Come on
Seriously? I’m sitting here almost a week after Oscar’s MRI with no results. None. Nada. Zilch. I was so obsessed with this over the weekend that I actually started googling his symptoms in an attempt to ease my mind. Not the most brilliant thing I’ve done. To be fair, today is only the third business day following the day after his procedure, but I certainly have received MRI results far more quickly than this. Seems cruel to let a mother worry over the weekend whether her child has a brain tumor (or potentially worse).
Oscar’s been on a tear since we got back from the hospital on Wednesday. Running wild through the house. Horrifyingly, he even threw a ball towards one of our 10′ high windows in the living room and chased after it, breaking one of the panes of glass with his fist. I don’t know how he managed to get out of that without a scrape on him, but he did. Nanny Norma almost had a heart attack, though. Did I mention that it’s a 25′ drop from those windows down to the street? Yep, not good. He was crazed (in a good way) all weekend, too, which was pretty funny. Our big night out was yesterday, when we went to McDonald’s in an attempt to get some food in him. He really dislikes my cooking (and no one could blame him), but loves those chicken selects so much that he does an actual dance when he bites into them. Hilarious.
That’s pretty much it around here. I’ve been crazy busy at work, which is somewhat good because it keeps me from the internet and my useless searching that only seems to result in a lot of examples of toddlers with seemingly the exact same symptoms as Oscar who did not end up with great results. Not productive. The upside of the stress? That would be the five pounds I’ve dropped in a week.
The MRI
Well, here’s what I know now that Oscar has had his MRI. First, Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford is amazing. Simply amazing. I have never had a medical experience like what we went through today, and while I certainly never want to need to visit there again, I would have complete confidence in them if I did. Second, I found out that Oscar can tolerate general anesthesia, although coming out of it isn’t his favorite thing. Third, I’m fairly certain that he will never like doctors. I’ve never seen the tantrum like the one he threw today, although I hesitate to call it a tantrum, since I really do think that it was pure and unadulterated fear. He was fine through registration, but the moment he saw the exam room where he was going to be weighed and measured, he. lost. it. LOST it. His heart rate was 181, which seems a bit high to me, but the nurses just shook their heads and kept doing their thing. We got to the pre-op room (basically a big ICU-looking room) where he had his own bed and flat-screen tv where he could watch cartoons, but he wanted nothing to do with it. We were there at least an hour before we got his “happy juice,” which was the only thing that calmed him down, and that didn’t even do it entirely. They thought it would knock him out, but he was still kicking until they put the mask on him 45 minutes later (although he was a laugh riot once we got him into the MRI area – until he started this game when he would inhale and then stop breathing, scaring both me and the anesthesiologist). He’s been fine since he came to and settled down after getting off the anesthesia, and we have spent the day hanging together. He’s completely his normal self now.
I was really hoping that I would be in the room when he had the procedure, but they sent me packing. Sadly, this means that I cannot confirm that Oscar has a brain. This was part of my goal for the day, since I so frequently wonder whether he has one at all when he chooses to do things like leap from his bed, etc. I was thinking that I could look back when those things happen and think “but I know he actually does have a brain, the insurance company paid a bizillion dollars for that MRI” (and there is no way that today’s outing did not cost a bizillion dollars). The downside to not being in the room was also that I wasn’t able to see for myself whether he has a brain tumor. It did occur to me, though, that even with all of my medical training, which has come exclusively from annual exams, ER visits and the tv show H0use (ooh, and Grey’s, back when it was a good show), I might not be able to determine whether Oscar has a brain tumor. I’m going to guess that there’s no blip on the screen flashing “hey, this is a tumor, moron.” As a result, we’ll have to wait to hear the results from the neurologist instead. I’m hoping that news doesn’t take as long to get as it did to schedule the MRI itself.
The most important thing I know since going through this today is this. I am a freakishly lucky mom. I don’t care whether Oscar has a brain tumor. I don’t care what is causing his “eye thing.” He is a healthy child (whether or not he has vision in both eyes). I am always thankful that he is healthy, but sometimes it helps to see first hand just how not healthy he could be. I saw a lot of examples of that today.
Finally, I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who sent messages wishing us well. You are all so sweet to have been thinking of us! I’m off to dump the kid in the tub and see if we can get his EKG stickers off his chest.
Mommy time
Now that I have spent a year devoting all my time to my precious Oscar, I think it might be time for me to take a teensy tiny bit of time off for good behavior. I just don’t know how to go about doing that without feeling guilty. Since adopting Oscar I’ve erred on the side of seting my “mommy time” at zero minutes per year – oops, sorry, I did get a massage while we were in Vietnam and hike in Bali, so it’s more like 120 minutes this past year. Either way, I’m thinking that might be too few.
My dilemma is compounded by the fact that I already feel somewhat guilty about working and not staying home with the little guy. Not that I actually have a choice, given my status as a single mother, but I’m a mom, so the guilt remains. Note that I do not feel guilty that he has a really comfortable life in a beautiful house with more food and toys than he could ever wish for (maybe not the toys, but you know what I mean). But I do realize that the most important thing is to have his mother around. Having said that, it’s become clear to me this past month, that having his mom around in a good state of mind is probably just as important.
So, moms out there. How do you strike the balance? How much mommy time is acceptable? What is a reasonable amount of time to spend away from your child for non-work reasons? I know there are no hard and fast rules, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.
from my last hike.
Weekend ramblings
My formerly mute child, who typically spends 22+ hours per day completely silent, has chosen this past hour to break out of his shell. I should be thrilled, and in some respects I am. The only wrinkle is that I’m on a conference call for work. Makes for a stressful pockets when I have to pull myself off mute and listen to the silence when they hear his jabbering. Careful what you wish for, I guess.
Secondarily, have any of you watched Nicholas Sp@rks’ movies? I don’t know why I keep going back for more. I saw Message In a Bottle and something else previously, and last night we watched Nights in Rodanthe. Why did I do this to myself? Quit reading if you don’t want it spoiled, but these stories are all the same. The guy always dies. I don’t care about the moral redemption subplot or the connections the characters make. They always die. Not doing it again. Additionally, this story has a plot line that involves a freak accident where a surgical patient dies on the table because of anesthesia. Really not what I needed to see.
That’s basically our weekend. We had a big night out last night. Well, if by night you mean 4:00-6:00 pm. We altered our usual weekend routine by doing our Target run on Saturday night, followed by a big dinner at a fancy restaurant. B0st0n M@rket. Yep, we outdid ourselves. Oscar was on fire, too. In addition to turning his plate upside down and then trying to eat the chicken off the seat of the booth, he got on top of the table to dance, and then leaned over so he had his hands on the back of the booth and his feet perched on the side of the table, upon which he leveraged himself to do push ups. Pretty darned impressive. Hope y’all had a good weekend, too!
Nay, nay, nay
He spoke. Oscar was sitting in his high chair late yesterday afternoon waiting for his dinner, and when it appeared in front of him, he started shaking his head back and forth and said “nay, nay, nay, nay” repeatedly. I know it isn’t quite “no,” but perhaps he’s going to be a Member of Congress and he’s just practicing his no vote. Either way, it’s a word and he said it. I’m not exactly thinking this is going to break the log-jam, but we’ll take whatever we can these days.
One more week
Part of what I’ve been obsessing over (okay, the key thing) is Oscar’s MRI. It’s scheduled for a week from yesterday and as the date has come closer, it seems like all I can think of is what the brain scan will show. We got the call from Stanford today giving me all the pre-op info we need, which makes it all that much more real. I know it’s just an MRI, but he has to be put under general anesthesia for it, so I’m anxious about that. Far worse, I think, is this not knowing whether there really is a mass in his brain or on his optic nerve. At least the not knowing will be over in a week, since even if the neurologist can’t squeeze us in to explain the results, the hospital will give me a CD of the procedure. I should be able to identify a brain tumor, right? What worries me is that my “gut”/mother’s intuition is all over the place. On some level I don’t think there’s a chance that this kid has a brain tumor, but when I start thinking that, I remember the look one of the doctors gave me back in November when he said we needed to schedule this MRI ASAP (which apparently meant as soon as possible after the neurologist’s office remembers how urgent this is, which could very well be months and months). Thankfully, ASAP is almost here.
Like a fox
or, then again, I might just be crazy. I am back from a nice, long visit to my doctor. I adore my doctor. I’ve been seeing her for almost three years and she is usually very tuned in to what I’m feeling. Today, I walked in, she looked at me and asked me if I was having panic attacks. Why, yes. Yes, I have been. And with that, it became pretty obvious to me that I am no longer effective in hiding my anxiety disorder.
I’ve had an anxiety disorder for as long as I can remember (actually, I am lucky enough to have two of them – general and social with a soupcon of performance anxiety – the trifecta!), but I’ve been able to manage them without resorting to medication other than in extreme periods. Seems I might be am in one of those periods right about now. Why am I so sure? Because after leaving my doctor’s office, I ran over to the pharmacy and had a panic attack when they told me that one of my prescriptions had not been faxed over. I didn’t flip out and start screaming or clutching my chest thinking I was having a heart attack or anything, but I did get so dizzy that I almost fell over, had shooting pains down my left arm, could actually feel my blood pressure rising from its tranquil 92/60 and had some pretty impressive ringing in my ears. All this while I felt the entire Target store was closing in on me. Delightful.
I’m not bothered by the fact that I have these problems and even that I need to be on medication. I used to be, but I believe that these issues are simply medical conditions. I just don’t see a reason to be ashamed or hide it. I took medicine when I had pneumonia; I don’t see any difference here.
The one downside to this, though, is that I am going to have to disclose it for purposes of my home study. It won’t be an issue when the condition is under control (which is so not the case right now), but I’m not going to lie to my social worker and tell her it is (or worse – lie and say I don’t even have an issue at all). I strongly believe that all parties involved in adoptions need to be honest. In the same way that I don’t want facilitators or orphanage directors or agencies lying to me, I believe that we as prospective adoptive parents need to be honest as well. I’ve known that my brain wasn’t working perfectly for a little while now, which is the biggest reason I’ve held off on getting my dossier done. So, for the time being at least, this is again just a mommy blog, and not an adoption blog. Hope to change that status at some point in the very near future.
It’s a start
Oscar has started to yell at the dogs. Nanny Norma tells the dogs to get out of the kitchen when she’s feeding Oscar. This is primarily because they circle the poor boy like vultures, waiting for any little morsel to drop. Max, the whippet, will even encroach to the point that he’ll surreptitiously lick the side of the plastic tray when she turns her back for a moment. Anyway, she points to the dining room door and says “doggies, out!” Well, apparently, Oscar has decided that he agrees with Norma, since he has taken to shooting his pointed hand towards the door and saying “da!” I take this to mean “doggies, out,” but of course, “da” could just as likely mean “hey, look over there,” “get me some yogurt, woman,” or “the square root of 16 is 4.” Either way, it looks to me like it’s an attempt at communication, so I’m all for it.
Speak
It’s starting to make me crazy that Oscar won’t talk. I’ve started obsessing about it, wondering what is causing this delay. Is it solely related to having been in an orphanage? Is it just a developmental delay? Is there a genetic component? What is a developmental delay, really? What does it all mean? Does he actually understand what we’re saying, but just can’t talk? How will it impact him in the future? Is there something I could be doing (or could have done) to change this situation?
As frustrating as it is, we’ve worked out a bizarre method of communication, composed of grunts, head shakes and leaning motions. It’s oddly effective. Oscar refuses to sign (even when he knows the sign) when he wants something. Instead, if I’m not already holding him, he’ll grunt so I pick him up, and then start leaning towards whatever it is that he wants. If I tell him to use his words or sound out the word I think he needs, he just grunts again and leans harder (if you know what I mean) towards the direction he wants to go. He’ll grunt again when I get where he wants to go, and if I pass it, he’ll shake his head and do his fake cry. If I give him something he doesn’t want, he’ll throw it off his tray or just away from himself. So, at least we have a method of communication, caveman-like though it is.
What gets me is how I’ve become so desperate to think he’s trying to say a word. Yesterday he was in his highchair saying “da”, and since the dogs were in the room, I was quick to believe he was trying to say “dog.” In reality, I suspect he was just saying “da.” “Ba,” “da,” “ma” and “ga” are his big sounds (like any infant). That’s pretty much it, and as much as I would like to believe that his “ma” is referring to me, I think I have to accept that sometimes “ma” is just ma.
Can you tell me how to get
It’s one thing when lawyers get fired, but Sesame Street is cutting 20% of its workforce. I thought this tragic until I started thinking about some of the characters. In the same way I was able to come up with my List of colleagues I could stand to see let go (it’s a survival instinct), perhaps it’s time for some of these slackers to make their way from Sesame Street to Tin Pan Alley…
Mr. Noodle (Mr. Noodle’s brother, Cup-O-Noodle, whatever) – I’m sorry, but the guy just creeps me out.
Slimey – he’s a worm. Enough said.
Telly Monster – this guy is far too stressed out. I don’t need Oscar glomming onto his neuroses.
Abby – I just don’t trust her. Misogynistic? Maybe.
Who would you cut?
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Etta’s Hats
Where I’ve Been
