My brother Ian, who lives in Chicago, has been passing through Dallas quite frequently for business. On his last pass-through we had lunch with my parents here at my house. Before he left I asked him for a blessing.
It's no secret that my body is not cooperating as I would like and with him here I just really felt I needed a blessing and that he should give it to me.
It was wonderful. It contained a lot of wonderful insight and promises and I felt the Spirit so strongly right through Max's gauging attempts to open my eyes as he sat on my lap.
The next day I kept having some of the phrases from the blessing run through my mind. I wrote them down hoping if I didn't feel like I had to remember them, my head could slow down a little bit.
But one of those phrases stayed right there in my mind and on my heart. I bless you to have an increased capacity to feel, recognize, and respond to the Spirit.
On Thursday, Ava woke up with a fever. We did a run down on all her parts and pieces and couldn't come up with one other symptom. I kept her home from school. Friday she was fever free so I went ahead and sent her to school despite the 24 hour rule, just because she has already missed so much and didn't appear to have a thing wrong with her. She was fine that day and evening.
But by mid morning on Saturday, she could hardly say goodbye to her beloved Great Grandma Mimi, who was leaving for California, and she turned down a movie she was so eager to see. Those facts, combined with her vomiting in a ziploc bag in the car, sealed the deal: our girl was sick.
Her fever was raging and her throw up was constant until it faded into lingering dry heaves. We accepted the fact that the stomach flu had hit full force and I braced myself for the boys to get it.
The next day, Sunday, I came home from church, where Dan and Ava had stayed. I sat down by Ava and she looked awful. I watched as she attempted to get up to go to the bathroom. She rolled like a log off the edge of the couch until her knees hit the floor. Then she grabbed her stomach and said, "It just hurts so much." That was the first time I realized we might be witnessing more than just a tummy bug. She had used the classic kid's line "my tummy hurts" from the get-go, but as I watched her, I realized there was pain involved, not just a sick stomach. She stood up and I asked her, "Does it hurt in a certain place?"
"Yes." And she pointed gingerly to her lower right side.
In my mind,
Appendicitis
She went on to the bathroom. And I found Dan. "I think she has appendicitis." He heard me, thought, and then agreed, having had an appendectomy himself. We agreed I should take her to the urgent care.
She laid down on the table as I described her symptoms to the doctor. The doctor pushed on Ava's tummy. She listened to her stomach with a stethoscope. Her bowels sounded too normal, and she didn't react in enough pain.
"It's not appendicitis. She is probably having stomach cramps because she is so dehydrated. Take her home, and give her pedialyte on this schedule for the next few hours and rest of today."
Appendicitis
I realized that I'm no doctor but the dehydration diagnosis did not sit well with me. We went home. I talked with Dan. He said I should do whatever I felt was best.
I went on to a Relief Society Meeting to work out the details of an upcoming activity. As we discussed logistics, my mind was elsewhere.
Appendicitis
One of my least favorite aspects of motherhood is that terrible feeling of uncertainty that surrounds your children when they are sick. I always wished they were equipped with those handy dashboard lights. You could just flip them over and clear as day see "Chill out lady, he's just teething." or "Take her in, this one's a doozy."
Instead I find myself stewing over symptoms and fevers, wondering if I should make an appointment, wondering if the doctor is going to make me feel like an idiot, wondering, wondering, wondering.
But while we discussed classrooms, and timing,
Appendicitis
And then,
I bless you to have an increased capacity to feel, recognize, and respond to the Spirit.
I left the meeting, got home, and declared I was taking Ava to the Emergency Room. Dan said, "Go for it!"
But while I drove that naggy, insecurity crept back in.
The doctor already said it's not appendicitis.
But again,
Appendicitis
Luckily at the hospital they were a bit more scientific with their investigating. Urinalysis and blood count revealed that there was a definite infection of consequence.
Poor Ava chugged her barium (and I felt some very keen sympathies) and threw it all up right before the CT scan. No matter, though. The image clearly showed appendicitis.
Appendicitis.
Before the stroke of midnight, Ava would be loaded into the ambulance bound for Cook Children's in Ft. Worth, radiologists would decide her appendix was actually already ruptured. Shortly after 1 am, she would be admitted to the hospital, started on heavy doses of IV antibiotics, and prepped for a morning surgery.
We were all scared and overwhelmed, but at the same time there was a air of certainty and procedure, like pieces were being clicked into place in exactly the right ways.
My kids still don't have idiot lights, and He may never say, "Chill out, Lady," but I am appreciating my ever-increasing confidence that Heavenly Father will send the information necessary to provide in the best way for his children. And it is my job to feel, recognize, and respond.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
There's no 's' in I Love You
Tonight Lukey proudly finished up his Valentine's for school tomorrow.
He is so big and sweet. Extra sweet to me, lately.
He comes around for a lot more hugs and kisses. He wants to sit by me. He wants to snuggle with me. He wants to play games with me. He wants to be held by me.
I am happy to oblige.
Tonight, he signed his name 18 times. And let me know he was running low on "tickers,"
which reminded me of earlier this week when we were searching his room for just the right item for him to bring for Show and Share at school. This week he was to bring in something beginning with the letter Q. Not an easy task. He picked up his Trio blocks which we call snapping blocks here at our house, and said, "These napping blocks won't work, they start with the letter N."
And then I remembered how he was flying around an empty parking lot on his new scooter two nights ago. In a bad parenting moment, we were letting the kids ride without enough daylight and without helmets. His little wheel caught the edge of a concrete parking divider and he face planted right into the cement. The next morning he was recounting what happened. "Last night when we cootered, I fell down and hurt my head and chin."
And then I remembered how he had accompanied me to pick up some test results. The office was just about to close for the day and had already turned out the lights in the waiting room. As we walked in, he grabbed my hand and stood close to my legs while we waited.
As we left, still hand in hand, he looked up at me, his gigantic blue eyes shining, and said, "I liked that doctor's office! It was pooky!"
He is so big and sweet. Extra sweet to me, lately.
He comes around for a lot more hugs and kisses. He wants to sit by me. He wants to snuggle with me. He wants to play games with me. He wants to be held by me.
I am happy to oblige.
Tonight, he signed his name 18 times. And let me know he was running low on "tickers,"
which reminded me of earlier this week when we were searching his room for just the right item for him to bring for Show and Share at school. This week he was to bring in something beginning with the letter Q. Not an easy task. He picked up his Trio blocks which we call snapping blocks here at our house, and said, "These napping blocks won't work, they start with the letter N."
And then I remembered how he was flying around an empty parking lot on his new scooter two nights ago. In a bad parenting moment, we were letting the kids ride without enough daylight and without helmets. His little wheel caught the edge of a concrete parking divider and he face planted right into the cement. The next morning he was recounting what happened. "Last night when we cootered, I fell down and hurt my head and chin."
And then I remembered how he had accompanied me to pick up some test results. The office was just about to close for the day and had already turned out the lights in the waiting room. As we walked in, he grabbed my hand and stood close to my legs while we waited.
As we left, still hand in hand, he looked up at me, his gigantic blue eyes shining, and said, "I liked that doctor's office! It was pooky!"
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Stuff
So I went to the GI last week. She ordered a bunch of tests which will all take place over the course of this next month including blood work and a few oscopies. They are all unpleasant and I'm only looking forward to the fact that it feels like we're doing something.
I'm not leaving out details to be mysterious or dramatic, I just know there is a fine line between information and too much information. Some may argue that I crossed that line already, but I am doing my best to stay away from it for now. If you need details, email me or call me.
This weekend was one for firsts. Ava's first time roller skating,
my first time drinking an element from the periodic table, Ava's first soccer practice.
The soccer and roller skating were endured with about the same amount of enthusiasm (not much) and the reports at the end were also the same but totally not what I would have guessed. She really was excited for all of it, but struggled feeling overwhelmed and not as successful as she would have liked. There were a few tears. But following both she answered the question of "How was is it?" with "Great! It was great!" I think she has a really great selective memory.
I had even less enthusiasm than Ava. Barium is super gross. Like super gross. I've never had to fight my own body like that in order to force something down. It was so bad, when I'd will myself to walk back over to the bottle, Luke would yell, "NO, MOM! DON'T DO IT!" It was almost as if my own body had found a voice in my son, because that was exactly what I was thinking. And unfortunately, when I got to the imaging center for a CT scan with my insides all coated with barium, and changed into the disposable clothes they'd given me, they realized they had actually given me the wrong stuff. I almost passed out right there in my paper pants.
The office manager broke the news and she was very apologetic. I forced myself to be calm and I think I came off as very understanding. They were grateful for that, I could tell. I wanted to yell, "YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, GOODBYE!" Instead I said, "It's ok. I understand it was a mistake," made another appointment for this week, and left.
On a lighter note, here's some of the things that have come out of my kids mouths lately that I hope to never forget:
The handle of my wooden spoon broke as I was stirring. It surprised me and I gasped. Max ran over with concern in his eyes and asked, "What happened, Aweese?!"
Luke sits next to me in church and asks me to tickle his arms and back, etc. He also uses this time to clarify the names of body parts that he's not sure of (calf, ankle, shin). So he'll ask the name and then ask me to tickle it. A while ago he asked about his hand. I pointed to the inside and told him it was his palm. So my favorite now is when he holds out his open hand and says, "Tickle my paw, Mom."
A few days ago in the car Luke said to me, "Mom, when I grow up I really want to be a man."
Ava was reporting to me on her art class one day after school as she did her homework. She explained that she had to finish her project that day and the teacher told her it was "very important". Then she snickered. I looked at her but didn't say anything because she continued with a chuckle, "Sometimes my teachers say 'this is very important' and I say, not out loud, just in my mind, this is not very important!" Again I just looked at her because I wasn't exactly sure where she was going with it all. She started to laugh again. Finally I said, "Why is that funny? Why is that stuff not important? What is important?" She stopped laughing and stared at me almost as if she was trying to decide if I was being serious. She must have seen that I was and she said, "Jesus and God are important. This paper-- (as she held up her homework) NOT IMPORTANT!" Right in so many ways and wise beyond her years, that girl.
This one's not recent, but Dan asked me to repost it. Go ahead and watch it, I promise you won't be sorry.
I'm not leaving out details to be mysterious or dramatic, I just know there is a fine line between information and too much information. Some may argue that I crossed that line already, but I am doing my best to stay away from it for now. If you need details, email me or call me.
This weekend was one for firsts. Ava's first time roller skating,
my first time drinking an element from the periodic table, Ava's first soccer practice.
The soccer and roller skating were endured with about the same amount of enthusiasm (not much) and the reports at the end were also the same but totally not what I would have guessed. She really was excited for all of it, but struggled feeling overwhelmed and not as successful as she would have liked. There were a few tears. But following both she answered the question of "How was is it?" with "Great! It was great!" I think she has a really great selective memory.
I had even less enthusiasm than Ava. Barium is super gross. Like super gross. I've never had to fight my own body like that in order to force something down. It was so bad, when I'd will myself to walk back over to the bottle, Luke would yell, "NO, MOM! DON'T DO IT!" It was almost as if my own body had found a voice in my son, because that was exactly what I was thinking. And unfortunately, when I got to the imaging center for a CT scan with my insides all coated with barium, and changed into the disposable clothes they'd given me, they realized they had actually given me the wrong stuff. I almost passed out right there in my paper pants.
The office manager broke the news and she was very apologetic. I forced myself to be calm and I think I came off as very understanding. They were grateful for that, I could tell. I wanted to yell, "YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, GOODBYE!" Instead I said, "It's ok. I understand it was a mistake," made another appointment for this week, and left.
On a lighter note, here's some of the things that have come out of my kids mouths lately that I hope to never forget:
The handle of my wooden spoon broke as I was stirring. It surprised me and I gasped. Max ran over with concern in his eyes and asked, "What happened, Aweese?!"
Luke sits next to me in church and asks me to tickle his arms and back, etc. He also uses this time to clarify the names of body parts that he's not sure of (calf, ankle, shin). So he'll ask the name and then ask me to tickle it. A while ago he asked about his hand. I pointed to the inside and told him it was his palm. So my favorite now is when he holds out his open hand and says, "Tickle my paw, Mom."
A few days ago in the car Luke said to me, "Mom, when I grow up I really want to be a man."
Ava was reporting to me on her art class one day after school as she did her homework. She explained that she had to finish her project that day and the teacher told her it was "very important". Then she snickered. I looked at her but didn't say anything because she continued with a chuckle, "Sometimes my teachers say 'this is very important' and I say, not out loud, just in my mind, this is not very important!" Again I just looked at her because I wasn't exactly sure where she was going with it all. She started to laugh again. Finally I said, "Why is that funny? Why is that stuff not important? What is important?" She stopped laughing and stared at me almost as if she was trying to decide if I was being serious. She must have seen that I was and she said, "Jesus and God are important. This paper-- (as she held up her homework) NOT IMPORTANT!" Right in so many ways and wise beyond her years, that girl.
This one's not recent, but Dan asked me to repost it. Go ahead and watch it, I promise you won't be sorry.
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