** Let's Talk.About.Thanksgiving... Shall we?!?

Today, the world lost an amazing woman, and extraordinary nurse. I lost a friend, a mentor, and an occasional surrogate mom.

I was 23 years old when I met Deirdre. I was a new nurse, starting a new job in the MICU and everything I needed to know about her, I learned in that first shift: She was all business, no nonsense when it came to the job. At first blush, she scared the shit out of me. But you only needed to hear her laugh to know there was nothing to actually fear - she was full of life, heart, humor, mischief, giggles, and truth. Dee would tell you what was what without batting an eye. She could say to you "Why are you wearing that? You look ridiculous!" but make it sound like, "I've been thinking, and I have a great idea for a make over!" She was what my gram would have called a "rascal". To qualify for the label the way my gram intended it, you'd have to be someone smart, someone that intuitively knows exactly what is going on, someone that pays attention and "doesn't miss a trick", someone that speaks truth in a good-natured way, that can knock an arrogant fool down a few pegs without seeming mean or threatened, someone soulful but who truly enjoys a good joke.

Deirdre was all of this. And a real class act.

She taught me so much about what it means to be a nurse. Being a nurse means doing things the right way. Working fast but not taking shortcuts. Taking care of what you can, fixing and organizing what you can; and creating comfort and respectful solutions when things can't be fixed. Washing and rubbing a back, lotioning someone's feet, helping a person eat or go to the bathroom, listening as people talk about their lives- these are not small, insignificant things... They are usually the most important things.

I stopped working in the ICU almost 10 years ago... And Deirdre left before then. We hadn't spoken in a long time, until last year when I learned that she had been diagnosed with Cancer - stage 4.
We emailed a few times, and in November, we had a big party in her honor.



She looked fantastic! The last time she wrote me, she told me that her prognosis had improved... Today, I was caught completely off guard by the news. I hadn't realized that she had recently gotten much worse, that she was hospitalized last week and transferred to hospice.
She died last night, surrounded by her family. She was only 65 years old.

There are too many stories to tell about Dee and all that she taught younger nurses and all that she did for (hundreds and hundreds of) patients, and all of the laughter she encouraged, but these are two of my most vivid and treasured memories.

Grief Stricken Nubbie:
I worked in MICU right out of college. I had recently broken up with my high school sweet heart, my first love of 6 plus years, by BFF all through school. I spent that first year as a nurse, trying to learn how to be a competent professional, trying to recover from the break up, trying to figure out who I was, trying to make sense of it all.

I was happy though, making money, finding satisfaction in my work, developing really amazing friendships. All the people I met that first year, never knew me as John's girlfriend. Never knew me as any one's girlfriend. I didn't have a significant other, wasn't really looking, and maybe some guessed it, but I don't remember telling anyone that I was searching for a way out of the closet. It was complicated inside of me, trying to figure out a way to break the news to lots of people that I wasn't straight.

It must have been really confusing to my colleagues how devastated I was when John died in October of 1997. When people asked what was going on, I first had to explain about John and then had to try to convey the terrible grief I felt. Words were inadequate and so I used few of them. After trying on a couple detailed explanations, I shortened the tale to "He was my best friend" and now he was dead.

Those first few weeks, going to work was awful. You don't realize you work in a place that is all about death until grief settles in you like a magnetic field and the tiny, metal shavings of death (that lay like fine dust in a modern ICU) fly from their resting spots to coat your skin. I was a wreck. And it took several weeks before I realized that people there were watching me. People like Deirdre, looking out for me, moving obstacles before I bumped into them, intervening on my behalf- "You go help with this admission, and I'll do that" I'd be told when it was time for me to prepare and "bag" the corpse of one of my patients that passed away.

One night, I caught the Jay Leno show, and he had a clip from this new comedy called "South Park". Watching it, I laughed and laughed and laughed. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. I taped it and watched it over and over and realized, it was the first time I had laughed- really laughed- in almost a month. I brought the tape to work and showed several people (trying to figure out if everyone thought this was funny or if I was cracking up.) Dee was in that first crowd of people and she laughed even harder than I did. Hearing her laugh made me laugh even harder. The laughing felt good. She and I watched that clip a dozen more times that night. We set the TV and VCR in an empty patient room and every so often, we would go in there and watch it a few more times... getting more silly each time. After that night, I would have done anything for that woman- that experience really helped me start to heal.

What would your mother say:
The second story: I had started dating a woman that we worked with. She was a travel nurse and started on our unit a few months before, expecting to stay 3-6 months longer. She was colorful and funny and a good nurse. She was popular, but not quite comfortable in her own skin and had a tendency to be erratic- not at work, but when she wasn't working. Again, I was not really "out", but I wasn't NOT out. Anyone that asked a question, I told the truth to, but this was like 12 years ago, Will and Grace wasn't yet on TV, not a lot of people brought it up.

Still, even though people weren't asking me about it the way they would have if Dana had been a man, we had told several of our friends and there is no doubt it was probably the worst kept secret on the floor (maybe in the hospital). One night, Deirdre pulls me aside...

D: What's going on with this Dana girl?
Me: what do you mean, what's going on? What do you want to know?
D: She's no good for you.
Me: (laughing, slightly embarrassed) what?!?
D: I'm not trying to get into your business, but you are going places and she is not going anywhere you want to be- this isn't about her being a girl... you want to be with a girl, that's fine, this isn't the girl for you...

Thing is, she was right. Not that the girl wasn't good for me, necessarily, but she was right to bring it up. She was right there for me... not letting her possible discomfort or fear of not being politically correct distract her from attempting to care for me. She was there to treat me and this relationship with the respect that comes from someone who tells you to "Pay attention!!!"... who reminds you not to shit where you eat... I wasn't even considering if Dana was "the girl for me" or not, but hearing that said out loud made an impression on me. I wasn't estranged from my family or anything, but there were no "parent-type" members that knew about this relationship (or if they knew, they didn't bring it up to me; and I didn't bring it up to them). Unless you count my MICU family (which I do...).

When you needed a mom or mother figure (whether you knew it or not) Deirdre was there. When you needed a mentor or a friend, same story.

The thing I'm having trouble describing in these memories of her is the love and vitality that Deirdre brought to every interaction. The perfect balance of salt and sweet. She would bust your balls, but it wouldn't be to break you down, it would be to build you up. She was a hard ass, with a heart of gold. She could be serious, but her laugh was seriously infectious.

When I got the news today, I felt sick and I felt sadness wash over me. For a few minutes, I thought I might start shaking with sobs at the loss of someone I haven't spent more than an hour talking to in the last 10 years. It's just this: As is true of most of the people who are our teachers, she is so much a part of special and important things inside of me, that she is kind of with me all the time. And intellectually, that's reassuring because that means (if she is living inside of me) I can never really lose her to death; those parts of her that she planted in me will still always be with me...

But...

That doesn't dampen the ache I feel knowing I will never hear her laugh or see her smile or her wise gaze again.
Sleep well, sweet-tough-nurse, funny-soulful friend.
You are loved more than you know and I miss you already.

**

You catch your breath and winter starts again...

It snowed every day this week... We got 3" on Tuesday, 3-4" on Wednesday, and another 12-15" of snow overnight...

Since I last wrote, our family has been through the ringer a little bit.

Tuesday night, I couldn't wait to watch the State of the Union Address (SOTU). I am a little bit of a political junkie and the SOTU is like the Superbowl to me (especially with a Dem in the White house). I even had this "live blogging" idea going where instead of driving Katy absolutely nutty by exposing her to my internal dialogue, I would write it to the blog in real time.

But something was up with ML- he was breathing too fast and audibly wheezing, and had hurled the contents of his stomach all over 2 different rooms after the hot steam shower I gave him. Katy and I were both already exhausted from commuting to and from work in the winter weather and 4 separate full body clean ups on 2 children. Katy announced, "I think I have to go to bed," and I replied, "I think I do too." Then my wife passed out from the shock of seeing me wave a white flag in the face of exhaustion. When she came to, we headed upstairs and our little boy woke up not but a few minutes later pretty uncomfortable. He seemed a little warm, but it was definitely his breathing that was freaking us out. We put it off and put it off b/c who wants to bring their 16 month old out into the cold night to get him checked out at the ER? We could have headed there at 8 or 9pm, but by 11:30 pm, we couldn't deny that he was breathing too fast, retracting, wheezing, not able to sleep, and it was getting worse. I called my mom to come sit with JB and we packed the little hyperventilator up.

There is an ER 10 minutes away that I would take myself to in a heartbeat, but it is not a children's hospital, to get there means a 3o minute drive. It is tempting, but I know I will never (if it is in my power) take a kid of mine to a hospital that is not a children's hospital. We were triaged in minutes and then given a number to wait - which is surprisingly reassuring when you have a sick baby. We were taken into a room within 15 to 20 minutes, and were there about 2 hours. They gave him some respiratory treatments which made him all jittery and tachycardic, but pretty much stopped the wheezing. They suctioned him, which did nothing but hurt his moms and piss him off. They said: "Probably RSV," and "Bronchiolits" and sent him home on albuterol.

We got home at about 3am. My dad had come by on his way home from work to keep my mom company and was shoveling our driveway when we pulled in. My eyes were rolling in my head by then, but we all slept only a few hours before Katy had to get up and go to work. I got JB off to school- walked him to the door with ML bundled in my arms and shouted a goodbye without actually crossing the threshold of the day care- not wanted to spread germs. Then I spent the day trying to console a very unhappy boy.

ML is not what we call a snuggle-bug. That is not to say he isn't sweet. He is a sweetie. But he won't sit in your lap for more than a few seconds. One of his favorite games is begging to get up on your lap and then wiggling right off again ad infinitum. But these last 2 days, he would just sit on your lap and/or rest his head on your shoulder, breathing at a rate of 39-48 breaths a minute. (Which, trust me, is alarmingly fast). He was lethargic and only a little interested in food, drink, or sleep. He just wanted to sit, stare ahead, and breathe. It was pathetic and scary. At some point in the day, I was too tired to stay awake with him, so I put him in bed with me and we both slept on and off for a few hours... It was decidedly un-ML-behavior... that he was just content to lay there and play with my hands or hair when he wasn't sleeping.

Last night, he was also restless and feverish, as high as 102.5. But this am, he was better and wanting to run around a little again. I fought the elements to get to work, and Katy took a snow day/sick kid day to be home. She got him to the doctor who checked to be sure there was no obvious infection that the ER might have missed. He screamed and cried b/c now he really hates medical personnel...

This has been a long week. But one that has made me feel grateful in this exhaustion.

We have broken the record for the most snowfall in one month - I can't find the exact number, but I think it is 54". And guess what, there is more snow headed here this weekend. Frankly, I've been loving it. I really have. And the more people complain about it... that just makes me love it more. But today... so tired... so spent from worrying and caring for the boy and you look out the window and calling it 12" is conservative. I was not looking forward to the battle of the driveway.

And then the neighbor, Tom, comes over with his snow blower...
What's a 4-letter word for a neighbor that comes over at 8am with a snow blower???
H-E-R-O

SRSLY- that guy has no idea how much we needed that.

Newletter: Month 34

JB,

Today you are 34 and some-odd-fraction months old.

Holy smmokes. We talk a lot about you in these here web-pages, but if these were supposed to be "monthly" newsletters, we (and by "we" I mean "I") have failed you.

You and I had a big fight at dinner tonight.
It started with Sit down and ended with you crying in time out and me red-faced, muttering, and pacing a few yards away.

The new thing from you is NO.
I mean all kinds and versions of "no".

There's the little, "do you want more milk?"
No.

And then there's the, "Please SIT in your chair."
NO.

And then there's the, "You are in time out."
NO, I am not going to time out... no.

The defiance comes with a touch too much whining for my taste...
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa! NOOOoooooo!!!"
And hysteria... at least it did tonight.

Since you have generally earned the nickname, Mr. Mellow, you can sometimes be like living with Dr. Jackle and Mr. Whine. Honestly, it IS hard to hear "no" to the simplest request, query, imperative (from a not-yet-3-year old) when your safety or comfort is at stake... I am sure this will be as hard or harder when you are 7, 10, 13, 16, 21 years old, but i guess my thought is that at least you will have the vocabulary for a fair debate and enough of a grasp of the concept of cause-and-effect for me to not have to be the only one "choosing my battles".

But these events are not without my own emotional response. And our similarities are already emerging as reasons we will butt heads: stubborn, watery, sensitive, brave, wishy-washy-not-sure-what-i-want-and-that-is-hard-enough-to-deal-with-inside-of-me-let-alone-having-to-try-to-convey-it-to-you, DON'T BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME, and LET ME FIGURE IT OUT ON MY OWN! heads. Sweet, sweet boy, you and I are a lot alike.

But, you are also like your Mama- she won't go into the Ocean unless I beg or trick her either. You and she notice things I miss every day. Things I would miss completely if you weren't pointing them out: "Hear the crickets, Mama and Mommy?"

It's been several months now that we are blown away by the way you are calculating and figuring out the world, grouping ideas and things together correctly, extrapolating out notions that seem impossibly wiser than your age.

You know all four components of your given name; you know your address including city and state. You know what we need to do in different weather- what to wear if it rains or snows or is hot, why we put the windows up or down, when we use the windshield wipers, why lights go on at night; You look for stars and the moon when the sun starts to go down. If you see a digger, you ask how he can do his work without a dump truck. When you see a telephone pole, you tell us about the wires attached and what they do, what they are for. When you see our neighbors leaving, you ask where they are going... and we have to think up 5 or 6 "maybes"... "Maybe they are going to work... Maybe they are going to visit their kids... Maybe they are going to the store..." we joke that "everything comes down to safety": hard hats, lights on cars, reflectors, lines on the road, seat belts, windows that don't go all the way down, treads on shoes... When answering the incessantly asked question, "why", I would estimate, 80% of the time the answer is ultimately safety. But that's not satisfying to you:

JB: Why that truck have a step there?

Random Mom: because it is too high without a step.

JB: Why?

RM: so that the driver/worker can get to the top without getting hurt.

JB: Why?

RM: to keep him safe

JB: Why?

RM: It is probably an OSHA violation; his employer needs to prevent repetitive motion injuries and calculate what step size is ergonomically proper to avoid undue stress on his joints.

JB: Oh.

It sometimes seems as if you will only accept the answer that is above your pay-grade, and then your reaction is a very mellow, "oh." As if, "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

You are getting good at pretending and telling stories. Your cousins have helped you learn about pretending. The three of you are constantly "taking our orders" in your pretend restaurants and you alternate between having every imaginable food we can conjure up OR telling us, "We don't have that here," to all the items we request. It is adorable but maybe makes us think we go out to eat too often.

JB loves sports: the world cup on TV, baseball, basketball, our softball games. You are starting to understand the difference between the games and the rules, the positions, and the teams. You take turns being the batter and the pitcher, the kicker and the goalie. One day, you used 4 sippy cups to tell me which were the on the soccer team that "had the ball" and which were on the team that "didn't have the ball" (this was based on the color of their tops). You also have followed Mama's lead in your affinity for dance as a spectator sport. There's this show called, "So you think you can dance" on TV which I hope (by the time you are able to or interested in reading these newsletters) is a faded memory. You and she sit and watch and rewind and cue up your favorites for me to see. There was one where boys were dressed at ball players and "danced it out"... it was like all of your favorite things rolled into on 3 minute segment.

We bought you a pair of "tap shoes" which are really a pair of plastic, purple girls shoes that make noise as you clip-clop across the floor. We set out to buy you some flip-flops but when you wandered over to the girl's section of the store and used your most politely hesitant voice to ask, "Can I have these?" We just couldn't leave them behind in the store. You couldn't nap for the entire weekend after we bought them b/c they were on the floor near your bed and it was too exciting to sleep with those shoes just sitting there. We are sufficiently convinced that you want to try to dance and in the fall there's an "all sports" class at the Y at 9am and a tap class down the street at 10 am... I think if we buy you real, authentic, ACTUAL tap shoes, you will soil yourself in excitement, so... I mean... CLEAN UP IN AISLE SIX... bring it on...

Your vocabulary is impressive. Your conversational skills are ever-improving. See this post for a few of my favorite, recent items. Despite your obvious smarty-pants status, you have developed this somewhat annoying habit of asking, "What?" when really you know exactly what we said and what is going on. You've had trouble hearing in the past due to the difficulty with your ears being full of fluid, but if we just spoke louder every time you asked, "Whattt?" (you like to really enunciate the hard "t" at the end) it would be like a school for the deaf around here. Then too, we've noticed that if we just don't respond to the "Whattt?" you tell us what we said. Your Mama complains that I have a Premature and exasperating "What" that is part of my vernacular, and I have also heard you say my "which one?" That is one of mine too. You had an ENT appointment last week which revealed that both of your ear tubes (Placed in January) are out, so now we will have even a harder time determining if your "Whattt" is related to water-logged hearing or absent-minded distractedness.

Speaking of trips to the hospital... In June, you got your first stitches. Briefly, here's the tale. ML was sent home from school with a fever. He puked all over me and then when I handed him off to Mama, he puked all over her. in our brilliance, we were carting him all over the house, trying to calculate how best to get him comfortable and cleaned off, so he puked in about 4 or 5 rooms of the house. I took you to come mow the lawn with me so you would be outside, and I was worried about your safety in the backpack carrier, so I buckled you in with your sunglasses on and took 5 steps away to get the batting helmet that you love to wear (safety first.) You kicked yourself over and the sunglasses cut your forehead when your noggin' hit the pavement. We called your TT. she came over in less than 300 seconds. It was the dinner hour and Mac was in nothing but a tutu. Dried blood caked all over your face, you asked your cousin, "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" She deadpanned, "Why is there blood all over your face?" When I said, "I'm sorry buddy, I think we have to go to the hospital." You started sobbing a staccato alternative: "We'll... stay... here.. you mow the lawn... I'll sit ... and ... watch... I fe...el bet...ter." You got 4 stitches. The trip to the ER took 5 hours. You are stuck all summer wearing a bandaid over your forehead to try and prevent the sun from making the scar more noticeable. I felt terrible for at least a week, but then I made up some story about how it would have been much worse if I hadn't buckled you in the carrier- that's the story that I'm sticking to kid.

You've started using expletives like, "Awesome!" and "Cool!" to describe things. You use the words, "actually" and "also" and "holy guacamole"... you are clear on what drink is an "adult beverage" and what is a "kid beverage". The "Actually" kills me... I just love it. We say it all the time, but when it come out a kid's mouth, it is just so funny.
This exchange typifies the adorableness of it:
Me: JB, what's your favorite letter?
JB: um... 'A'
Me: That's a good letter.
JB: Ummm, actually, it's 'B'

You also hear words and they make you think of other similar sounding words. When you overheard your grandpa use the word, "mediocrity," you looked at him and said, "And also, I have crocks on."

You finally started treating ML like he is occasionally intruding on your perfect world. When he comes crawling towards you and the toys you are playing with, you have started say, "NO," to him. (surprise, surprise) You do this when he starts to crawl away or toward the stairs too, "NO" as if you need him to stay still for you to be comfortable. This makes sense. Your brother is very different from you- he is all "go now, ask questions later" and you seem to have always been a "Let me take it slow and think about things before I move" kind of kid. We are pretty stern with you about saying "NO" to ML. We try to tell you that you don't have to protect him or your toys that you can tell us and we will steer ML to safety... that you can just explain to him how to do things, but this is coming out as instinct "NO, ML," and to be honest, your mommy and mama are surprised at how long it has taken for any territorial behavior to show up.

Then too, I would be remiss if I did not point out how often you reach toward him with a soft touch to say 'HI' and how you don't react hardly at all if ML swats at you or climbs on you. You continue to be an absolutely amazing big brother. All we could have hoped for and more.

You are doing great at school. The teachers say you are one of the best kids there: polite, friendly, happy, smart. You have made it clear that you remember your old school, but you prefer the new one and that is a relief for us- we would have been very heartbroken if this transition seemed to have hurt you somehow.

Your favorites right now:

Food: spaghetti and meatballs (still)

Color: Orange (still) but at least 1/2 the time you will tell us your favorite is orange AND red

Favorite toys: trucks, "soft things" (puppy, barry white, polar bear, teddybear), glove-balls-tee-helmet, puzzles,
TV show: Handy Manny
Potty training status: Mostly dry, most nights... sometimes not, but otherwise completely potty trained. (as it's been for nearly 6 months now)

Patented "JB kisses": 'two handed' - one hand on each cheek of the person you are kissing.

We can't believe that you are going to be 3 years old in less than 2 months. You are getting so big and despite all of the "NO's" you are lobbing at us on a daily basis, you are as sweet as honey from the hive. We are astounded at how cute you are and smart and beautiful... It sure makes it hard to be stern with you and consistent when you misbehave. But we will figure that all out...

We love you very much!!!

Mommy and Mama

Shout out to my Nightingale...

Last Friday was Nurse's Day.

"Nurse's week" started sometime either last Wednesday or last Monday.
If you google this holiday, you will see some discrepancies and inconsistencies about the dates... I digress...

For most of my life as a nurse, i really viewed this as a hallmark holiday:

Thanks for the shout-out, Hallmark, no matter how much money you make on cards this year, you can't possibly know about being a nurse and therefore, not really honor it.

When I was a teen? pre-tween? I'm not sure when this show was on... I was addicted to China Beach. Looking back, I had a serious crush on Lt. Colleen McMurphy:
Yum: Mee:

There I go digressing again... Anyway... Sometimes I credited this show to making me want to be a nurse, I didn't want to go to war, but i could really relate to this character- Irish, catholic, who wanted to DO something that mattered, but then in the middle of it was like, "What the hell am I doing?!?"

I think i was surprised when I worked in the ICU (years later) how much it could feel like you were living through a war even though you were in a civilian hospital during "peace" time. The woman and men that I nursed with in the ICU were amazing: smart, sassy, with the quickest wit and the crass-est, sickest senses of humor you can imagine. You've got to have a strong stomach and a lot of patience for shit (of the literal and bull variety.) And they did. And they laughed and cried and picked people and pools of blood up off the floor. And we ordered Chinese take out in the middle of cardiac codes, and helped families accept the death of their loved ones, and talked and taught and fought the doctors to get them to HEAR what the patients were saying.

I wear that experience like a badge of honor on my soul. But even so, it never made me view nurses day outside of the scope of cynicism. (see made up sassy bark to Hallmark corp above...)

Then this year... when I'm so far removed from clinical care of patients that I've started to call myself a "fake" nurse, Katy wins a Nightingale Award. This is a statewide recognition of nursing excellence. And sitting next to her at the ceremony, something changes a little in me. A little of the cynicism melts away. It is more than being proud of her and thrilled that she was recognized for all the amazing work she does and has done. (Though I am and I was). It had a lot to do with what happened last October and Last January, and Last September...

A nurse was there kind of saving and protecting us when ML gushed into the world.
A nurse was there in my most terrified moments, when I wouldn't even let myself think my worst fear about his illness and fevers and seizures three weeks later.
A nurse was up all night with us when his fever wouldn't come down.
A nurse was there to help get him help when he was having seizures.
Nurses were there, talking to and teaching and sometimes fighting the doctors on our behalf.
A nurse was there during all the LPs, during the MRI, during the EEG.
... During the nights, the early mornings, and the long afternoons.
A nurse was there to help us get some rest and to help us ask the right questions.
To help us calm down a little at certain points and and to get us riled up a little at others.
Then a few months later for JB's surgery... more nurses.
Many of them nameless to me now.
Keeping us sane...

It's different when it's your kid, I guess- those cliches about angels seem somehow less "cliche-y"
There's not a greeting card out there that can convey what those nurses did for us, but now there IS a part of me that has the inclination to buy a few and TRY to convey it...

But then, here we are on Mother's day. And as I write this, my pretty Nightingale Award winner is sleeping upstairs in our bed. She's an amazing mother. Tonight, she got JB to turn off a "Terrible 2" tantrum by suggesting that he could take his "bad attitude" and decide (IF HE WANTED TO) to put that bad attitude in his hand and throw it away and choose to be in a better mood. (I swear this is true.) And what do you think that little fucker sonofa'gun did??? He decided to throw his bad mood away. He pantomimed putting something into his palm and chucking it in the garbage and then (WAIT FOR IT) he was suddenly in a pleasant mood.

blink.
blink.
blink.

Thank God I'm on this journey with such an insanely talented and smart woman. I just love her and hope she knows how much! Cause I didn't get to sign the card I bought for her today...

Happy nurses week and mother's day, baby.

As part of my gift to you, I am going to (be extremely quiet as I come) crawl into bed next to you to sleep this day off!
All my love, Me

xoxo

We're home

Maybe I was too Pollyanna going in, but JB's tonsil/adenoids/ear tube surgery was so much worse than I expected. At the end of the day, JB did fine, but he was pretty miserable and he acted like a REAL asshole two year old when it came to taking his medicine and eating/drinking.

No matter what we asked of him, the answer was "no". The reverse psychology we tried was confusing even to me... At one point I heard myself telling him, "okay, I'm going to go tell the nurse to give this pain medication to another little boy, since I don't want u to have it."

?!?

I wasn't saying it angrily. Just sweetly trying to entice him into desiring something he wasn't allowed to have...

Totally fucked up!!!

Our biggest problem was that hospital discharge was contingent on his drinking and eating. But the more we harped on it, the more he refused: face all swollen, thick drool falling out, voice distorted and muffled, eyes rolling around in his head from the narcotics. I would have given anything to let him just do whateverthefuck he wanted to, but apparently dehydration means all sorts of terrible things in this scenario; not the least of which is increased discomfort for him.

We used the alarm on the iPhone (as we have been for potty training) to negotiate a sip of apple juice every 5 minutes. And TWO hrs later, he had put away 118 cc (4oz).

Nightmare.

I cannot hound a kid this little, this sick, for this long, with such poor results without wanting to off myself... Not. Kidding.

Thing was, except for two bites of a banana, that 118 cc was our only evidence that he could swallow after the surgery. That was literally ALL we could get him to take in after two days of not eating. Finally, when I was resigned to the fact that we would be staying another night at the hospital (visions of ML's illness and the emotional panic of "we're never getting out of here" PTSD dancing in my head) the surgeon came in and suggested he might do better at home.

Indeed. Apparently, with 2 days of IV on board, it would take 36-48 hours of him drinking NOTHING to get dehydrated. And all we have to get into him is 2-ish ounces every 3-4 hours. ML burps up more liquid than that!!!

So, JB has done better at home. A lot better. Including a nap in his own bed, a meal of at least 15 mini penne and several sips of both water and milk, a bath, brushing of teeth, and piling into a queen sized bed to sleep with his moms (and not a hospital twin).

Some advice for any that follow:

1) If your kid has never really had juice, it does not magically become an enticing reward or treat, post anesthesia. I think he might now never drink the stuff.

2) The same is true for jello, pudding, and popsicles. Though I think he might come around to these foods tomorrow, it seems that JB isn't really into the "sweet treats".

3) Handy Manny is everything that Bob the builder is not: calm, confident, polite, low-key, sweet, etc. I have a serious crush on Handy Manny (where I just seriously wanted to crush Bob the Builder)... Buying the Handy Manny DVD for this hospitalization may have just saved my life!

Not. kidding.

I'm saying this after watching that DVD all frigging day; and I don't even care if I have to watch it again tomorrow.

4) Sippy cups (with the valve taken out) is the way to dump some beverage in their mouth, when you are looking around- as I was- for some type of "hose" apparatus... If only I could find a way to spray some liquid in there... then he would be force to swallow it...

Pre-operative fun times:

A FEW MORE COMMENTS:

1) I don't know how single parents do this shit. I'm not kidding. My wife and I have been sleep deprived for weeks, probably months... AND we have each other AND we have family pretty much always available to help. AND family living with us right now taking charge of caring for ML during this. I just don't know or get how single parents do it.

2) Haiti. Earthquake. Awful.

3) Have you read "The conservative case for Gay Marriage" Newsweek cover story this week? It was written by Ted Olsen (conservative lawyer that successfully argued Bush v. Gore in front of the supreme court.) Ted Olsen and David Boies (Progressive lawyer that unsuccessfully argued Bush v. Gore to the Supreme Court) are the plaintiff lawyers attempting to overturn Prop 8 in California. I know the risk these lawyers are taking risks with my rights. If they bring the Prop 8 trial to this Supreme Court and they lose, it could set back marriage equality DECADES... That is why initially, HRC and Lamda Legal and mainstream gay rights groups opposed these two, white, straight guys taking charge in this battle.

But I can't help feel that they are doing it the "right" way. The other option: Enlisting only liberals in the fight and "waiting for the right time"??? Could there be a more "ball-sac" way of "demanding equality"?!?

I think not.

These guys... If they pull it off... Are going to go down in history as brave, American heroes. They are heroes in my book even if they don't pull it off. The arguments they are making are void of trickery, obvious, and compelling. Handy Manny has some competition for my heart today...

You can keep track of the trial (with commentary) here:

I'm going to try and put the feed in the sidebar... it's very interesting.

Sent from my iPhone

Holy worst-night-of-sleep EVER, Batman

It was a sinus-y, drippy, achy, restless, "my-son-is-having-surgery tomorrow, so I'm not going to properly medicate myself" attempt at slumber; punctuated by ML's Q2hour "please pop my binki back in" whimper, and JB's Q3hour "I'm coughing, I need water, WHAT DOES IT MEAN I'M GOING TO THE HOSPITAL?!?" restlessness.

1/2 way through the 5 hours I allotted myself to lay down, I remembered some ? urban legend about Vick's Vapor rub as a conductor of electricity that may cause fire if an EKG machine or defibrillator is used on someone that has used Vick's Vapor rub... What is that? Is that from ER in the 90s? Did I make this up? GSO readers, please respond!

My alarm was set for 4:18, but at 3:50am, I just couldn't take it anymore.

I've popped the Tylenol sinus, am going to have some tea, a light breakfast before the boy (who is not supposed to eat anything) wakes up. Then I'll check on the laundry, the (sort of) packed bag, Katy, and then wake JB so we both can have a hot, hot shower together to loosen up the mucus.

He's going in for ear tubes, tonsillectomy, and adnoidectomy. We expect to be there about 26 or 28 hours and then back home. There's a one week moratorium on school, and a 2 week moratorium on "physical activity"... That should be fun with a 2.33 year old :)

We've been telling them all week that he is sick with a cough and a drippy, messy thing. They haven't seemed too worried. This attention to keeping his providers informed has led him to 2 pediatrician visits in 5 days. I guess there's a chance they will look at him, hear his lungs, and/or decide that they can't do the surgery, but hopefully we can get this over with.

AS FOR ME, if anyone asks, IT'S ALLERGIES!!! IT's ALLERGIES, and if it looks worse than that, I'VE BEEN CRYING- A LOT!!! I know they don't want anyone even the least bit sick at this hospital. But I promise to be all Sudefeded up and never cough except into an article of my clothing and stay hidden in his room... I just couldn't not be there. I think I would ache and cramp and pace to DEATH if I couldn't be there.

Back to children's hospital next week

JB told us tonight that his "ear hurts". In the history of all his ear infections, he's never told us that. Either b/c he didn't have the language, or b/c the fluid didn't cause him all that much discomfort. He's never tugged on his ears, he's never moved his head with any indication that he was having ear pain, even when he was little...

That one time his eardrum ruptured, he did scream all night, but he was a baby and we were new parents... we didn't know what the hell was going on.

Now he's got the words, and it was just a little sadder to hear the complaint directly from his little mouth. But actually, we've been waiting for this...

Last week (or maybe 2 weeks ago) he went for his ENT follow up visit (every six months since his ear tube placement surgery last December) and his hearing is back to being significantly affected due to fluid behind his ear drums. Also, his tonsils are big and the ENT told Kt that our boy needed to get the ear tubes replaced and also that he should get his tonsils and adenoids removed.

This is an overnight stay and we were initially torn (having a little PTSD about ML's illness and returning to the sight of our 7 day "vacation of terror" this past October) as time passes, we both can't help but get excited for JB who doesn't even know that he is sick and the reason he is drippy, whinny, coughing, snoring, etc is b/c he needs surgery. We're "excited" (though stressed) because we both believe that he will be a new little boy without all this fluid and pressure in his ears and if he can breathe better and therefore feel more rested on a regular basis...

The surgery is a week from Tuesday. Tonight, we gave him Tylenol which is sucked down like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Thursday is his pre-op physical. If he's still complaining tomorrow, we'll be forced to call the pediatrician and/or the surgeon and see if they want/need us to do anything sooner than next week.

We're "Home"

ML was discharged from the hospital yesterday.

We are home (in quotes) because while we were away, all of our stuff was packed and transported to a new house in Midpoint.

To refresh the story for anyone new here: After many years of hemming and hawing (because we like the town we live in but b/c I work an hour away) we decided to sell our house and move to the town I grew up in- which is 1/2 way between where we lived and where I work, and which is where JB goes to day care, and where all the free babysitting is conveniently located. Our house was on the market for just over a year... Since four months before katy got pregnant... Since four days or so before the Lehman Brothers when under. [It is quite possible, if you take into account Murphy's Law, that had we not decided to relocate, that the economic downturn that the entire world is facing might not have occurred at all.]

As often happens with these things, it was only as Katy's due date approached that we saw any action on the house at all. We got two offers as we were about to pull the house off the market to "take a break for baby". Instead, we negotiated a closing date 4 weeks after the due date, imagining that because we are such high-functioning individuals, we would be able to get ourselves organized within a 3 to 4 week period.

It should be said here that I have built up a lot of "moving karma". I have spent most of my adult life jumping in whenever people need a hand moving. I count packing and lifting heavy things among my "special gifts." The truth is, especially when it is not your own stuff, it is easy to put one foot in front of the other and just keep carrying, just keep climbing up and down stairs, just keep putting stuff into boxes, just keep sweating, just keep motivating the crew. To me that is easy. Additionally, I have pretty good spacial relations. I can load/pack a truck. For a while when we were all younger, I had the truck (Chevy Blazer). More recently, I come to a move with my own tape gun, my own markers, my own utility knife and a few screwdrivers and Allen wrenches. I bring packing paper and shrink wrap. If you are my friend or a friend or parent of a friend, or just smart enough to ask, I'll show up and help you move. I can't help it. I can't resist the invitation. I think it is one of the ways that God wants to use me here on this earth.

So, in a long weekend (a holiday weekend dedicated to an explorer who brought about the slaughter of a nation of indigenous people) my stash of karma has been used up, wiped out, the scales have been tipped. From now on, when I help people move it will be less of a mitzvah and more of a "paying if forward"/"paying it back" maneuver.

Essentially, while we were in the hospital- on the day that ML had his seizures, and the days he spent in the ICU- about a dozen of our peeps (primarily from the softball team) packed our house. They packed and cleaned and project managed the move. The movers were met, directed and paid. The new house was cleaned and painted and cleaned some more. We are still no where near done, but these people are amazing.

The people that are related to us are amazing, but the people that are in it irrespective of "blood", they are something else all together. My sister said it best when she said, "What did you do exactly to deserve these friends?!?" I don't know, exactly. But whatever it was, it was worth it!!!

If you are reading this any or all of you, I want you to know that this changes everything. This last week to some extent, katy and I have been broken wide open: holding our tiny, sick son; missing our other little boy; feeling scared and overwhelmed and exhausted; held up by people who did everything they could to take the pressure off: followed us on facebook, sent loving messages, said prayers, put our names on the prayer lists at church, showed up at the hospital to make sure we ate and slept some, mowed our lawn so it looked nicer for the new owners, PACKED AND MOVED US!!!

This changes everything because, there's no way really to repay or say thank you. We can barely do anything except sit in this moment. We sit in quiet humility attempting to honor all of you: trying not to feel embarrassed and inadequate; focusing instead on feeling lucky and blessed and saved.

We are humbled by your friendship and generosity. We're afraid we can never adequately communicate and you might never really know how thankful we are and what this has meant to us. So, we will try to communicate it and will try to pay it forward as best we can... in a way that compounds your gifts to us and your friendship and love.

Thank you. For helping us get home.

Life at 4 weeks old

Dear ML,



You are four weeks today. Good god, son, you have really given us a scare this week.

We have been at the hospital since Thursday morning. And we still don't even have much of a clue.

We thought it would be 48 hours, to rule out a bacterial infection, but then when your fevers finally broke, you started having some seizures. You had 12 seizures on Saturday and they moved you to the PICU and started you on anti seizure medication. You have had 2 rounds of antibiotics and are on an antiviral now.

You have had an LP, blood and urine cultures, several IVs, an EEG, a CT scan of your head and abdomen, and tonight an MRI.

They are ruling our really scary things, but for now, the medication has stopped the seizures, and you have no fever, and you are eating and sleeping appropriately and peeing and pooping, etc. You have even gained weight during your stay, while eating a combination of your mama's breast milk, and formula.

The big things we are still worried about are: 1) a specific viral meningitis, 2) a viral encephalitis, 3) Inborn error of metabolism. The EEG showed some seizure activity but that was consistent with your age. Your head MRI ruled out structural abnormalities in the brain that might cause seizures, but the preliminary results showed some "white matter changes" which are indicative of infection (in other words, encephalitis)... We don't know what this means yet, but they are pretty much all ready treating you for a virus like this.

Being with you through all of this has been scary and exhausting. But revealed the blessings in our lives too.

Your brother is staying with your TT, Bill, and Nana and Papa (even though they don't live together, this is like a group operation) We have missed him so much, but he is distracted and doing pretty well without us. And we don't have to worry about him at all because he is so well taken care of. We have been with you around the clock or have had family sitting with you while we rest, eat, and take anxiety reducing walks.

It seems like there might have been a better way to get all this special "family time" with you, but it's not up to us to dictate these things I guess. We love you so much and your mommies are taking turns falling apart and holding it together. We think in a few weeks, this will all seem like a distant memory, but right now, that seems like too much to hope for.

Keep hanging in there, little boy. You are truly surrounded by love.

Holding you close to us,
Your mommies

When it rains, it pours

We are camped out at the children's hospital because ML has caught something.

Wednesday night was purportedly our last night in our sweet first home; the plan was to move into my parents house and pack our hearts out yesterday and today. But ML was up all night screaming in unverified pain and barely consolable. We assumed it was gas and maybe the beginning of some GERD, so we took him to his PCP without an appointment at the moment they opened.

His temp was elevated and that opened up the Pandora's box of western medicine diagnostics. A baby less than six weeks old with a fever greater than 100.4 has to be ruled out for Meningitis and other bacterial infections, so even though his rectal temp was 100.FIVE! he was directly admitted to the hospital and "worked up": urinary catheter for urine culture, venapuncture for blood cultures, Lumbar puncture for CSF culture, IV insertion for scheduled antibiotics.

Since admission, his temp has increased on Tylenol to 102 even after 24 hours of antibiotics. This is kind of good b/c those antibiotics should have killed any bugs and reduced the fever if this was bacterial... but kind of bad b/c, "hey, what's causing the fever?!?"

Katy and I are trying to keep our cool. He is cranky and uncomfortable but eating, peeing, sleeping, and staying sufficiently hydrated. We have gotten only a few hours of sleep in the last several days. So far, nothing has grown out of the cultures (a good sign). In 48 hours (one more day) they will likely discharge him... Hopefully, even if his temps haven't come down yet.

Poor little boo.

We're still scheduled to close on Tuesday... Movers coming on Monday... Softball team and other peeps showing up to help pack tomorrow.

It's hard to complain about the rain when there are so many people standing around willing to hold up umbrellas for you...

He's here

Video killed the radio star...
And by that I mean, FaceBook has really changed how attentive I am to the blog.

Sorry for those of you that have been on standby...

----------------------------------------------

Our beautiful baby boy was born at 3:27am September 14, 2009.

His name is ML (well of course that's not his name, but his GSO name)

Katy took a long time to dilate, and went on pitocin and by 1:30 am (19 and 1/2 hours after we got to the hospital) was ready to push.

He came out with a gush of blood (sorry about that, honey) and a fat, translucent cord around his neck. He was the gray-blue of old blueberries, and the first Apgar was five. It was several minutes of rubbing and suctioning before he was pink and several more minutes before he made a noise. The 5 minute Apgar was a respectable "9". The plan for me to cut the cord fell by the wayside when I was told to "look away", just missing a smallish geyser of blood as they worked on him before he was completely born.

Katy did amazing. She is a warrior. There was a point when she was pushing (early on) where I had to quell the inner worry wort. "We are screwed," I thought. "I don't' see how anyone does this..." I knew enough to keep it to myself; and after an hour and 10 minutes the unspoken question, "When is it too late to get a c-section?" finally stopped drumming in my mind. At some point, I was like, "Holy shit, she is really going to do this!"

And she did.

ML was 9lbs even, 22" long. He is really amazing and adorable and latched on within an hour. Big brother, JB is unsure and a little more whiny than usual, but seems to be thrilled to get to hold him.

Pics to follow. Now we march down into a few weeks of sleeplessness. I crave the intimacy and the "it's all that really matters" of it all.

So relieved, so excited, so blessed, so in love



(sigh)

Good tidings

Just had a really action-packed, gift-filled, kind of exhausting, amazing 40 hours.

Had to work until 3p on Christmas eve, traveled no less than 130 miles crisscrossing the state to get to various locals on Wednesday. At each stop, we had beautiful friends, a little nosh (food) and received more love and gifts than believable or necessary.

Today, was action packed from the 5:30 wake up call at my sister and BIL's house. We held the kids off until nana, papa, and grandma bella arrived, and then unwrapped for hours. Again, I would have been content with the food and the company, but was treated to a lot of good loot too.

Later, I tried several times to get JB to nap- unsuccessful. We sent Katy off to visit with our friends Adam and Kate (Adam is in the hospital in the Bronx). And got to round up the night with a visit with old peeps from the town of Midpoint (thanks for being such huge GSO fans and coming to see us after all your hours of travel today.

I feel very blessed...

And I am about to feel the cool sheets against my face and my arms wrapped tightly around my warm wife's body.

Comfort and Joy to all of you out there on the Internets.
And Merry Christmas!

Ear tubes

I'm home from work 'cause we didn't know how yesterday would go, so I took 2 days off.

It went pretty well.

We had to be at the hospital at 7am, but it is amazing how much easier is it to "pop" out of bed when it is for something other than work. JB woke up at 4am, but I rocked him back to sleep and by the time we had to wake him to get going, kt was already back from a DD run and Nana was here to help get him dressed.

When we arrived, the place was already packed and I remembered something I hadn't considered: Most kids who get surgery are not that healthy. Most of the kids in the waiting room had physical, mental, or emotional disabilities. There was an adorable boy with a trach that was making playful eyes at JB. You couldn't sit in this waiting room and not wallow in gratitude for all your blessings when your toe-head is toddling around, the picture of sweetness, health, and stereotypical perfection.

The staff at the Children's Hospital was fantastic. The kid hung in there, good-spirited for all the necessary "hanging around". They brought him an oxygen mask smeared in strawberry smelling stuff to play with- that would be the same mask that would deliver the gas that would put him to sleep. Katy elected me "parent that goes in the OR". I'm sure if she had wanted to go I would have let her, but truth be told, I was glad she wasn't interested. This part was harder than I imagined and that's why my wife is (simply put) smarter than me. She knows her limitations and is okay opting out of some things. I barely know what I can do, let alone have a grasp on what I can't (I'm constantly lying to myself and others: "I'll definitely be there by 10am..." Sound familiar to anyone out there?!?) Truth is, I like to be there for the really hard shit, I think it is part of my ICU training/hero complex. But I'm pretty sure watching my baby's screaming face through the mask, and the lolling of his eyes and head before he finally went limp was the reason I woke up every 20 minute in a panic last night. I have a history of processing stressful events (that have already been resolved) in dreams that I only occasionally remember. All through college, I would have nightmares about finals, weeks after the coursework was over and the textbooks were sold back.

Anyway, the staff prepared me sufficiently for the exact events described above (which occurred exactly as predicted). I left the OR at that point only because there was a staff member assigned to walk me out of there. If not, I'm sure I would have involuntarily knelt by his head, blocking the ENT's access.

They also warned us that he would wake up very upset- which he did- AND that after he napped again for a short time, he would wake up feeling himself (which also happened exactly as they predicted.) The staff warned us the bloody drainage would be leaking out of his ears for a few days. That is a little more disconcerting than I thought it would be.

The rest of the day, the kid was really sweet and loving... Laughing, smiling, playing, seeming to want to talk a lot. Until bed time when all of us were pretty exhausted and he had a melt down. He didn't appreciate the ear drops and tried to refuse tylenol (he is no match for the brute strength and resolve of two mommies, however.) He fell into a hard sleep on his back, while I held him on my chest. The tears had stopped but the tracked wet paths on his cheeks weren't yet dry. And the recently placed Otic Solution caused tiny streams of reconstituted blood to drip silently onto my shirt. I transferred him to his crib and when we checked him several hours later, he had not changed position. He slept until late in the AM (6:30 means sleeping in around here, folks.)

Other stories of note from the hospital:

1) The crazy fish of a mom who seemed way too into her cell phone to be bothered to notice her son was having surgery. Before his procedure, she refused to hold his ipod telling him, "I have my own stuff to carry." Though Nana reported to me in no uncertain terms that the mom was not carrying anything EXCEPT her cell phone. Then later in the recovery waiting room, when they came to tell her his procedure was completed, she held up her finger to the hospital staff as if to say, "wait a minute," and spoke loudly into the phone, "Well, I guess I have to go see what is going on, I'll call you back."
Sweet. Really.

2) As I promised my friends, when the anesthesiologist asked, "do you have any questions?" I posed the only one that mattered to me, "You're sober right?" Contrary to public opinion, I wasn't merely being a wise ass. I'm in health care. I know these people (not anesthesiologists, just health care workers in general) can not all be trusted. As I predicted, he dodged the question, not really laughing, but sort of looking annoyed which of course sort of annoyed me. I mean is there any reason why that question shouldn't be taken seriously? I'm not kidding. The nurse laughed and asked him, "Have you ever been asked that before?" and he said no and walked away, but if he had looked in my eyes I would have said, "Hey, I don't know you. You can't deny that's a valid question." I'm going to tell you this- when I worked in the hospital, if someone asked me that, I would have looked them in the eye and stated clearly. "Yes, I am glad to report I am sober." I think it's a valid question. The only reasons I can conjure not to answer it are ONE: you can't truthfully say 'yes', TWO: You think no one should ever question your integrity even if the life of their most beloved is about to be placed in your hands, or a possible THREE: you were drunk or high during a procedure once and you think someone has "found out."

Anyway, I think it's a valid question and I'm almost done perseverating on why he didn't' give me the respect or courtesy of an answer.

Already home!

For all that have been waiting anxiously for the news... JB did wonderfully this morning. He was a trooper and waited with us patiently for 90 minutes in the pre-op area, then came through the procedure beautifully. He was appropriately pissed when he woke up but we're home and he has eaten a meal, taken a short nap, and now getting ready for his regular afternoon snooze.

Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers!