I've reframed the idea of that hypersensitivity as a "crack" due to stress and instead I'm seeing it as an openness that is part and parcel of the expansive inner work I have to do to develop into a midwife.
I'm betting both are true, but I'll focus on my strength and softness and soothe the stress with that knowledge of myself.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Cracks
It's no surprise that I'm stressed out. I have three kids and an apprenticeship. This takes a lot of inner strength, to say the least, and I'm happy to say that for the most part I think I do quite well. Right now there are two areas that are cracking. (Not bad, in my opinion.)
The first is my old repetitive strain injuries are whispering at me. It's not nearly as bad as it used to be, considering I spent years in constant pain, destroying my liver with massive doses of ibuprofen. Still, it's the first time in almost 10 years that I notice pain in my wrists or hands at least once a day. So far I've only had to medicate a couple of times, and I'm confident that all the self-care skills I have now that I didn't back in high school and college will preserve these arms of mine.
The second is the danged internet. Man, I get hypersensitive about people I do not know and should not care about. I get offended reading blogs, comments on blogs, comments on news articles, comments on my comments on people's facebook pages. The simple solution is to just stop doing it, so that's my plan. If you find me a lot quieter or less opinionated in places that you've expected my web presence, you know why. I'm sure in a few weeks or months I'll have regained the perspective that allows me to not put undue stock in other people's opinions. In the meantime, while I'm too emotionally full to let my rational brain win, I'll be protecting myself by avoiding random strangers' opinions as much as possible.
And hey, less internet is better for my arms anyway...
The first is my old repetitive strain injuries are whispering at me. It's not nearly as bad as it used to be, considering I spent years in constant pain, destroying my liver with massive doses of ibuprofen. Still, it's the first time in almost 10 years that I notice pain in my wrists or hands at least once a day. So far I've only had to medicate a couple of times, and I'm confident that all the self-care skills I have now that I didn't back in high school and college will preserve these arms of mine.
The second is the danged internet. Man, I get hypersensitive about people I do not know and should not care about. I get offended reading blogs, comments on blogs, comments on news articles, comments on my comments on people's facebook pages. The simple solution is to just stop doing it, so that's my plan. If you find me a lot quieter or less opinionated in places that you've expected my web presence, you know why. I'm sure in a few weeks or months I'll have regained the perspective that allows me to not put undue stock in other people's opinions. In the meantime, while I'm too emotionally full to let my rational brain win, I'll be protecting myself by avoiding random strangers' opinions as much as possible.
And hey, less internet is better for my arms anyway...
Friday, December 24, 2010
At this moment...
Eliana is working easy but adult-level sudokus.
Kesenia is writing "mary chrismise" emails on Zoobuh email.
Donovan is walking around naked holding a Paper Jamz guitar under one arm and a booklight in the other hand.
Scott is outside doing yard work.
I'm appreciating just how good I've got it.
Kesenia is writing "mary chrismise" emails on Zoobuh email.
Donovan is walking around naked holding a Paper Jamz guitar under one arm and a booklight in the other hand.
Scott is outside doing yard work.
I'm appreciating just how good I've got it.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Lucky
Back story #1: Donovan has been saying "lucky" for a few months now... and it doesn't mean lucky. It means yucky.
Back story #2: Kiki = Kessa and Lala = Eliana
Back story #3: D sleeps in his room and then comes into mine in the morning, nurses in bed, cuddles for a few minutes (or seconds), and then we get up. Sometimes Kessa follows him in and cuddles with us. This is exactly where our story starts.
D points to Kessa. "Kiki lucky."
Me: Kessa's yucky?
D: Noooooo. (smiles) Lala lucky.
Me: Eliana's yucky?
D: Noooooo.
Me: Scott, what's he saying?
D: Dada lucky.
Scott: I'm not yucky!
Me: Maybe he's ribbing us. Is Daddy yucky?
D: Nooooo. Mommy lucky.
He gives me a huge hug and kiss, and makes me kiss him, demonstrating his words, and deliberately says, "Mommy lucky."
And I say, "You mean, are you saying, Mommy loves me?"
D: Yeah! Mommy lucky! Dada lucky! Kiki lala lucky too!
Yes, yes I do. I love that boy. And I'm lucky, too.
Back story #2: Kiki = Kessa and Lala = Eliana
Back story #3: D sleeps in his room and then comes into mine in the morning, nurses in bed, cuddles for a few minutes (or seconds), and then we get up. Sometimes Kessa follows him in and cuddles with us. This is exactly where our story starts.
D points to Kessa. "Kiki lucky."
Me: Kessa's yucky?
D: Noooooo. (smiles) Lala lucky.
Me: Eliana's yucky?
D: Noooooo.
Me: Scott, what's he saying?
D: Dada lucky.
Scott: I'm not yucky!
Me: Maybe he's ribbing us. Is Daddy yucky?
D: Nooooo. Mommy lucky.
He gives me a huge hug and kiss, and makes me kiss him, demonstrating his words, and deliberately says, "Mommy lucky."
And I say, "You mean, are you saying, Mommy loves me?"
D: Yeah! Mommy lucky! Dada lucky! Kiki lala lucky too!
Yes, yes I do. I love that boy. And I'm lucky, too.
Homebirth for people who want hospital birth
Through my apprenticeship, I've seen a fair number of families both here and in Utah who have come to homebirth not out of any real desire for a homebirth. Their idea for themselves was always to have a hospital birth, with an epidural, and some of these women have had children before, and done exactly that with those births. And now they've come to us not seeking an improvement in care, as some moms do after hospital birth, but because of money. They don't have insurance, and the cost of homebirth is about 1/5 of the cost of a completely straightforward hospital birth.
Often these relationships start with lots of questions about safety, and one question about pain - generally a variation of "can I really do it without drugs?". These questions, which are nearly universal no matter what a family's idea of birth is, usually get answered during the interview and over the first visit or two. Then through our usual prenatal care, these families come to trust us in a way they never imagined trusting a health care provider. They trust us not in the Western medicine way that I so often hear on the internet: "I trust my doctor because she's the expert and what she says I should do must be the right thing to do."
Instead they learn over time to trust us to provide them with all the information that they need to know so that they can make the most appropriate decisions for their families: risks, benefits, alternatives of all tests, procedures, and treatments available, and information about their own babies and bodies gleaned through long discussions with them and through any tests they have opted to take. Through this trust-building they also slowly trust deep down what their brain had believed when they hired us: we really will be able to recognize situations that would make a hospital birth a safer option, and we will tell them, and we will go. They trust us to guide them through a process that is theirs. "I trust my midwife to let me stay in control of this process and to tell me if this process gets outside the range of normal so we can alter our course if needed."
Sometime, usually in the third trimester, we return to pain, because now that trust is really built, mom admits she's worried that she won't be able to handle it. We talk about how the sensations of labor are not the same as an injury but more similar to physical work. We talk about how it's easier at home to make all the hormones of labor which help ease the sensation. We talk about all the ways the sensations can feel, and the ways that our support can help. Often, this is the one part that mom never quite fully trusts us on... but she trusts us enough to move into her birth calmly, and with the knowledge that she has our full confidence.
Then comes the birth. Sometimes it's huge for her, she thought it would be easier, she has a hard time moving into it and letting her body take over. Sometimes she soars right through it easier than a mom who had always wanted a natural birth or a homebirth. Usually, it's the same doable challenge we see time and again. Regardless, during the immediate postpartum, we always hear, "I'm so glad I'm home," and from the multips, "I feel so much better than I did right after my other(s) were born!"
With all our clients, we ask how the birth was for the mama (and even her partner) at postpartum visits, and allow her to process it. Sometimes we first hear, "That was so incredibly hard," and sometimes, "That was a lot better than I thought it would be." We hear the whole range of experience from these moms, the same as any other moms. But the one thing we always hear, sometimes 5 minutes after the birth, sometimes the next day, or a week later, or a month later: "I would not want to have a baby in the hospital. I don't care if we have insurance next time. If we have any more babies we'll have a homebirth again."
Those are some of my favorite words, and these clients have a special place carved out in my heart. It shows a special kind of courage to move into an uncomfortable place and embrace it, as mothers who would have preferred hospital birth have to do in order to have a homebirth. And it shows that, while I wouldn't push anyone to have a homebirth, it truly can be the gold standard of maternity care not only for "natural birth types" but for anyone.
Often these relationships start with lots of questions about safety, and one question about pain - generally a variation of "can I really do it without drugs?". These questions, which are nearly universal no matter what a family's idea of birth is, usually get answered during the interview and over the first visit or two. Then through our usual prenatal care, these families come to trust us in a way they never imagined trusting a health care provider. They trust us not in the Western medicine way that I so often hear on the internet: "I trust my doctor because she's the expert and what she says I should do must be the right thing to do."
Instead they learn over time to trust us to provide them with all the information that they need to know so that they can make the most appropriate decisions for their families: risks, benefits, alternatives of all tests, procedures, and treatments available, and information about their own babies and bodies gleaned through long discussions with them and through any tests they have opted to take. Through this trust-building they also slowly trust deep down what their brain had believed when they hired us: we really will be able to recognize situations that would make a hospital birth a safer option, and we will tell them, and we will go. They trust us to guide them through a process that is theirs. "I trust my midwife to let me stay in control of this process and to tell me if this process gets outside the range of normal so we can alter our course if needed."
Sometime, usually in the third trimester, we return to pain, because now that trust is really built, mom admits she's worried that she won't be able to handle it. We talk about how the sensations of labor are not the same as an injury but more similar to physical work. We talk about how it's easier at home to make all the hormones of labor which help ease the sensation. We talk about all the ways the sensations can feel, and the ways that our support can help. Often, this is the one part that mom never quite fully trusts us on... but she trusts us enough to move into her birth calmly, and with the knowledge that she has our full confidence.
Then comes the birth. Sometimes it's huge for her, she thought it would be easier, she has a hard time moving into it and letting her body take over. Sometimes she soars right through it easier than a mom who had always wanted a natural birth or a homebirth. Usually, it's the same doable challenge we see time and again. Regardless, during the immediate postpartum, we always hear, "I'm so glad I'm home," and from the multips, "I feel so much better than I did right after my other(s) were born!"
With all our clients, we ask how the birth was for the mama (and even her partner) at postpartum visits, and allow her to process it. Sometimes we first hear, "That was so incredibly hard," and sometimes, "That was a lot better than I thought it would be." We hear the whole range of experience from these moms, the same as any other moms. But the one thing we always hear, sometimes 5 minutes after the birth, sometimes the next day, or a week later, or a month later: "I would not want to have a baby in the hospital. I don't care if we have insurance next time. If we have any more babies we'll have a homebirth again."
Those are some of my favorite words, and these clients have a special place carved out in my heart. It shows a special kind of courage to move into an uncomfortable place and embrace it, as mothers who would have preferred hospital birth have to do in order to have a homebirth. And it shows that, while I wouldn't push anyone to have a homebirth, it truly can be the gold standard of maternity care not only for "natural birth types" but for anyone.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Childcare
I've said it before, I'll say it again: childcare for the kids is the hardest part of apprenticeship for me. I don't regret starting while they were so young, but for those who are interested in becoming a midwife and have young children, you have been warned.
Right now I am looking for full-time childcare for my kids from January-June, and this is the first time I have ever needed full-time. I feel extremely fortunate because it means that I am going to get a ton of experience, and six months isn't too long in the grand scheme of things. I also have flexible kids who absolutely love people, new or well-established in their lives. Still, one of the advantages of midwifery as a career path was the ability to limit my own workload in the long run, and while I'm perfectly willing to work my tail off as an apprentice, I'm sure I'll be glad to have more time with my kids after this intense phase I have coming up.
Anyway, to return to the point, today I got a response regarding my childcare job posting from a woman who gave me some references. One of the names, given as the mother of a 6 month old for whom the applicant had babysat, sounded familiar and I googled her. Her facebook profile popped up and I started looking to see whether I knew her. As it turns out, she does not have a six month old. She is, in fact, 9 months pregnant with her first child. And facebook friends with my applicant.
So, this lady wants to care for my kids but isn't honest enough to say, "here's a personal reference, she's a friend who can tell you what a great person I am but I haven't worked for her" but is willing to get a friend to lie for her and pose as a client. Sigh. I'm glad this friend didn't know about facebook privacy settings. And, I'll be googling all my applicants AND their references from now on.
Right now I am looking for full-time childcare for my kids from January-June, and this is the first time I have ever needed full-time. I feel extremely fortunate because it means that I am going to get a ton of experience, and six months isn't too long in the grand scheme of things. I also have flexible kids who absolutely love people, new or well-established in their lives. Still, one of the advantages of midwifery as a career path was the ability to limit my own workload in the long run, and while I'm perfectly willing to work my tail off as an apprentice, I'm sure I'll be glad to have more time with my kids after this intense phase I have coming up.
Anyway, to return to the point, today I got a response regarding my childcare job posting from a woman who gave me some references. One of the names, given as the mother of a 6 month old for whom the applicant had babysat, sounded familiar and I googled her. Her facebook profile popped up and I started looking to see whether I knew her. As it turns out, she does not have a six month old. She is, in fact, 9 months pregnant with her first child. And facebook friends with my applicant.
So, this lady wants to care for my kids but isn't honest enough to say, "here's a personal reference, she's a friend who can tell you what a great person I am but I haven't worked for her" but is willing to get a friend to lie for her and pose as a client. Sigh. I'm glad this friend didn't know about facebook privacy settings. And, I'll be googling all my applicants AND their references from now on.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Roald Dahl only wrote so many books.
I love Roald Dahl. I loved his books when I was a kid, and I love them even more now that I'm a mom with kids who need high reading levels with appropriate content. Fantastic Mr. Fox is one of his shorter books, and the reading level that is listed online is 4.9, end of 4th grade.
Kessa is reading it to me. She turned 5 in August. She's not reading it because I'm making her, she's reading it because she wanted to. She's not reading the words without understanding the context - she's reading with inflection, correcting missed words based on context, laughing at the appropriate parts, and can tell me what's going on in her own words any time I ask. She won't usually read chapter books out loud to me, so I was shocked; I had no idea she was capable of this level.
When I talk about how unusually bright these kids are, most people don't understand that I'm not bragging, I'm worried. The ones who do understand THAT I'm worried mostly don't understand WHY I'm worried. We live in a more-is-better society, and so higher achievement = smarter = more-is-better, right? Not always. Here are some of the issues surrounding giftedness (for the kids and for their parents).
1) Appropriate content. Roald Dahl only wrote so many books. It's an ongoing process finding books at the right reading level, with content that is interesting and inoffensive for their maturity level.
2) Another kind of exceptionality. Giftedness is often thought of as the normal brain made faster or bigger, but in reality, gifted children's brains work differently, just as children with learning disabilities are wired differently. (Dual exceptionalities are common - children then have a learning disability in one area and are considered gifted in another.) The difference between a disability and a gift is that the former makes it more difficult to perform a function valued by our society, and the latter makes it easier to perform said function.
3) Ill-equipped public schools. We spend 10 times as much money on children whose exceptionalities make them low-performing than on those whose exceptionalities make them high-performing. On the surface, it makes sense to help the kids who need the most help, but our resources should help each child reach his or her potential. "No child left behind" should never equal "no child allowed ahead," yet it does. Even those districts which still offer programs for gifted kids often do not understand issue #2; their programs are simply fast-track normal programs, which, like grade-skipping, reduces boredom for the accelerated learner but does not allow the gifted child's brain to use its unusual pathways. Programs that truly meet the needs of gifted children are rare.
4) Social difficulties. Gifted kids don't fit in with children their own age. Their brains often don't include a bunch of social graces. They are often more mature in some facets of emotional development, yet highly sensitive, and more able to relate to adults or older children than their own peers. Yet they are often immature in enough ways to not be able to smoothly pass as older. The literature says that gifted children usually do better socially when they skip grades than when they don't; anecdotally it appears that either way, they fare worse than their peers of the same age or of their new grade.
5) Parenting challenges. In addition to the above issues surrounding a child's education and social integration, you get to have deep, thought-provoking conversations. These are usually fun and are the moments that you are proud of your unusual children. Even so, you do occasionally debate whether you might rather your child was content with your initial answers to her basic questions about the birds and the bees when she was five, rather than prodding you into a discussion of vasectomy at the age of six and the "Turkey Baster" conversation at the age of seven.
You can bet that I'm glad these are the challenges for my family. I wouldn't replace them with ill health or an exceptionality on the other side of the spectrum. Yet they are real challenges, and when my 5 year old read me a 4th grade book, I was impressed, and also got tears in my eyes. Tears knowing the difficulties she will face because she is different, recognizing the effort I will need to put in to her education, acknowledging my responsibilities in getting her needs met.
Kessa is reading it to me. She turned 5 in August. She's not reading it because I'm making her, she's reading it because she wanted to. She's not reading the words without understanding the context - she's reading with inflection, correcting missed words based on context, laughing at the appropriate parts, and can tell me what's going on in her own words any time I ask. She won't usually read chapter books out loud to me, so I was shocked; I had no idea she was capable of this level.
When I talk about how unusually bright these kids are, most people don't understand that I'm not bragging, I'm worried. The ones who do understand THAT I'm worried mostly don't understand WHY I'm worried. We live in a more-is-better society, and so higher achievement = smarter = more-is-better, right? Not always. Here are some of the issues surrounding giftedness (for the kids and for their parents).
1) Appropriate content. Roald Dahl only wrote so many books. It's an ongoing process finding books at the right reading level, with content that is interesting and inoffensive for their maturity level.
2) Another kind of exceptionality. Giftedness is often thought of as the normal brain made faster or bigger, but in reality, gifted children's brains work differently, just as children with learning disabilities are wired differently. (Dual exceptionalities are common - children then have a learning disability in one area and are considered gifted in another.) The difference between a disability and a gift is that the former makes it more difficult to perform a function valued by our society, and the latter makes it easier to perform said function.
3) Ill-equipped public schools. We spend 10 times as much money on children whose exceptionalities make them low-performing than on those whose exceptionalities make them high-performing. On the surface, it makes sense to help the kids who need the most help, but our resources should help each child reach his or her potential. "No child left behind" should never equal "no child allowed ahead," yet it does. Even those districts which still offer programs for gifted kids often do not understand issue #2; their programs are simply fast-track normal programs, which, like grade-skipping, reduces boredom for the accelerated learner but does not allow the gifted child's brain to use its unusual pathways. Programs that truly meet the needs of gifted children are rare.
4) Social difficulties. Gifted kids don't fit in with children their own age. Their brains often don't include a bunch of social graces. They are often more mature in some facets of emotional development, yet highly sensitive, and more able to relate to adults or older children than their own peers. Yet they are often immature in enough ways to not be able to smoothly pass as older. The literature says that gifted children usually do better socially when they skip grades than when they don't; anecdotally it appears that either way, they fare worse than their peers of the same age or of their new grade.
5) Parenting challenges. In addition to the above issues surrounding a child's education and social integration, you get to have deep, thought-provoking conversations. These are usually fun and are the moments that you are proud of your unusual children. Even so, you do occasionally debate whether you might rather your child was content with your initial answers to her basic questions about the birds and the bees when she was five, rather than prodding you into a discussion of vasectomy at the age of six and the "Turkey Baster" conversation at the age of seven.
You can bet that I'm glad these are the challenges for my family. I wouldn't replace them with ill health or an exceptionality on the other side of the spectrum. Yet they are real challenges, and when my 5 year old read me a 4th grade book, I was impressed, and also got tears in my eyes. Tears knowing the difficulties she will face because she is different, recognizing the effort I will need to put in to her education, acknowledging my responsibilities in getting her needs met.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
They're too smart for my own good.
K: "Treat please."
Me: "You can have one if you can spell that."
K: "T-R-E-A-T P-L-E-A-S-E"
Me: "You did it! So what do you want to eat?"
K: "Pumpkin pie."
Me: "Hmmm... you can have it if you can spell it!"
K: "P-U-M-P-K-I-N P-I-E. Did I do it???"
Me: [OMGmyfiveyearoldcanspellpumpkinandtreatandplease.]
For the record, I was going to give her the pumpkin pie just for trying to spell it. I'm not THAT mean.
E: "Eeeewwwwww, that stinks!!!"
Me: "Yep, we're in the middle of nowhere. It smells like that in some rural places because of all the cows."
E: "Mom, I am so glad we live in suburbia!"
D: (points to spider) "PIE!"
Me: "Yep, that's a spider."
D: "Dada."
Me: "Dad's not here, so we can't show him the spider."
D: "Dada pie."
Me: "Ohhhh, you mean that's a daddy long legs spider. Yes, yes it is."
D: "Me."
Me: "You want the spider?"
D: "No. Ouds me."
Me: "Oh, the spider will hurt you, I get it."
D: "Dada pie ouds me."
Me: "It's not a good idea to touch spiders. Don't touch it and it won't hurt you."
D: "Dada ouds dada pie."
Me: "You want Daddy to kill the spider?"
D: "Yeah, yeah, yeaaaaah."
Me: "Well, dad's not here, but maybe when he comes home."
Me: "You can have one if you can spell that."
K: "T-R-E-A-T P-L-E-A-S-E"
Me: "You did it! So what do you want to eat?"
K: "Pumpkin pie."
Me: "Hmmm... you can have it if you can spell it!"
K: "P-U-M-P-K-I-N P-I-E. Did I do it???"
Me: [OMGmyfiveyearoldcanspellpumpkinandtreatandplease.]
For the record, I was going to give her the pumpkin pie just for trying to spell it. I'm not THAT mean.
E: "Eeeewwwwww, that stinks!!!"
Me: "Yep, we're in the middle of nowhere. It smells like that in some rural places because of all the cows."
E: "Mom, I am so glad we live in suburbia!"
D: (points to spider) "PIE!"
Me: "Yep, that's a spider."
D: "Dada."
Me: "Dad's not here, so we can't show him the spider."
D: "Dada pie."
Me: "Ohhhh, you mean that's a daddy long legs spider. Yes, yes it is."
D: "Me."
Me: "You want the spider?"
D: "No. Ouds me."
Me: "Oh, the spider will hurt you, I get it."
D: "Dada pie ouds me."
Me: "It's not a good idea to touch spiders. Don't touch it and it won't hurt you."
D: "Dada ouds dada pie."
Me: "You want Daddy to kill the spider?"
D: "Yeah, yeah, yeaaaaah."
Me: "Well, dad's not here, but maybe when he comes home."
Thanksgiving
I love Thanksgiving. It's the one guaranteed time per year that my extended family comes together. We're all nutty and we are truly blessed to enjoy each others company in a way I know to be rare. Everyone gets along with everyone, and we have a blast.
This year, I came home with no blackmail video. I was there without Scott, so I had more responsibility for the kids than usual. (I say "more" rather than "total" because my parents and aunts and even younger cousins did help out. They rock.) I can't blame it on that, totally, though. It was our first Thanksgiving since my grandpa died, and I just wanted to look around and soak it in a little. Our family.
We laughed as hard as we always do - although I don't think Aunt Nancy peed her pants, so I guess we didn't quite reach maximum hilarity, or maybe she just wasn't there for the funniest bits. We didn't play darn or poker, or finish the 1500 piece puzzle. We did drink gewurztraminer, Martinelli's, finish the fudge before the dinner leftovers, and make even faster work of the chocolate liqueurs. My girls tagged after their older girl cousins and Donovan learned 4 new names and made it clear that his favorite new buddy was my 13 year old cousin Andrew (ayyew). We teased the young (and the not-so-young!) about boyfriends and girlfriends, retold the favorite family stories, ribbed each other at every chance.
It was just like always, exactly the family my grandparents created. They're gone but they're always here, in our playfulness, our offbeat humor, our love for each other.
This year, I came home with no blackmail video. I was there without Scott, so I had more responsibility for the kids than usual. (I say "more" rather than "total" because my parents and aunts and even younger cousins did help out. They rock.) I can't blame it on that, totally, though. It was our first Thanksgiving since my grandpa died, and I just wanted to look around and soak it in a little. Our family.
We laughed as hard as we always do - although I don't think Aunt Nancy peed her pants, so I guess we didn't quite reach maximum hilarity, or maybe she just wasn't there for the funniest bits. We didn't play darn or poker, or finish the 1500 piece puzzle. We did drink gewurztraminer, Martinelli's, finish the fudge before the dinner leftovers, and make even faster work of the chocolate liqueurs. My girls tagged after their older girl cousins and Donovan learned 4 new names and made it clear that his favorite new buddy was my 13 year old cousin Andrew (ayyew). We teased the young (and the not-so-young!) about boyfriends and girlfriends, retold the favorite family stories, ribbed each other at every chance.
It was just like always, exactly the family my grandparents created. They're gone but they're always here, in our playfulness, our offbeat humor, our love for each other.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Vomitus virusus
Saturday evening as I was walking out of a lovely baby shower, Scott called me: "Donovan's sick; he threw up." Scott put him to bed, he slept decently, considering, but woke up the next morning throwing up again. Just a few times, then stopped and seemed in pretty decent spirits, so I left him with Scott again while I took the girls to Sunday School and stayed for a parent education session, then to Eliana's soccer year-end party, then on to a 7th birthday party for a dear friend's daughter (who happens to be one of Eliana's favorite people). I checked in with Scott a few times, and he said Donovan was doing much better. After about 7 hours out, I was very happy to go home and nurse my boy, who was also very happy to see me.
We sat on the couch, nursed, and just as I said, "Do you want the other side?" he nodded, latched off, and threw up all over me. Soaked me down to the skivvies. It was very clear that Scott had been feeding him normal food far beyond the BRATY diet. Ew.
The girls and I needed dinner and there was nothing reasonable in the house, so I sent Scott to the store to bring home sandwiches and some coconut water for the boy. He'd had most of the two bottles of pedialyte that were in the house, and he loooves coconut water. (The triple O vowel is a very special vowel that you may not have been taught in school.) Right before he left, D threw up again, but fortunately this time I had a towel handy.
While Scott was out, D cried, and cried. I started worrying. Now he had a low fever, where there had been none before. He said, "Pee. Pee." when there was no pee, and said, "Ow," pointing to his crotch and belly. It was past urgent care hours on a Sunday, so I did what any reasonable parent who doesn't want to spend $1000+ clogging up the ER unnecessarily would do. (Did I mention we have a $6000 per person insurance deductible? Did I mention that as of December 1 it will only be $250?) I called my inside help - Dr. Aunt Katie, my sister in law, my phone triage doc. She told me what would warrant an immediate trip to the ER and I decided to stay home, as those symptoms weren't quite presenting.
D had another decent night. In the morning, he either nursed or cried. He still made eye contact with me and did communicate a little bit, so this was looking a lot better than when I rushed Eliana to the hospital, but it was definitely time to see the doc. I got an appt with a ped we hadn't seen before (ours is out on medical leave!?), and she was great. She was worried about him, said he was on the verge of needing to go to the ER to get hydrated. She gave us until 1:30 for him to perk up or she wanted us to go to the ER. She also sent us home with a stick-on pee collecting bag (oh fun memories from E's hospitalization). The ped said to push pedialyte bigtime and to feed him. He did take some yogurt and initially drank about half a container of pedialyte, but by 11 he stopped eating and drinking altogether. He only wanted to nurse, but he was not swallowing, so I know he wasn't transferring milk. When I realized that nothing was going in and therefore nothing was going to help him get better, I decided it was time to go to the ER.
Right then, though, he fell asleep, and I thought, hmmm, maybe a rest will help. I had about an hour until our 1:30 deadline and thought that would be a good amount of sleep. At 1, the nurse from the ped's office called to check in and agreed that it was time to go to the ER, so I woke him up and we headed over.
They would not let me nurse him until after taking his temperature. OK wait wait wait. I totally get how if you are going to have your temperature taken orally, and you have something cold or hot to drink, that it would mess with the temperature reading. But we're talking 98.6 degree boob that is not transferring milk, and then they took his temperature rectally. Now, obviously, I could've popped the boob in no matter what they said, but when your kid is that sick, hoop-jumping in order to get the treatment you need is just kind of what you do. At that point it is not about figuring out that this might be a stupid idea - this thought process didn't happen until I was actually walking out of the ER after it was all over. So, people who know more about physiology and illness and hospital procedures than I do, (Dr. Aunt Katie?) if there was a good reason for me and the whole ER to have to listen to him screaming, please let me know what it was. Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like a hospital protocol lost in translation and being enforced when it didn't actually pertain to our situation.
Anyway, cry cry cry because I'm not nursing him, and as I've established, it was either one or the other all day (it was now about 2pm). The nurse was trying to get a pulse ox on him and it wasn't working, and when I said for the third time since meeting her, "if you just take his temp and let me nurse him he'll hold still," she finally switched to taking his temp. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #1.
Nurse nurse nurse. Pulse ox on the ear, he pulled it off, I held his arms, no tears because we're nursing, it goes back on, success. Nurse nurse nurse.
Two nurses came in to set up for IV placement, with a blood draw, and a catheterization to rule out bladder infection. They asked me to lay him flat for the IV placement, and I sang into his ear while the nurse put a tourniquet on his arm and he cried. I laid my body across his legs, held the arm the nurses weren't using, and felt just a little bit thankful that I had been pregnant and unable to be in the room for Eliana's x-rays during her hospitalization, then guilty, then thankful that she had been so out of it while she had her IV's placed that she didn't cry or even show any signs of registering it, then guiltier. The nurse remarked how strong he was. Thankful that he was not in bad shape like Eliana had been. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #2.
After the IV was placed, the blood was drawn from it, and as they went to finish taping and put on a splint to keep his arm straight (which didn't work), I let go of him, leaned over the table with my shirt up, and let him nurse. The nurses were amazed. Wonder if they'd ever seen a nursing two year old before, let alone a mother willing to contort herself for the sake of ne. A bit more time passed and they weren't going for the catheter, so I asked if I could sit back down with him as, contortionist nursing or no, that would be more comfortable. They said they were going to wait for some of the fluids to go in, so I settled in. Nurse nurse nurse. He finally fell asleep.
Just in time for the nurse to come in for the catheterization. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #3.
Over fast, back to nursing. In and out of sleep. Two boluses of fluid. All tests back normal. Doc said we could go home. The nurses came in to take out the IV, and he woke up a new boy. Talked to me about the clocks on the wall, about wanting the splint off, about going home and seeing Kiki and Lala. On our way out of the ER, he said, "Moon up," and on the drive to pick up his sisters from our friend Sharon aka angel's house, he sang the Laurie Berkner Band's "Moon, moon, moon." All I could say was, "Oh, I missed you so much. It's so nice to see you."
Overall, we were treated very well. This is my second ER experience at ValleyCare and the nurses and doctors have been respectful and have provided an appropriate level of care each time.
All day I thought about how lucky we are to live in a place with clean running water, with pedialyte and coconut water available every mile, with IV fluids available. In other places, dehydration kills toddlers regularly. We are so lucky.
We sat on the couch, nursed, and just as I said, "Do you want the other side?" he nodded, latched off, and threw up all over me. Soaked me down to the skivvies. It was very clear that Scott had been feeding him normal food far beyond the BRATY diet. Ew.
The girls and I needed dinner and there was nothing reasonable in the house, so I sent Scott to the store to bring home sandwiches and some coconut water for the boy. He'd had most of the two bottles of pedialyte that were in the house, and he loooves coconut water. (The triple O vowel is a very special vowel that you may not have been taught in school.) Right before he left, D threw up again, but fortunately this time I had a towel handy.
While Scott was out, D cried, and cried. I started worrying. Now he had a low fever, where there had been none before. He said, "Pee. Pee." when there was no pee, and said, "Ow," pointing to his crotch and belly. It was past urgent care hours on a Sunday, so I did what any reasonable parent who doesn't want to spend $1000+ clogging up the ER unnecessarily would do. (Did I mention we have a $6000 per person insurance deductible? Did I mention that as of December 1 it will only be $250?) I called my inside help - Dr. Aunt Katie, my sister in law, my phone triage doc. She told me what would warrant an immediate trip to the ER and I decided to stay home, as those symptoms weren't quite presenting.
D had another decent night. In the morning, he either nursed or cried. He still made eye contact with me and did communicate a little bit, so this was looking a lot better than when I rushed Eliana to the hospital, but it was definitely time to see the doc. I got an appt with a ped we hadn't seen before (ours is out on medical leave!?), and she was great. She was worried about him, said he was on the verge of needing to go to the ER to get hydrated. She gave us until 1:30 for him to perk up or she wanted us to go to the ER. She also sent us home with a stick-on pee collecting bag (oh fun memories from E's hospitalization). The ped said to push pedialyte bigtime and to feed him. He did take some yogurt and initially drank about half a container of pedialyte, but by 11 he stopped eating and drinking altogether. He only wanted to nurse, but he was not swallowing, so I know he wasn't transferring milk. When I realized that nothing was going in and therefore nothing was going to help him get better, I decided it was time to go to the ER.
Right then, though, he fell asleep, and I thought, hmmm, maybe a rest will help. I had about an hour until our 1:30 deadline and thought that would be a good amount of sleep. At 1, the nurse from the ped's office called to check in and agreed that it was time to go to the ER, so I woke him up and we headed over.
They would not let me nurse him until after taking his temperature. OK wait wait wait. I totally get how if you are going to have your temperature taken orally, and you have something cold or hot to drink, that it would mess with the temperature reading. But we're talking 98.6 degree boob that is not transferring milk, and then they took his temperature rectally. Now, obviously, I could've popped the boob in no matter what they said, but when your kid is that sick, hoop-jumping in order to get the treatment you need is just kind of what you do. At that point it is not about figuring out that this might be a stupid idea - this thought process didn't happen until I was actually walking out of the ER after it was all over. So, people who know more about physiology and illness and hospital procedures than I do, (Dr. Aunt Katie?) if there was a good reason for me and the whole ER to have to listen to him screaming, please let me know what it was. Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like a hospital protocol lost in translation and being enforced when it didn't actually pertain to our situation.
Anyway, cry cry cry because I'm not nursing him, and as I've established, it was either one or the other all day (it was now about 2pm). The nurse was trying to get a pulse ox on him and it wasn't working, and when I said for the third time since meeting her, "if you just take his temp and let me nurse him he'll hold still," she finally switched to taking his temp. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #1.
Nurse nurse nurse. Pulse ox on the ear, he pulled it off, I held his arms, no tears because we're nursing, it goes back on, success. Nurse nurse nurse.
Two nurses came in to set up for IV placement, with a blood draw, and a catheterization to rule out bladder infection. They asked me to lay him flat for the IV placement, and I sang into his ear while the nurse put a tourniquet on his arm and he cried. I laid my body across his legs, held the arm the nurses weren't using, and felt just a little bit thankful that I had been pregnant and unable to be in the room for Eliana's x-rays during her hospitalization, then guilty, then thankful that she had been so out of it while she had her IV's placed that she didn't cry or even show any signs of registering it, then guiltier. The nurse remarked how strong he was. Thankful that he was not in bad shape like Eliana had been. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #2.
After the IV was placed, the blood was drawn from it, and as they went to finish taping and put on a splint to keep his arm straight (which didn't work), I let go of him, leaned over the table with my shirt up, and let him nurse. The nurses were amazed. Wonder if they'd ever seen a nursing two year old before, let alone a mother willing to contort herself for the sake of ne. A bit more time passed and they weren't going for the catheter, so I asked if I could sit back down with him as, contortionist nursing or no, that would be more comfortable. They said they were going to wait for some of the fluids to go in, so I settled in. Nurse nurse nurse. He finally fell asleep.
Just in time for the nurse to come in for the catheterization. Hold down strong screaming toddler event #3.
Over fast, back to nursing. In and out of sleep. Two boluses of fluid. All tests back normal. Doc said we could go home. The nurses came in to take out the IV, and he woke up a new boy. Talked to me about the clocks on the wall, about wanting the splint off, about going home and seeing Kiki and Lala. On our way out of the ER, he said, "Moon up," and on the drive to pick up his sisters from our friend Sharon aka angel's house, he sang the Laurie Berkner Band's "Moon, moon, moon." All I could say was, "Oh, I missed you so much. It's so nice to see you."
Overall, we were treated very well. This is my second ER experience at ValleyCare and the nurses and doctors have been respectful and have provided an appropriate level of care each time.
All day I thought about how lucky we are to live in a place with clean running water, with pedialyte and coconut water available every mile, with IV fluids available. In other places, dehydration kills toddlers regularly. We are so lucky.
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