Armadillos and Love

Who volunteers to fork over a significant amount of money to send his wife on a dream vacation for 8 days, take 5 and a half days off of work, assume sole responsibility for 3 preciously needy children, and have the gumption to say he is excited for her?

This guy.

As sad as it is true, I can't imagine if roles were reversed, that he would be able to say the same thing about me.

Since I leave tomorrow, preparations are in full swing.  That means, last minute packing and shopping, Ava's post-op appointment, meal prepping for the family while I'm gone, and constructing an armadillo from a milk carton and card stock.

Dan says he can handle the rest of Ava's make-up homework, as long as the armadillo she needs for her Texas research project is finished before I go. So between layering the lasagna, we are taking aim with the glue gun.

And all through this day I have been going back to my initial question,  who does this?

This man is crazy! And wonderful!

We say this arrangement came out of our agreement for a dog, but I know that he is really doing it because he loves me. Which is convenient because I could practically have a coronary, I love him so much. I really can't imagine what I could have done to deserve such a fellow.

Just in Time

Today was the last day of school before Spring Break.

I hurried Ava out of bed and into her clothes only to realize on the way to school, that today was Pajama Day for Cystic Fibrosis. Bummer.  We could have saved some time and ugly words if I'd remembered.

And then when I got home and walked into the kitchen, like it had rays of sunshine shining down on it from heaven, I saw Ava's spelling list illuminated in its basket tucked behind the computer.  And I remembered what else had been forgotten: Spelling Test today.

Ava is a good speller, mostly because she is a good memorizer.  But not only had the day snuck up on us, she hadn't put in one single moment of study, therefore didn't have any opportunity to commit those words to her memory. Now my computer is telling me that snuck is not a word.  Maybe I need a spelling test.  Sneaked? Is that right?  I don't know.

 Immediately I could see the look that would come on her face when her teacher would pass out the test. And I wished I could press rewind on the whole morning and start over.

I blame lots of things for my unorganized state.  A sick child, a hospital stay, life, feeling sick for 3+ months.  Yeah, that'll do it.

And somewhere along the way, Max decided he no longer needed a nap.I tried to tell him that I need his nap, but he wouldn't listen.

Anyway, all of this isn't really to complain, but rather to rejoice, that Spring Break is upon us!  Usually I am dreading all the down time, where I feel pressure to come up with entertainment before the kids combust from unstructured proximity. But this go around, I am just looking forward to not having to be any where at any certain time dressed in any certain attire for any certain cause. We can spend some time together without any outside constraints.  Sure, I'll have lots time to dream about those former napping days of yore.  And combustion will still be a distinct possibility.  But at least I can be sure to have a few days when I don't have to walk around worrying about what I've forgotten.

Especially because there is one other thing that I'd nearly forgotten to remember. 

This time next week, I'll be in Paris.

It hardly seems real.  I put it out of my mind weeks ago, because honestly I had serious doubts about whether or not I'd actually go based on how I was feeling.  As much as I'd wished, I couldn't push pause on my symptoms while Ava was in the hospital and the stress of it all piled right on top of that trip so high that I couldn't really see it any more.

But the hospital is over.  Ava is better.  I am not better, but I am better than I was.  And as Dan so eloquently explained, "You can be sick in Europe or sick here.  But at least if you're sick there, you don't have to take care of the kids."

Sold!

What a lucky, lucky girl I am.   My mom and I will fly to Paris.  Then to Venice, where we will  meet up with my sister, Leah.  Then we will all go on to Florence and Rome.  And then we will come home.  I'm not sure when it will feel real.  On the plane over?  Walking around a new city?  When I'm sitting at home looking at the pictures of where I've been?

I'll figure it out later though, cause I just looked up to see Max has taken black marker to his face, left arm, and the white carpet.

Appendicitis Part III

I really wish there was no part 3.  And I'm saying right now, if there's a part 4, someone's going to have to come over here and scrape me off the floor with a spatula.

Ava got home and we were all happy about that.  I had been set on high alert about any future fevers because of the likelihood that they indicated an abscess.  So I was ready to keep close guard.  Ava's teacher from school was so sweet and came to visit her the next day (Sunday).  Ava had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up just before her arrival.  She was hot and glassy eyed when she woke.  And that was the first fever, 101.5.  After chatting with the on-call surgeon he said that fever on day 7 post-surgery is when they would do an ultrasound.  But this was day 6, so if the fever continued into the next day, I needed to call back.

That fever disappeared and only ever got in the 99's over the next two days.  But Ava still wasn't feeling like we had hoped.  She'd act fine for a while, but she always got so tired, so quickly and she just wasn't progressing like she had. I had a note to keep her out of school until Wednesday, but Wednesday was coming and I wasn't feeling like she was ready to be back to the grind.  On Wednesday afternoon that old fever was back and stayed all through the night, 101.4

Thursday morning we went back for an ultrasound.


I, of course, did not want there to be an abscess.  But the fevers concerned me along with her just not perking up as she should have and I hoped for an answer, a treatable answer.  That afternoon, the doctor called with the results: The ultrasound was normal.

Hooray! Except the mystery of the fevers lingered.

Also that afternoon, I noticed a little pink patch on Ava's cheek.  I didn't think much of it.  That evening she asked me to tickle her back.  I lifted up her pajama shirt to see that it was covered in tiny little red dots.

I texted with my doctor brother and decided I'd keep an eye on it.

3am that morning, Ava wakes up crying.  Which unfortunately, had become all too usual since she'd come home from the hospital.

When we get her in the light of our bathroom, she is red.  RED.  Red like a cherry tomato. All over her whole little body. And she is on fire, 104.5.

I call the surgeon's answering service, where I am told a doctor will call me back.  After a bath, Ava sits on my bed watching TV and I fall asleep waiting for a call that never came.

When I wake up in the morning, and finally get through to a nurse,  she tells me that allergic reactions happen within the first 24 hours of taking a drug, so my hypothesis of her being allergic to her antibiotic was not valid.  She told me to take her to her pediatrician to treat the rash.  I almost blew a gasket and told her I wanted to speak to a doctor.  She said she'd have one call me back.

10 minutes later my phone was ringing and she was asking me to bring her in as soon as possible. Someone must have set her straight.

After an hour and a half drive, and another hour to be "worked in," an allergy to Bactrim was pronounced, the medicine switched, and the mysterious fevers solved.

And for the sake of our sanity, we hope this saga is over.

Ava's already looking better than she has in a while.

Also, I would be absolutely remiss if I didn't document the overwhelming amount of love and support given to us by so many loving people.  Ava's hospital room overflowed with gifts, stuffed animals, and flowers. Gift baskets and toys and care packages and balloons arrived at our house.  Meals were made, rides given, babysitting offered.  We were truly taken care of in every aspect.  At one point in the hospital Ava asked me, "How many people did you tell?"  My mind flipped through the rolodex of everyone from church, her school, and friends near and far through Facebook.

"A lot, I guess." I said a little sheepishly.

"That's okay, I like it!"

I liked it too.  Thank you so much to all those who were so, so good to us over the past few weeks. The love sent via tangible gifts as well as prayers and well wishes made a tremendous difference in our ability to hold ourselves and our family together.  THANK YOU!

Appendicitis Part II

Just to give the most accurate picture, it should be noted that Ava is scared out of her mind for regular visits to the pediatrician.  Having a thermometer swiped across her forehead is anxiety provoking, getting her ears checked is torture, and shots? Don't even go there. She cannot stick her own finger in her own belly button.  I don't do the best in medical situations, but Ava blows me right out of the water.

But that little bunny was a trooper.  After a painful and restless night in the hospital, Ava was taken into surgery.   She was so concerned with the anesthesia and kept asking me how she would know when to wake up.

"Your body just knows," I told her.

"But what if it wakes up in the middle of the surgery?" she pressed.  My heart ached for her because I remember wondering those same things myself prior to my first surgery.  I wished I could take it all away.

But as I mentioned in the last post, at the same time, part of me felt reassured that we were in the right place and things were progressing as they should.  She was so sick, this was the way for her to get better.

A little more than halfway through the operation, Dan arrived.  We were there together when the surgeon came out to discuss what she'd found.  She came bearing photographs.  She knelt down in front of us and said, "She did fine, but it was really bad" and then she started through the pictures.  The infection and pus had spread near and far. She said, the appendix was "rotten," a fact we could clearly see right along with goop-covered organs and widespread inflammation.  "She'll be here at least a week for treatment with IV antibiotics."  That conversation took a little wind from our sails. And then we got to see her.

My little Ava  was swollen.  Her face was gray with red patches.  She had tubes from every direction.  And she just whimpered and cried.

My stomach turned over and I thought I might be sick. And of all the jobs of a mom, not giving in to emotion for the sake of your child, is a hard one.

Common in situations like hers, the digestive system kind of shuts down and "goes to sleep".  They placed an NG tube down her nose, into her stomach.  This would allow the bowels complete rest by pumping out all manner of everything.  She was to have nothing by mouth.  No medicine, no ice chips, no water, no food.  Meanwhile, two big plastic containers hung behind her bed were filling up with black liquid that had been sucked out of her tummy.

Those first two days were miserable.  For everyone.  She wanted the tubes off and out (the NG tube, the oxygen, the IV, and the catheter) and while they did take her off oxygen fairly quickly the others remained absolutely necessary.

I don't blame her one bit, but my girl was in the foulest mood.  At the beginning she decided that the only thing in the whole world that she wanted was to watch Lady and the Tramp on the ipod.  Well, she was way too weak to even attempt to hold it herself, let alone sit up to watch, so Dan (Father of the Year) sat by her bedside and held it up for her the whole time.  Twice.

 She wasn't even watching  for the most part, she drifted off into her own world, but if Dan dared to move his arm or tried to set it down, she was on him like a wolf.

She wanted to be petted and snuggled, which was a challenge given all her fetters.  She wanted me to keep my face by her face.

We were desperate to do whatever she needed or wanted.  She was just so pitiful.

The second day they ordered a picc line be put in.  It is similar to the IV, only with a much longer catheter that goes from the arm all the way up the shoulder and  into a central vein near the heart.  The antibiotics would have been too rough on the veins with a regular IV, which would have necessitated reinserting an IV over and over again in different spots.  So the picc line was the best option.  Unfortunately she had to be sedated for that on the second day, and we seemed to loose any steam for recovery that we had gained.

And then I witnessed an interesting phenomenon.  The doctor came in on the third day where Ava was lying so miserably.  He ordered out all the tubes (expect the picc) and told her she had to get up and walk around.  She had been made to walk the tiniest amount the day before, (from the bed to the chair right next to it) and it was like climbing Mt. Everest to her.  But there he stood casually indicating all the tubes that had been so requisite just a few hours before, saying, "This ones gone, this ones gone, this one too.  Ava you're not sick anymore.  If you get up and walk you can have a popscicle. The fastest way for you to get better is to start walking."  When what he said had finally registered, she was moving around like an Olympic athlete. Well, maybe like an Olympic athlete who'd just had surgery. I'd never seen such a thing.  She was so excited!

Now I was the one who was nervous.  Can she handle this?  Doesn't she need those tubes? But there is truth to the idea that if you act sick or you're treated like you're sick, you feel sick.

But with determination in her step we made our rounds of the 4th  floor.  Each day she was doing more.Visiting the fish tank in the playroom was always our first destination.

 She would wear herself out and we'd go back to her room to rest.

Eating came slowly.  She just wasn't very hungry.  And then when the fevers would plague her at night, taking Tylenol would cause her to throw up whatever she'd managed to consume in the day.  

  We had been waiting and waiting for a bowel movement to see that her digestive system was getting back on track. I won't be forgetting her little voice as she called to me with excitement from the bathroom, "I pooped! I finally pooped!" and then with some hesitation in her voice, "Well, it is poop but it's kind of more like a swamp."

Towards the end of her stay, the doctor came in to Ava's room.  She had just finished a marathon walk through the hospital.  She was tired.  But he came in and said, "Ava, I need you to do me a favor.  There's this kid.  He's 10.  He's shuffling around the halls out there, moaning and whining about how he can't walk.  He had the same surgery as you, but yours was much worse.  So here's what I need you to do: Go find him.  And then just take your IV pole and walk past him really strong and fast.  He needs to see that a six year old girl is tougher than him."

So she climbed out of her bed and started pushing.  We found him.  I tried to offer him and his mother some encouragement.  His mother commented how fast and well Ava was walking and I wished I had a sock to stuff in Ava's mouth when she said, "Yeah, and my surgery was way worse than yours.  My appendix exploded!" She was just doing what she'd been told I guess, but a little more humility might have been nice.

It was definitely frustrating to be so far from home.  Especially since there is a nice new beautiful hospital just 10 minutes from our house.  But after spending 6 days at  the children's hospital I realized what an amazing blessing that actually was.  Not only was the staff totally accustomed to dealing with little bodies and minds, the place was equipped with all the comforts a kid could ask for.  I can't imagine spending the time we did in the blank spaces of the regular hospital.

The only thing holding us back from being discharged was the dreaded fever.  She had to be fever free for 24 hours before we could leave.  Lingering fevers after a rupture can be a sign of an abscess so they are monitored closely.  Finally on Saturday afternoon she made it to 30 hours fever free.  A quick blood test confirmed that the infection was under rein.  And we loaded up our cart to go home.

We couldn't leave though without following through with the Build a Bear Promise.  Build a Bear is no dummy and they put one of their stores right inside the children's hospital.  So on our way out, me and Grandpa followed Ava around as she built her new, ridiculously expensive dog, Chilly.

And I swear, the a truer look of happiness has not been seen as we headed home.

And when we finally got there, we found that happiness, the passing landscape, and all of her hard work had lulled her into a contented sleep.

Appendicitis Part I

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.

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!"

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.