of our kiddos, and they'd been so quickly cared for that most of that popcorn remained untouched! In fact, every thing I'd dreaded about an emergency room visit had been nearly wiped away with reality.

The nurse had one more surprise for us. She handed each boy a popsicle as the doctor handed me a prescription for pain medication (so I could continue humane treatment every 6 hours, as needed). We were also given follow-up instructions with a Burn Specialist appointment in a couple of days.

In just over an hour, we had entered and exited the emergency room on a Monday night. Our son was well cared-for, and on his way to a full recovery. He now loved hospitals, because he had a cool "glove" on one hand and a popsicle in the other, and was intensely proud of how everyone told him he was "Very Brave." We were able to stop by the pharmacy and still get home in time for a decent bedtime.

The days since this ordeal have proved just as good. Obi-2's hand is now almost fully healed, with no long-term injury or complications. Both boys think the Emergency Room (and hospital) were nothing to dread, a useful perception as it probably won't be the last time we end up there. We always figured Obi-2 would be the one to introduce us to the local ER, and I'm thankful that it's taken nearly 4 years of his life for our first experience.

Here's to your health & wellness!

not speaking

I'm still not speaking. Technically, I am... but only when I have to. When I do try to speak, my voice is small & scratchy-painful sounding. When I don't, I have gotten quite good at pantomime & general hand gestures (no, not those hand gestures!)

I've had 5 days without a real voice. Five. Days. I have been flat-out sick for a few of those days, though today I'm finally able to get up and around a bit. I'm still hardly able to talk. Five days without reading stories. Five days without singing. Five days of headaches. Five days of missing most of the noisy, silly moments in our life, and five days without laughing out loud. Five days of drinking twelve million cups of tea (which may only be a slight overstatement).

Five days isn't a long time, but it's long enough, in my opinion.

I've learned some rather ugly things about myself, in the midst of my silence...

1. I raise my voice to get the attention or obedience of my children. This must happen more often than I realized. Far. Too. Often. Hopefully we've built some good new habits over the past five days.
2. I am not a very sympathetic sick person. When Mr. Kenobi came down with a similar cold a couple days ago, I actually felt annoyed with him for getting sick at the same time as me. As if I have "dibs" on sick time around here.
3. I do not like sitting quietly, nor laying down, especially for long periods of time. I get cabin fever easily.
4. I am willing to watch TV, even when I'm not interested in the show.
5. I have a limited attention span for chicken soup.

On the other hand, I've learned some really beautiful things about people around me. My neighbors are gems; they've taken the boys to school, play dates, and generally out of the house so I could rest. They've offered dinner and grocery trips. I love living here! Moreover, in the midst of being sick, I've been nurtured and loved by my family. In particular, I was blessed by a sweet moment of thoughtfulness from Obi-1 yesterday.

It was around 8 am, and I dragged myself out of bed so I could get the boys ready to go (with a neighbor) to a kids' program. Mr. Kenobi was stuffed up and miserable, and didn't want to get out of bed. The boys needed breakfast. They also needed sack lunches made for later. They needed to get dressed. Mr. Kenobi needed some hot tea to help him find his way back to the land of the living. Somebody had to do all these things... NOW.

So, I grumpily pulled myself out of bed, coughed and wheezed downstairs, and put on some oatmeal for the boys and turned on the kettle for hot water. I tromped back upstairs, helped the boys get some clothes out of drawers & on their bodies, then pointed them to brush their hair. I collected their school bags, activity bags, and made sure I'd unloaded the old projects before they went back for refills. Barely able to whisper, I instructed the kids back downstairs for breakfast, and began fixing their lunches while brewing a cup of tea for Mr. Kenobi. The dishes hadn't been finished last night, so I started loading the dishwasher & cleaning the counter. I was grumpy, and sick, and tired. So tired, in fact, that I hardly noticed as Obi-1 watched me with great interest. Finally, he spoke...

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting breakfast for you, making tea for Daddy, and trying to get things done so you can start your day."

"Are you sick, Mama?"

"Yes, honey. I am. But somebody needs to take care of this family." I hoarsely reasoned with a 5-year-old.

He was thoughtful a moment. Then, the gem: "but who will take care of you, Mama?"

That is the question, isn't it? Who will take care of Mama? I thought of all the times my own mother, and hers before her, and many mothers I know, have struggled through illness or exhaustion to take care of others. This seems to be one of the least-glamorized pieces of motherhood. His question, and the thoughtful love behind it, moved my heart. He was worried about his Mama. Who would take care of her?

I struggled to give an adequate answer. "God will take care of me, sweetie. I'm going to be better, soon." I turned to continue the peanut-butter sandwiches, thinking my little Sunday School answer would satisfy him. Of course it didn't.

"But... who will make you tea?"

He is wise, that Obi-1. Wise, and loving. :)

The reality is, I do have to take care of myself. (Frankly, that's why I was sending him & his brother off with the neighbor and going back to bed soon.) The reason I got this sick was because I was going, going, going... 104 miles an hour, and a minor cold caught me in the midst of exhaustion. I knew I was more susceptible to illness when I'm pregnant, yet I didn't really stop to take care of myself.

Getting sick, and losing my voice, and having to be reminded of basic values by my five-year-old... Maybe the past five days weren't a total loss, after all. It is a good reminder about caring for my children & family. If I'm going to be of any good to the Kenobis, I need to be healthy. If I'm going to be healthy, some things will have to wait. Somebody has to take care of Mama, too.

spring cleaning

As I mentioned in my little story (here), allergies are in full bloom around here. I've been suffering, or perhaps more accurately, insufferable, for a couple weeks. I'm not a big fan of taking medication, but I admit one helps me a bit. However, it's not really a solution to the core problem (irritated sinuses & eyes, likely caused by everything in the air). Allergy drugs just mask the symptoms, even while making life a bit more tolerable.

I know the basic things that lessen allergies: lots of water, low sugar intake, low dairy, staying inside, using air purifiers, wearing a mask, yada yada yada... In spite of it all, I remain firmly attached to my box of kleenex.

So, my mom suggested cleaning. I have been cleaning! That's part of the problem! Cleaning stirs up everything so I can breath it en masse! I insisted that cleaning is not going to help. Perhaps this is true, or perhaps I don't like to clean. You decide.

Mom clarified: clean your sinuses. There's something called a Neti Pot, and it basically washes away all of the irritants to naturally alleviate allergies and sinusitis. My aunt swears by it, and it's been used around the world for a Very Long Time. Remarkably, a Neti Pot is easy enough to find: available in just about every drug store, usually at ankle level, under the various allergy drugs. :)

Basically, a Neti Pot uses saline (like our tears). With a little tilt of your head, you wash out your nose. Easy as that. Gross? Yes, definitely. I'm so glad there are not hidden cameras in my bathroom. In fact, if it weren't for this wonderful world-wide-web, you probably wouldn't know I did this.

Yet, I feel much better! I even look better. I can breathe (so convenient). I can see (how this helped my eyes is still a medical mystery for me). I can just say no to drugs again.

Now, I'm no doctor. Please don't take your medical advice from me. Talk to your doctor, or ask Oprah - she evidently did a show about Neti Pots (and where was I? eating bon bons? cleaning up poop? creating a fabulous dinner?). Check out a neti pot, and let me know how it works for you!

Yours in health,
MamaToo