What we brought home from Disneyland
three sinus infections (all of us)
a yucky cold (Papa)
three ear infections (two for Etta, one for me)
bronchitis (Oscar)
whooping cough (me, thankfully the kids are fully vax’d)
measles (Etta . . . don’t get me started)
two cases of pneumonia (Oscar and me)
The healthy one, now just a little crusty from her rash:
The best-laid plans
Well, the plan was that I was going to make a point of updating this old thing at least every Saturday. I was in the midst of doing just that two weeks ago when my precious children got into an argument. By “argument,” I mean Oscar yelling at Etta while on the bed. She started it, I’m sure, by doing something as annoying as smiling at her brother all gummily. I separated them, knowing that it would be only moments before she nastily provoked another attack, perhaps by cooing at him adoringly. I turned to grab bottles and nighttime diapers on the bedside table, thinking I’d see this as an opportunity to get them both into bed. When I turned my head back to the foot of the bed, I saw Oscar running across the bed, away from his sister, straight for the laptop at the edge of the bed. He went to swerve to avoid it, and managed to twist and fall, seemingly in slow motion, right off the bed.
I got to him a second after he hit, but obviously that was too late. He screamed like I’d never heard before. I was thinking maybe he’d dislocated his elbow, since that happens all the time with him, but when I went to feel it, I knew we had a much bigger problem. His elbow was not where it was supposed to be. Not even close. It felt like it was about two inches to the right of center on his arm. Not good.
So, this is where the fun started. I got both of the kids dressed (sort of), bottles made (knowing we were not going to get back home soon), mapped directions to the good E.R. and piled us all into the car, which seemed a lot smaller than usual. I think it took 20 minutes to get to the hospital, but it seemed like an eternity, probably because Oscar took this opportunity to start stringing three words together (for the first time ever, BTW) “Mom elbow hurt” and “elbow ow Mom” over and over again.
We arrived at the hospital, Oscar screaming, and were seen immediately (screamers get this treatment, BTW). This is where it all began to resemble a farce. I had Etta in one arm and Oscar in another. We saw a doctor, then were pulled into a room where I was told to get Oscar on the bed. We all know the only way that was going to happen, so I got onto the bed with Oscar, Etta sitting on top of me. This was about 9:00 pm. The three of us did not leave this bed until a little before 3:00 am the next morning. I even got to the point where I was able to ignore the stares while we were wheeled from room to room, Oscar and me lying down with Etta sitting on top of my stomach watching everything. The only time we were separated was the first time Oscar needed x-rays, when the technician took Etta into the other room to spare her from being irradiated. Let’s just say that we then found out that Etta really is bonding to me, as she yelled a bit like her brother.
Very long story short(ish), Oscar’s elbow was not dislocated. A pediatrician with a crazy (seriously, CRAZY) handlebar mustache with curlicues all over the place (like this, but even more bizarre, if possible . . . )
said he thought it was broken, but that the x-ray was not conclusive. Then we had more x-rays, then more indecision. Finally, at 3:00 am they put a splint on Oscar’s arm, discharged him and we went to the car, where my little guy said one word. Cookie. Oy. So, we got in the car and started driving until I found a McDonald’s where I promptly purchased a cookie, which he bit into, dropped and ignored.
We went to the orthopedic surgeon two days later, and I was certain she was going to tell me that his arm was fine. He was, by then, running like a maniac around the house. Instead, we sat down and she showed me his x-rays and said that his arm was clearly broken in two spots. They slapped a cast on him from the tips of his fingers to right up to his armpit and that was that. We return tomorrow to get the first cast off and to talk to someone about whether he’ll need surgery. Then they’re going to put him in another cast thingy and a special sling for another month or longer. It’s all a lot of fun.
Aside from that, we’ve been busy boxing up our lives for our upcoming move. I have the keys to the new house, which I explored yesterday afternoon with the kids. Etta was very excited by her introduction to carpeting, and Oscar was just happy to have something new to run around in. He seemed particularly excited about his new playroom, A/K/A the garage.
The house really is quite cute, but each time I go there, I come home to our current house with a renewed desire / appreciation of the need to jettison our belongings. It’s a very small house. So far, I’ve done pretty well. I have half of the garage filled with stuff for the G00dwill truck that is coming next week. I’m basically getting rid of a fully equipped one-bedroom apartment and entire wardrobes for a fatty and an infant boy. Someone is going to be very lucky.
I have a bit of a dilemma. The new house has three bedrooms. Two are decent sized and the other is 11.5′ x 11.5′, which I guess is sort of small. It would be totally mean of me to put Nanny Norma in the smaller bedroom, right? All three have marble bathrooms, with jetted tubs, but it is a small room. Oscar will sleep in my room, so the other bedroom is really for Etta’s crib, the kids’ dresser, changing table and rocking chair. There really wouldn’t be much room to play. The other bedroom would provide room for the kids to play inside, but that would relegate Norma to the little room.
Aside from having a bit of play room for the kids upstairs, there is one other reason I’ve been considering putting Norma into the smaller room. Norma always closes her bedroom door. I don’t blame her. If I were living with freaks like us, I would, too. But, the other bedroom is at the top of the stairs, and the staircase is open to the landing. I *hate* closed doors in a house. I don’t know why, but I just do. It wouldn’t bother me as much if it were a room in a corner somewhere I wouldn’t have to see, but walking into a house and seeing a closed door would make me crazy. See, I said we were freaks. I’ll have to think about this some more.
In the meantime, here are pics from our outing yesterday. Oscar is sporting a camo cast cover (all the rage with the cool kids these days) and Etta is modeling a crocheted headband by the Rosey Posey. Sorry for the lousy pics of the big guy, but he doesn’t really slow down enough these days for the paparazzi.
Big Boy
Oscar had his two year “well baby” check-up this morning. Yes, we’re a bit behind the curve there. With all of the previous doctors’ visits he had earlier this year we thought it was best to defer his official visit until the end of the year. I’m kind of glad we did, since he’s made such amazing progress.
He’s gone from not being on the growth charts at all, to hovering around the 10th percentile to being in the 38th percentile for weight and (get this) from the 25th to the 75th percentile for height. Our ped re-measured him herself just to make sure and then just sat there shocked for a minute. Then she ran a series of tests on his thyroid and requested a consult with an endocrinologist just in case. I knew he went through a massive growth spurt, but I had just been thinking that I was mis-measuring him at home and that perhaps we should use cold water when we wash his clothes to keep them from shrinking. Nanny Norma just beamed with pride when I told her, which is completely appropriate. She’s proof that it is possible to get a finicky toddler to eat on a consistent basis. I need to follow her lead on this.
Our ped also ordered a whole new slew of consults for us, a new speech pathologist, a new pediatric optho (an expert who consulted with us previously but she’d like him to become our primary optho), a new neurologist and yet another developmental assessment. Bonus, we’re having his MRI results looked at by another series of neurologists, although I seriously question where she’s going to find more neurologists who haven’t seen his file. Um, why, you ask? Well, seems that embedded in the results of his MRI were two references to abnormalities (in addition to his corpus callosum) that apparently concern our doctor, who was on maternity leave when the report came in. Since the doctor who ordered the MRI was most concerned with Oscar’s vision and not his overall development, she thinks the focus was placed on the issue that was most likely vision-related and explained how it could be influencing his speech delays (which, when he had his MRI done, people were still saying he might grow out of). You can imagine my elation at hearing this. Too early to tell what these issues are, but she did think that whatever we glean from additional review will lead us to the same place. Something has happened in his brain and there’s no easy fix. He’s going to need a lot of therapy. For a long time.
So, all in all, it was a mixed bag. Great on the physical development front, social areas (Oscar was incredibly sweet to her when he wasn’t screaming, and he didn’t scream all that much while she was there – she said she didn’t recognize him when he wasn’t crying. nice) and even his vision (she agrees that his nystagmus has visibly improved), but not so great news on the other stuff. You know, The Brain Thing. I’m off to call a whole bunch of doctors.
Sick House
We’ve been hit pretty hard with some sort of icky virus since late last week. Oscar came down with it first (naturally), with all of the H1N1 symptoms. I did not run to the emergency room immediately, but after more than 24 hours with a fever not dropping below 101.4 (and that only after Motrin) and hitting a high of 104.8, I broke down and hauled him in on Saturday afternoon. The verdict? Uh, not entirely sure. He tested both negative and positive for H1N1, but the ped thought that he had croup instead because of his hoarse voice. We discussed it a bit, but she then said, “it doesn’t really matter which one it is, since even if he has H1N1, we can’t treat with Tamiflu unless he’s in respiratory distress.”
So many things wrong with that statement, but I knew that whatever he had didn’t seem as bad as what I’ve heard from other families with kids who have had swine flu, so I let it go. She gave me a prescription for some steroid in case his cough goes someplace horrible, which it hasn’t, although it is getting worse. Thankfully his fever has broken, his GI stuff is gone, he’s eating and playing again and now it looks like he’s just sick. As am I. Bonus. Just hoping that Nanny Norma can avoid it. I sent her packing when his fever kicked in, but she’s been back since Monday and he’s been a mucous machine since then.
I have a bit of a dilemma. We have a shortage of flu vaccines in my area (both kinds, not just H1N1). My office has a flu (regular vaccine) clinic this week, but it’s limited to “family.” I’d like to bring Nanny Norma, since I know she’s had trouble finding vaccine as well. I think it’s appropriate to take her, personally. What do you think? I think she qualifies as family (okay, not legally), and she’s certainly a member of my household. Just wondering if I’m pushing the limit here.
An introduction
Everyone, meet my heart monitor . . . heart monitor, everyone.
I thought that since we’ll all be together for the next three weeks we should be properly introduced. A few weeks ago I went to visit a big-deal cardiologist, thinking that I should get myself checked out to make sure I didn’t have heart disease. It is the leading killer of women in this country, you know. Sure, I’ve never had high cholesterol or chest pains, but I do have a young child and I thought it would be better to find out whether I’m already suffering from heart disease or if I’m at risk for it.
So, I go and get myself tested for all kinds of horrible stuff. I have an EKG and an echocardiogram and a stress test, and what do they show? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My heart is fantastic. “Beautiful heart, perfect,” as my cardiologist described it. Yeah, so why am I now hooked up to a monitor that is assessing every beat of my heart? I’m not entirely sure.
Turns out that I have very low blood pressure. I always thought that was a pretty good thing, but for the dizziness when I stand up too quickly. That and the freezing fingers and inability to donate blood. But other than that, it’s a good thing. Except for the fact that I’ve fainted a couple of times as a result of my low blood pressure. Not recently or anything, but apparently doctors have some strange sort of loyalty to the DMV and fainting is a big freaking deal. I’m not kidding. I used to think that what went on in the doctor’s office was private (sort of, except for my medical records being available to pretty much everyone). I thought that unless I told a doctor I was going to go and kill someone, what I said was not going anywhere. So. Not. Accurate.
Come to find out that doctors broadly interpret their duty to advise authorities if a patient may harm someone. Like, some may believe that if you have a patient with a “condition” (hard to consider occasional dizziness (not ditziness) a medical condition) where it’s possible that they’ll faint, you have a duty to report that patient to the DMV. Huh? At about this point the doctor went off on some nonsense about how I could possibly drive a car, pass out behind the wheel and kill someone. As a result, she needed to assess whether I should be allowed to drive. I stopped trying to find the logic right when she said something about the DMV probably taking away my license if they knew about my “history”. What? I have low blood pressure, not epilepsy. I have never had a seizure. I’ve never fainted anywhere near a car. The only time I’ve fainted in ages was at home after extreme illness where I was severely dehydrated and needed IVs and I would never have even thought to drive a car while that sick. How does this get us to the possibility that I could faint while driving and therefore should lose my license?
At this point, when my blood pressure was probably managing to creep up to a crazy high of 100/60, she says she thinks it’s unlikely that I pose a danger to anyone. Okay, I’m listening again. She tells me that she does think there is an underlying condition that has caused the episodes in the past (seriously, we’re talking about what people in Victorian times called “swooning”), but she thinks it has something to do with a nerve and she thinks it can be treated with a particular medication. And the benefit is that the medication could help with some of the fatigue that I experience that is likely tied to my blood pressure. And at this point I became actively interested in what she had to say. I used to think I was just lazy and tired a lot. Turns out there was a medical reason for it that no one bothered to mention before. Even better, there are non-debilitating meds that can help.
To rule out an electrical problem, I need to wear a monitor before they’ll give me the medication that might actually make a difference with the annoyances I’ve experienced since becoming an adult. Fine. That’ll take like a day, right? Um, no. Since my “episodes” are intermittent (that’s what you call something when it happens every 3 to 5 years or longer), I’ll need to wear a monitor that constantly assesses me for 21 days. That means I’m hooked up to this thingy that has electrodes stuck to my chest and ribs performing a constant EKG.
If you’ve read this blog for a while you know that I work in an industry where things like medical issues are considered personal weaknesses. Failures. Moreover, I work for a firm that is risk averse at best. You can imagine how this is going over. One partner walked into my office and saw the monitor’s base unit (the part that talks to my monitor and sends messages to the doctor and the provider by phone) hooked up to the phone jack (I simply could not hide it without moving furniture). He recognized it because it’s made by one of our clients and so I had to tell him what was going on. First thing out of his mouth was “don’t tell anyone – make sure you wear baggy clothes to hide it and if you have to carry that (the base unit) hide it in a file folder”. Second was “if they find out you’ll have to go on disability – the firm could be sued if you hit someone while driving” (explaining when I looked at him blankly). Implicit in this was what would happen to my chances for partnership if this gets out and certainly how perilous it would be if I had to take disability. Third was to ask me who in our tech support group hooked the monitor up to the phone system so he could go do damage control in case they knew what it was. By now I feel like I’m in some sort of alternate universe. Like I’ve committed some sort of crime and we’re covering it up.
Okay, what’s the moral to this story? First, think seriously about going to a doctor for “preventative” reasons. I’m only half joking here. None of this would be happening but for the fact that I wanted to prevent heart disease instead of treat it later. Clearly, I’m happier knowing I’m not suffering from heart disease, but . . . really??? Second, if you’ve ever fainted, think twice before disclosing this to a doctor; know how it could impact you other than by virtue of your health generally. I’m not saying you should hide it – I just wish I had known what I was getting myself into. I had never before thought to lie to my doctor about anything. Mostly because there’s nothing to lie about. I’m quite healthy. Seriously, I am. Ignore the incredibly expensive heart monitor beeping while I type this. But never did I think that telling my doctor something could result in the loss of my driver’s license, an occurrence that would actually very much impact my life. Third, if you work for my firm, trust your gut when you think that physical weakness may be used against you. Fourth, 21 days is a long time to hide a monitor with multiple wires stuck to your chest and hanging around your waist and I still have 20 more days to go.
Four eyes
Oscar needs glasses. Not a surprise, given his eye condition. The “eye thing” appears to have improved externally (no more ptosis and less “shakiness” of his pupil), but possibly has worsened internally, meaning his vision might be really bad now. I like to think the worsening of his vision might explain why he frequently bonks his head when I’m carrying him through doorways. Well, I like to think that, but that might be more accurately attributed to my lack of depth perception.
I just don’t know how we’re going to get him the correct prescription. How do they do the exam on a kid who cannot talk (oh, but we’ve got him quacking like a duck now, so there’s some progress on that front – maybe quack once if the letter is clearer with the first lens; twice if it’s clearer with the second – you’ll get it if you wear contacts or glasses)? We’ve been waiting until he could communicate in some fashion, but I’m pretty concerned that he really does need glasses now, though. When we watch tv on the sofa on the weekends he screws up his entire face squinting to see the screen. I guess I could get an even bigger tv, but glasses might be more practical.
I suspect I’m supposed to buy him those generic industrial frames in light blue plastic in a nondescript shape. Not happening. I got my first pair of glasses in the 9th grade, and I’m not sticking my kid with unattractive frames. Sure, he’s only two, but he’s the most handsome two year old ever. He needs glasses as stylish as he is. Plus, after the damage I did last weekend buying clothes for Baby Etta? Holy. Crap. Let’s just say Oscar should get his due. I went to a couple of opticians, and I was kind of surprised by the choices. Aside from the crummy D0ra and Di3go selections, most of the “toddler” glasses were actually quite mature (read that to mean – way too mature – like some look disturbingly similar to mine). I found one pair I really like (although I have to drag the kid in to try them on, so who knows how they’ll look on his sweet little face). Preferences, anyone?
Um, ok
So, the good news is that Oscar does not have a brain tumor! Yay! Insert huge, audible sigh of relief here.
The not so great / confusing / uncertain / possibly extremely bad news is that his MRI did show an anomaly (I’m not ready to call it an abnormality as the neuro did) in an area of his brain I had never even heard of, which is the reason for the delayed results (as we all probably expected). Because I can get no straightforward news relating to Oscar’s obscure condition, which is even more complicated now than previously thought, I don’t even know when to expect that I will be able to understand what is going on with him. The radiologists are going to talk with the neurologists, who are going to seek other opinions from other neurologists across the country, and at some point I may know what might be wrong with my son’s brain. All I know right now is that there is a problem, that the problem is not fixable, that this malformation can lead to significant developmental difficulties, but then again, it might lead to only somewhat significant developmental difficulties, like extremely delayed speech. By the way, all those signs last summer that pointed to autism? Yep, probably all related to this. For now, I was told not to worry about it too much. Insert me laughing maniacally here.
A decision
I’ve decided that no matter what the neurologist tells me, I am taking the approach that there is nothing wrong with Oscar. They’ve simply taken too long. Had they gotten back to me in a timely manner following his procedure, I would listen to whatever they have to say. Had they taken the procedure seriously at all, scheduling it within a few months of when it was first ordered, maybe I’d even take them more seriously. However, they’ve blown me off for too long, implying (or at least I’m inferring) that there is nothing wrong. So be it. As much as I’m loving this losing 1+ pounds a day (seriously, I am loving that part, aside from feeling like I’m going to fall over dead at any moment for not having any food in me), the madness must end now.
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.
-
Etta’s Hats
Where I’ve Been
