Fear and Shopping

What with needing an entirely new wardrobe for the kids, I made an exhaustive--and exhausting--list and hit the stores with kids and Grandma in tow. I think we're set. I have about two weeks' worth of clothes for each kid (no matter what you say, Joseph can not survive with only 4 pairs of pants/shorts--I'd be doing laundry every day) and while we don't have a full compliment of colors it's a good mix. Once I stare at their closets I might return one or two things, but if I know me at all I probably won't.

We took a break in the middle of shopping and dropped off Grandma so we could go meet our teachers at our new school. Both Ms. B (2nd) and Ms. W (Kinder) are young, attentive and organized. The library isn't quite as big as our old one, but the librarian is cheerful and enthusiastic and we (the parents) will still be able to check out our own books. We each got a popsicle for coming, too. James sported a blue mouth for the rest of the day.

After the school, we visited two other stores and I began to wonder if, between children with wandering attention and stagnant checkout lines, I'd get dinner ready on time. We pulled it off with time to spare, though. Despite the grueling schedule, I would have called the day a triumph but for one thing, a literal pain in the rear.

When I was pregnant with James, three years ago, I somehow twisted my right sacroiliac joint out of alignment. I was in pain for months on end. After birth, things settled down and I've been fine, but the joint never went back together. I can actually feel a good 1/4 inch of elevation change (for lack of a better metaphor) at the top of my pelvis. Then, almost exactly two weeks ago, I turned to look at something as we drove past it and I could feel my tail snap and scream out in pain. I don't think there was actual screaming involved, but it was a close thing. Ever since then, though, I've spent nearly every evening lying on my back and wishing I didn't have to move ever again.

I'm beginning to wonder if I'll survive school. My mornings are pretty good but every step I take grates and jars, and the oddest things can aggravate the problem. I consider the ability to feel and hear your pelvis click and pop to be A Bad Thing. I don't want to drive the three blocks to school, though, and I really don't want to wait in the torturously long pick-up line, wasting gas. But will I be able to walk it? And if I can, will I be able to do anything else, afterward?

So Many Changes

I'm going to take a stab at Marin's Blog Posting Thing. I know it's the 3rd and I've already missed my first two shots at posting every day, but it's hard to get my thoughts organized, these days. I've had so many things to say, so many things to share, and then...

Let me start from the beginning. Jonathan got a new job, in July. He works all night long on 12 hour shifts making chips for memory sticks. It's hard, but he sees our kids every afternoon, we get to eat dinner together as a family, he gets Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights off so we can do family things, and we're finally self-sufficient. About the same time, I got called to the Young Women. He's been beautifully supportive, especially since he's the designated sick-child-watcher because I teach lessons most weeks and he therefore misses more Church than he'd like. Also in that same week, I got pregnant.

If you know me well enough, you know I have a really weird thing with planning my kids. I want them at a certain time, for certain reasons, and the Lord lets me have that, give or take His tweaking to get it just right. This one was unexpected, though. It moved our plans up an entire year. We scrambled to make adjustments, but things were working out pretty well. For the first time, I had healthy cravings--salad! water!--and even started showing at 7 weeks. I'd managed to get nearly everyone called by the time I had to pull out a couple of my favorite maternity tops.

A few of you more clever readers may have noticed my verb tense in that last paragraph. Four days before my first OB visit I started bleeding. The following week saw an ER visit, three doctor's visits, three blood draws, two ultrasounds, and one good long cry. I never did get that OB appointment. I miscarried at 11 weeks. I was due on Easter Sunday.

This is not a cry for help. It's not a Pity Party, either. The Lord has been exceedingly gracious with us, easing the blow as much as He possibly could. The only reason I'm talking about it is that I feel it needs to be talked about. It's not a dark, shameful secret. It's not something to be locked away and never talked about again. It's part of who I am, now. The next month, I'll be looking to share my thoughts as I come to terms with this new state of being.

In Stitches

The third Thursday of every month is my book group. I hadn't been able to go in a while because Jonathan had usually been working Thursday evenings. This month, though, was the happy coinciding of a free evening and one of my favorite authors--Bill Bryson. I hadn't read this particular book (A Walk in the Woods) but I still loved his work and was thrilled to join my friends for an evening of discussion. Just as I was about to walk out the door I watched Elena and Joseph chase each other around the living room. Elena pushed Joseph, Joseph fell, and his cheek hit the corner of the futon frame. We pick him up, and the poor guy is screaming as blood pours down his face. After cleaning him up a bit I get a good look at the cut. Not very wide, but it's pretty deep. He needs stitches. Seeing as I'm the one that's dressed in something other than PJs I offer to take him in.

It's 8pm, so his doctor is long gone for the day. Where to go? Most of you would say "a minor emergency clinic" because it is a minor emergency. The problem is that my children are on CHIP because we can't afford insurance. Doctors don't take new patients if they're on CHIP. We had the same problem with Elena's pink eye, three years ago, and I had to pay $250 to get a prescription for eye cream. The only option left was the ER at the hospital. I hate that I have to take up their valuable time with something so small, but it's the only thing I can afford. Off to the ER we went.

After three hours of waiting (thank goodness Joseph fell asleep after only one) the doctor took a look at him. Apparently the cut went in the correct direction for good healing, if you're going to cut your face, and with a couple of stitches he'd only have a tiny scar. I warned them that I'm not good with needles, so they brought in an extra nurse to help hold him still. Then they did the most ingenious thing I've ever seen--they pulled his arms behind his back and stuck them in a pillowcase, then wrapped him three or four times with a bedsheet. There's no way he could wiggle, now. I held his chest, the nurses held his head, and the doctor gave him a shot and put three neat little stiches in his cheek. They're actually kind of cute, in an I-want-to-puke sort of way. I don't like the thought of things poking me, and there's some sort of transitive (?) property going on with human flesh (needle+skin=pain+creeping nausea; his skin=my skin ==> needle+his skin=my pain+creeping nausea). We just need to get through one week and then the stitches come out. Anyway, I need to go hunt down my Neosporin.

The Never-Ending Ear Infection

Joseph's been to the doctor about every two weeks for the last three months, trying to get rid of an ear infection. The funny thing is, we took him in, in the first place, because Elena poked him in the other ear with something long and skinny (the end of a glow in the dark bracelet, I believe) and it scraped up the ear canal enough to bleed a little bit. The injured ear turned out fine, and the non-injured one had a massive infection. He never complains about pain, which just goes to show you what a trooper he is, and loves taking all the medicine he's been prescribed. This morning's check-up was good enough that he doesn't have a new prescription, but he still has another check-up in two weeks. This boy's going to bleed us dry with co-pays.

Simon LeGimp

See? Now that I can make bad jokes about it, I feel better.

Simon's back home, and behaving much more like a normal cat should. I have to say that the naked foot with only three toes is a bit creepy, but it's way less disturbing than what it looked like before, so I'll take it. He's still got the cone on his head, to keep him from messing with the stitches, but he can eat and drink just fine, so he'll be OK. He'll have to stay in the bathroom for a few more days, and he gets the stitches out in two weeks.

Simon

I'm not sure why it bothers me that I can't think of a witty title for this. The whole tale is gruesome enough that humor would be a bit tasteless, and yet I feel compelled to think up some sort of pun or something.

Simon snuck out, last weekend. He was gone for a day or two, and when he came back, Sunday evening, he was moving slowly. I just thought he was worn out and recovering from being hungry, so I didn't think much of it. By Tuesday he had a slight but noticeable limp. He was spending a lot of time sitting in one place, but, again, he'd just come back from the feline equivalent of being on the island in LOST, so I let it go. Late Wednesday night I saw that his hind foot (not the hind foot with the limp, though) was swollen to the size of a ping pong or golf ball and oozing bloody fluid. We took him to the vet first thing the next morning and they got him shaved and washed up, but they didn't know what had caused all the injuries. There weren't any bite marks, no broken glass, nothing to tell them what was wrong but a couple of roughed up pads, and the pain and swelling. They gave him an antibiotic and sent me home with pain meds. Saturday morning, when I went to give him his medicine, I saw that his swollen foot had ruptured, and one of his toes was now little more than a flap of skin. We rushed him to the vet and they washed him up again and put a cone on his head so he'd leave the wound alone, but there wasn't much else she could do. He'd only just started antibiotics ~48 hours earlier, and Dr. Garza didn't want to try anything that would upset the beginning of the healing process. She wanted us to let it be for a few days, then they'd look at it again. We set an appointment for today with another vet at the practice (our's has Mondays off) to get Simon looked at again, and he said that there's exposed bone on the mangled toe and it's starting to dry up. We could either amputate the toe (that was he would do if it was his cat), or attempt to let it heal naturally. There was no guarantee that the latter would work, though, and in the meantime it would be a long, painful wait. I don't really have the means--in time, equipment or manpower-- to tend that kind of wound, though. Dr. Garza had shown me the damage on Saturday, and it was pretty extensive. I'd never really seen an injury so bad that it made me ill just to look at it. There was almost no way I'd be able to care for him in that condition. We decided to take Dr. Riddle's advice. My cat is currently at the vet's office, where he's awaiting amputation for the bad toe. No one still has any clue what happened to cause all this.

So Unfair

I've been trying to keep up with Marin's 10 lbs in 6 weeks Challenge, but I'm having a hard time pushing myself to exercise (don't we all?). I don't belong to a gym, or even the YMCA. There are very few places within walking distance that don't involve shopping or wouldn't bore the kids to tears. It's painfully difficult to hold Proud Warrior or Wide-Legged Downward Dog when there are small children literally climbing all over you. So, today we went for a walk. All those who had the coordination carried themselves. It was a leisurely 30-40 minute trip out to the Rec Center. We played on the playground for a little while, but not so long that Joseph would collapse on the way home. James was asleep in the sling, so he and I stayed mostly in the shade. Walking home took longer, as energy was finally flagging, so we paused every other block to check out interesting sticks. After being out for nearly two hours, we arrive back home and I pass around water to everyone and make snacks. Shortly thereafter, Jonathan gets home from work and tells me I have a sunburn. My husband doesn't get sunburns. It drives me crazy because I burn pretty easily. I grumble a bit, feeling stupid that I'd forgotten the sunblock, but check the kids to see what the damage is. Joseph has rosy cheeks. That's it. All four of us got the same sun exposure, and who ends up looking like a lobster? That'd be me. Even the baby still has perfect porcelain skin.

Don't Let This Be a Sign

Joseph, Today:
split forehead open on drawer
1 face-plant & 3 rear-plants off swing at park
self-guided tour of staff-only area of library
climbed to top of bookshelf at library
"chomping" (jumping) through parking lot and off wall overlooking creek
started colored-pencil sword fight
washed coating of toothpaste out of hair

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Previously, on Joseph:
"Rawr, rawr, rawr!" all day long.
Finally, "Are you a dinosaur?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Are you a monster?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Are you a hippo?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Are you a elephant?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Are you a bear?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Are you a lion?"
"No!" he rawred.
"Well, what are you?"
Still rawring: "I'm two!"

Mommy Gets a Pool Doctor, Too

I talked to my OB, last week, about the killer back pain I've had for the last two months and she got me a referral to physical therapy. Today was my evaluation, and there's good news and bad news. First of all, it's not my back or my right hip that's messed up. It's the left hip. The ligaments are loose (yay, pregnancy hormones!) and the left ilium has shifted and rotated backward, putting stress on the rest on my pelvic alignment. The way I sit in my chair when I'm at the computer or the dinner table just makes it worse, too. It may have even caused the shift, but anyway... I now get physical therapy twice a week, one in the office and one in the pool, for the next month. I also have some leg exercises I get to do, plus I need to reorganize my computer desk and find a new sleeping position. If it makes the next ten weeks easier, though, then it's all worth it.

Birthdays and Such

We had a really good time for Joseph's birthday party--pictures and write-up to follow--and are so glad so many could come join us. Thank you all very much.

Today, everything seemed to be reminding me of exactly how I felt and what I was doing two years ago. When the alarm went off, I remembered that at that time on the day Joseph was born I was at the hospital already, hooked up to an IV and about to get my water broken. Joseph had his two-year check-up at 11, and that made me think about being in advanced labor. He got a shot and a toe prick and was ultra snuggly and cranky for an hour or so afterward, just like holding a newborn only much, much heavier. Heavy enough to make my back spasm at that permanent crick I've got and remind me of how sick of being pregnant I was then (I'd add a "too" but I, mercifully, haven't reached that point, yet), causing me to ask my doctor to induce me the instant June rolled around. We finished up lunch around 1:30 and Elena said that Joseph was 2 now. I looked at the clock and saw that it was right about the time Joseph was born, so he was exactly two years old, right then. Then I took a nap for most of the afternoon because I was so tired and my back hurt every time I tried to walk. Even one of Rick's webcomics reminded me of when I had Joseph. Crazy-weird to do that all day long, but it's been kind of nice to know I've still got the memories.

Some things have been not so good, or felt out of place, or something. I've got this coughing thing that makes me miserable in the morning and makes it hard(er) to breathe the rest of the time. Joseph's ear infection is coming back and he'll have to do another round of orange goop. And Elena has a 103 degree fever. She says everything else feels fine--head, throat, stomach, etc.--and I've talked to a couple moms that have had the same thing happen. This also brought up the one down side to potty training--it's much harder to diagnose diarrhea when you're not changing diapers five times a day. Jonathan's just fine, though, and has been so wonderful to fill in while I'm a bit out if it.

*Gasp!* Gash!

Joseph's perfect streak of nothin'-but-bruises has fallen. We went to visit Cynthia, to say hi, and to get the kids away from Jonathan so he could do homework. There was much giggling, and Baby Einstein watching, and the usual running-around-being-silly. Joseph ran into the dining area to show me something, slipped on the wood in his socks, and smacked his eye on the low Korean table they've got. He now has a horizontal cut along the outer edge of the upper lid of his right eye, right along the bone. And he has an appointment for pictures, Thursday morning. Sigh... He was a real trooper while we got him cleaned up and fell right asleep with some cuddling and songs with Mommy, but we didn't think to pull the cut closed when we put that first band aid on, and I'm not sure if it will close up, now. He's got some tape on it, now, so we'll have to see. Still, everyone has to get their first scar sometime.

Healing

His poor, poor eye... He fell down and hit the step while brushing his teeth, last Thursday. This is way better than it used to look, though. It's cleared up a lot, just in the last 12 hours. I just didn't want to immortalize it at its worst.


Speaking of worst, he seemed to think that once you've got the shiner you can let the rest of the face go. On Monday he had: healing goose-egg + bruise on forehead, deep purple bruise along eye socket, bright red bruise on eyeball, scratch down side of nose, split lower lip, and careless disregard for safety.