Put my picture beside the angry face.

In Kate's classroom, there is a poster with drawings of faces reflecting different feelings, a face drawn in a frown to be sad, a face with furrowed brows for angry, a face with squinted eyes and wavy mouth for frustrated and so on. As part of their daily activities, the kids use Polaroids of themselves and place them beside the face that matches how they are feeling. The exercise helps them identify what they are feeling, normalize it within the context that we all sometimes feel this way, and then give occasion for discussing how to deal with these emotions.

I am doing my best to be an adult and deal with my emotions in a rational way, but I admit that I do not always succeed in this effort. I've said it before, by definition, I am just Too Much. I love too much, believe too much, trust too much, and give too much. And when I get burned, I feel angry, disappointed, frustrated, and hopeless -- and, characteristically, I feel all those things too much. And now, although I've named everything I am feeling, I still don't feel any better. It's no wonder that Kate does this exercise everyday in school and still throws things when angry. Right now, throwing something (preferably at someone) would make me feel better, too. Mental note: remember how hard this is next time the kids try to destroy each other.

Yesterday, we got notification from Humana (our current health insurance provider) that the family insurance plan we requested had been denied -- or, at least, parts of it had. Plans were offered to Paul and Will, but not to Kate and I. This is after spending more than an hour, during the bedtime rodeo!, on the phone with a nurse representative going over 10 years of medical history for all 4 of us, including Every Single claim for a doctor's visit or a prescription. Looking back on my notes for the week, I see that I've spent about 12 hours on health insurance research, phone calls, and applications. And now we have to do it again.

I can almost see how they might deny me. I have allergies, my BMI puts me in the "overweight" category and I have a prescription for acne treatment. Definitely an insurance risk, me. But Kate? She's 2 and has had maybe 2 prescriptions in her life (one for thrush, one for her ear infection earlier in the year). It makes me feel better to say that they are women hating and leave it at that.

Today, Paul began to pursue getting our life insurance policies in order. So this morning, I spent 54 minutes on the phone giving medical history which will influence both IF we can actually get life insurance for me and HOW MUCH it will be when we do. One of the questions was if I had ever been denied health insurance. Following up this invasive interview, which included a 10 minute line of questioning about the fact that I see a dermatologist for the acne that I've had since puberty, someone will call me within the next 2 days to schedule a blood draw, urinanalysis, and height/weight check. For life insurance.

What the whole experience has shown me, for one, is that I do not ever want to see a physician ever again for anything. That preventative care is a BAD IDEA if you want to coverage for anything. Want or need a prescription? Steal it or cross a border. In short, the smart thing to do is to avoid the medical establishment all together, because anything you do can and will be held against you.

University of Michigan, the source of my graduate training, recently had articles about health insurance in it's School of Public Health alumni magazine. Several of our illustrious faculty discussed the insurance industry and how it's not that bad, it actually works well, and it keeps costs relatively low. I remember reading it thinking that maybe the arsenic in the city's water supply had gone up dramatically or perhaps the legalization of marijuana had finally been passed. Academics are the most famous Mr. In-Between-ers on the planet, being completely unable to commit to a solid 'yes' or 'no' on any topic, so it makes sense that someone would try to balance out arguments against the way insurance companies work. But I also noted that the faculty who were the most supportive of the current system were also consultants to big insurance companies.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I know this is suppose to help, but all I really want to do is find someone to call a douchebag. Ah, it felt better just to type the word.

Kate's Nose.

About 48 hours after the bonk. See those black lines under her eyes, too? TOUGH COOKIE.

The Classic Parent Morning

Before the sun came up this morning, Paul was awake. In the bathroom. Without giving away specifics, I think that our giardia concerns are well founded.

He woke me up a little after 7am, Will was awake and singing in the front, but Kate was surprisingly still sound asleep. This is all highly unusual. I made the beds, got out clothes for the kids, picked up a stirring Kate, made breakfast for everyone, and started making lunches. Paul was enjoying a few minutes of sleep on the couch and I wanted him to get in as much rest as he could.

Until, at 7:53, I saw that it was Will's snack day. Damn.

Paul threw on clothes and walked up to Whole Foods (they open at 8). He came back a little later than expected because Salma Hayek was there (she's in town for the V-Day to the 10th performances tomorrow night). When he does get back, he comes equipped with proscuitto and french bread*: we made 30 tiny proscuitto and cream cheese sandwiches on french bread, with grapes and cereal bars (bringing snack means both morning and afternoon snack). We finished lunches. This is between trips to the bathroom for Paul and me disinfecting everything around each of us every 30 seconds. Finally, at 10 minutes to 9, 45 minutes late, Paul and the kids are ready... and I notice Kate's poop. Big. Loose. Poop.

Six minutes later they are out the door and I am washing everything with bleach water. (Have I sung my praises for bleach lately? Maybe it's my inner epidemiologist -- or maybe my inner parasitologist? -- but I could not live without El Cloro.)

--
* For the record, I would have never, ever, thought of this. The sandwiches are beautiful, delicious, easy, and practically gourmet! Serious props to Dad on this one!

Gas

Will has been complaining of having "gas in his belly" for a few weeks. Other symptoms... complaining of tummy pain ('gas in my belly'), diarrhea for days, disinterest in food... made us worry enough that we spoke off and on about taking him to the doctor. Finally, when he complained of his ear "popping" (Will-speak for 'ear infection'), and then spiked a scary-high fever Sunday night to emphasize the point, we took him in.

He's on Amoxcil for the ear. I relented, since he no longer requires torture to take medicine. (Guilty Mom admits: I thought it'd help with Kate's medicine taking. It has, so I feel validated... but still guilty.)

We talked about the tummy stuff, too, with the pediatrician. It seemed timely since he'd thrown up that morning after spiking yet another fever. I was a bit nervous about the possibilities and had to suppress my inward groan when she said, "do you think it's giardia?"

Yeah, actually, I do.

Although his symptoms may be falling off. It took three days to get enough poop sampled to fill the three vials for the lab. They were big vials. Will had to inform us when he needed to poop and I lined the toilet with aluminum foil at the back with instructions of what to do where. He seemed a bit disappointed tonight, when I told him we no longer needed to collect 'specimens.'

"Oh, well," he said. "Maybe next time."

---
Another note. I saw my primary care doc for a follow-up yesterday morning and mentioned that giardia could be in our house. (Paul has been showing symptoms, too. Maybe Kate and I as well, although with me, I tend to have to be explosively bleeding internally before I even suspect something is amiss.) She was adamant that none of us could have this... we'd be sick, sick, sick... vomiting, diarrhea constantly, etc. "Really?" I said, "I thought that you could carry it and not even have symptoms?" "No way," she said, "you'd be really, really sick. You wouldn't be able to be up and around like this at all." "Okay," I said, "I must have misremembered." I was still wary, based on my conversation with the pediatrician. So I checked it out. According to the CDC, I was right. Damn. I like this doctor and don't want to have to go through the trouble of finding another. I don't expect anyone to be 100% all the time, but now I'll carry doubt.

Antibiotics Update.

Kate is into her aforementioned script a few days. Don't ask me how many; I've already lost count.

We've forgotten a few doses. All but the first have required two people: one holding her down and the other forcing medicine down her throat. This method has a roughly 50% success rate at getting more than 75% of the dose down. Never is the dose complete. She always manages to spit, push, or drool some of it out. I have become expert at removing pink stains.

This is exactly why I swore off antibiotics when Will was her age. I can't imagine that my experience is a-typical. I'm a good parent. I'm pretty on-top of things. And I'm savvy enough to try lots of angles at medicine-giving. Maybe the ability to give a child resisting medicine is a skill... but WHERE would any parent learn it, except with their child?

I know so many parents whose kids don't even take Amoxicillin anymore because it does nothing for the child. Is this because all of these kids have been given it like Kate... in partial doses with occasional misses? Giving the drug the perfect opportunity to be rendered useless and creating a stronger, more efficient and persistent bacteria in the process?? Even if a parent can give a med now... could they during the first couple of times the antibiotic was prescribed? Bacteria doesn't even cause ear infection pain... so why be in such a hurry to use a drug to get rid of something that is going to go away on it's own in less than a day later?? I need to understand these details. I really, really, really need to get a better picture of this, because I grow more frustrated at myself everytime I have to hold my screaming child down and hold her nose to force her to swallow something I not only doubt she needs, but strongly feel will threaten her health later. (Not to mention undermine the health of world, but that's another issue... it's not like I'm not trying to be dramatic or anything.)

I can remember working with physicians in a nutritional outreach program in India, trying to figure out why they were reporting no success. It took about 4 seconds to figure it out. I asked folks (the actual people in the community, not the physicians) how they used their vitamins. They don't. They throw them out. Tonics were the name of the game there... everyone wants a tonic. It's the vogue treatment of choice, not unlike the power of pills here. Give out whatever you want, but if it's not fully understood and appreciated... no one is going to follow the plan. One physician got it and changed the way he approached the use of the pills, explaining in more detail what they were and how they worked -- and offering suggestions for ways to crush up and create tonics with the medicine. I think that the experience highlights how people tend to seek something specific from physicians, the same way we might "shop" for a particular item, and throw out whatever is not part of our expectations. So, maybe if we go to a physician seeking a prescription and don't get one, that we feel it's not worth the cost of admission. Perhaps telling the parent of a child with an ear infection to just treat with Tylenol and hot compresses would seem like a step back in medicine after so many years of antibiotic treatment. Even though the previous practice was inappropriate and we know that now, providing LESS medicine at an appointment strikes the patient as poor medicine, so physicians comply with what patients want simply to keep them coming in. It is a business, after all.

I question the efficacy of this drug and its current use on my child and I'm ticked off that I didn't pursue the issue further. I'm not trying to challenge the doctor -- I am not a physician and respect that specialized knowledge -- but I have the capacity to understand the rationale for the treatment choice. And ultimately, that's all I want to know. What is the rationale and does it make sense? Is it based on evidence-based care, or a social expectation? If I can't make this kind of a stand, then how can good medicine ever be fully evaluated by patients?

Meanwhile, would it be better off to just stop the drug completely? Is it worse to stop midway through a poorly administered dosing schedule, or continue on with missed and partial doses until the 10 days are up? Either way, it's not good... but which is more harmful?

Ears and Tears

10 days ago, I took Kate to the doctor to get her 22-month wellness and weight check (23.2 pounds). She had fluid in her ear. Doc asked her to come back in 10 days.

Result: original ear cleared up fine. OTHER ear is infected. Doctor suggests antibiotic, strongly suggests it, since I am a let-it-go-on-it's-own type of parent when it comes to ear infections. I relent, she is certain it's AOM, and she makes me feel that it may be involved in such a way that clearing up the infection a bit faster may be important. I like the thoroughness of this doctor and she's been very okay with my (clinically founded and AAP/AAFP recommended) desire to use caution with the use (or, in this case, overuse) of antibiotic for ear infection treatment. So we filled the script.

Thankfully, Kate was happy to take the medicine. It just took her awhile, because she preferred to sip from the syringe between: 1. twirling in circles until she fell over; 2. bending over to walk on all-fours; 3. squealing and shaking her head maniacally; and 4: running the length of the kitchen shouting "MYBABY MYBABY MYBABY" between giggles.

Maybe my experience of seeing really sick people desperate for any medicine and dying for want of an antibiotic has jaded me. Maybe now I am a poor judge of wellness. But seriously, is this a child who currently needs medicine because of illness?

Take Two

I see now that the warning signs were there... sore back, stiffness, occasional twinge. So when my back exploded this morning, after an hour of fun playtime with the kids in the front yard, it didn't completely surprise me.

The good news is that it happened today, not yesterday... my interview as a finalist for the Schweitzer Fellowship was yesterday. Last week was completely crazy; this week is a better one to take a rest.

My Mom is meeting us to get the kids tomorrow morning and taking them to Mobile until Wednesday. I'm moving around (barely) but can't pick up anything or anyone and loopy on the pain meds. At least now I know for sure how to recognize the signs that this is coming. Next time, I'll head it off before it starts.

The Plague Continues... and Continues

Kate has conjunctivitis. She is getting drops in her eyes regularly. They are really, really, really goopy. She just woke up crying because she couldn't open her left eye; it was glued shut. Otherwise, she is totally fine (read: a complete maniac.)

Will has been switched from one pink stuff to another pink stuff. The pediatrician I spoke to this morning about Kate switched him on her suggestion that amoxicillin isn't as effective. The issue came up because, while asking about Kate's eye, I also had to ask for a refill on Will's antibiotic because we'd used half of the bottle putting the medicine in a thousand concoctions to try and get him to take it painlessly. In the end, we put him in time out until he took his medicine. It took about 2 hours this morning. Tonight, it only took about an hour. We're hopeful for continued improvement in this regard.

I stopped by the house this afternoon -- the heat was set to 60 degrees and the heater didn't turn off the whole time I was there. We're in the toasty apartment again tonight but unfortunately have to leave tomorrow.

Paul has not showered in two days, is beat, and complaining of sore throat. That annoying scratch in the back of my throat has not gone away... it's gotten worse. I didn't sing the kids to bed tonight. It's time to admit that one or both of us may need a swab in the back of the throat... which means we need a doctor, something we haven't had locally since the storm (yup, we've not had a primary doctor for over 2 years).

Anyone local reading this have any suggestions?

The Plague Continues

The threat of not having indoor plumbing during Paul's renovation work this weekend drove me to Mobile to stay with the parents Saturday night. It was a desperate situation; my Dad was on death's door (literally, he didn't go to work Thursday or Friday -- we called in a priest to perform last rites) but I felt that we had no choice. Plus, I had to retrieve the kids' old summer clothes from the attic if I were going to sell them back to the CCEX this week.

Right before we left, Will complained of being cold. Then sneezed. Uh-ho.

Then we got to Mobile, where my Mom was getting sick, too. I spent the weekend caring for my parents and Will... with a perfectly healthy Kate driving us all crazy. Sunday night, we sped home... I was terrified that the kids would bring the end to my dear parents, who were both sick and exhausted or that both Kate and I would succumb.

Monday morning, Will seemed better. We had assumed he would be home from school, but Will insisted he was okay and was running around with enough energy that we decided to try it out.

It was a mistake. He did fine all day, but when we had him home that night, my Mommy instinct kicked in. No real reason in particular, but Ana's strep, combined with the fact that he seemed to have stalled in the getting better department made me think he needed to be seen. He stayed home today (despite being incredibly annoying before school this morning -- he clogged the front toilet, which started overflowing and didn't tell anyone until Paul noticed two inches of pee water pouring out of the bathroom door -- annoying and bad behavior was another clue that he was probably less healthy than he was appearing). We traded childcare all day between meetings until his doctor's appointment late this afternoon.

He's got strep. Now Paul is saying his throat hurts. Kate came home with goopy eyes and has sneezed a few times. The jury is out on those two, but Will is definitely home one more day.

It took a ginger ale tonic and 30 minute of intense work, but we managed to get Will to get the classic pink stuff down. 19 more doses over the next 10 days to go. I'm dreading each and every one.

My Dad's company does a lot of business in New Orleans and rents an apartment here for business use -- thankfully, it's not being used for the next few days, so the kids and I are using it. It's letting us do laundry (still no washer and dryer) which is a great thing considering we had three huge bags of wet stinky towels from the morning's exploding toilet. Tonight and tomorrow night are going to be in the 30s, so the kids and I staying here will hopefully help keep them warm and healthy -- when the wind blows, the back rooms are freezing. Paul is home, using every minute of in-house-with-no-kids to put in extra hours at work and on the house. He's closed off the back rooms and is sleeping in a sleeping bag in the front of the house.

Paul is hoping to work nonstop on the house this weekend, so we need a healthy house. Germs, be gone!

Dusty and Stormy

We're home. It's dusty. Very dusty. Big dirt from the demo came through the walls into the bedrooms... we planned on me returning early this morning to bring the kids right to school so that I could have a few hours to clean before the kids were in the house. (Thank goodness for the IRB- related downtime.)

We are down to one tiny tiny bathroom in the front of the house. Stuff is packed everywhere. Other stuff is in the new section, covered in dust. The washer and dryer (complete with a dent from a falling beam) are still in the gutted section -- Paul was reluctant to take these away without being ready to hook them up in the new section. They won't stay in the new section, he's just putting together a temporary location.

The next few months of renovation/construction are going to be the worst.

---
In the midst of the afternoon cleaning, we were visited by a the-end-is-near type storm. There were a few moments where we paused to listen if we were hearing a tornado, but the real excitement came from the leaks in the new ceiling. From all three skylights. The good news is that Paul investigated and feels that the wind was pushing the layers up and water under (it's still only the first layer up there) and feels confident that it will be fine... but he's still checking with the expert guy at the local supplier warehouse tomorrow.

Paul is doing well from the weekend warrior marathon... despite stepping on two nails which went through his shoe and deep into his foot.

---
In other more topical news, this completely inappropriate bit of fun had me in stitches.

Mardi Gras Update: 1 Day 'til Mardi Gras Day

-- The stomach flu hit this weekend. Kate was implicated, having thrown up for a few hours late Wednesday night (she was pretty cool about it... she'd retch in the sink, hold her hand out to run her pacifier under the water, and pop it back in her mouth.) No fever or other symptoms, so we went to school on Thursday and attended the parade on Friday. Friday she started showing signs of feeling unwell (i.e.: she demanded to be held, versus the usual, when she acts like she is being boiled in hot oil when someone tries to hold her). By Saturday, she was warm and even more cuddly. Many many many diaper explosions. My parents came into town Friday for the parade and ended up staying through Sunday morning, because my Mom came down with
something similar Saturday afternoon which kept her violently ill all night. The real fun was that no-one-exists-in-the-world-but-me neighbor partied hearty for most of the night... 6 feet from where my Mom was trying to recover. We are pretty much at wit's end here, as I am pretty sure the stress from his consistent noise violations is going to give us both ulcers. Fun times.

-- But we still have managed good fun. Friday's parade was awesome, as was the ball (more on that, later.) Saturday, Paul and my Dad installed the door and windows in the back. It is officially closed to the elements. We can walk through the house to the backyard -- something we haven't been able to do in a long, long time. Mom watched cuddly Kate inside while I took Will to a friend's house for an Iris/Tucks Mardi Gras party and saw parts of both parades. Will was an absolute delight: polite, sharing throws with other kids, so sweetly waving and following "Throw me somethin' Mister" with "please."

-- Thoth was great. We hosted the parade party/provided the close potty for friends and watched the parade en masse.

-- We didn't attend parades today. Paul worked and I played with the kids (think: long paper art project), took 3 walks, went out to stand in line for our first Randazzo's king cake (my opinion: good, but a big cinnamon roll, too sweet for me), and stopped by Emmy's for an impromptu playdate with Ana and Elliot.

-- And now, I'm fighting off flu. Typical symptoms. We have a 50% attendance rate going for Fat Tuesday parades and I think that this percentage is going to go down a bit after this year. Which is more than fine here. I'm hoping for a great family day and to feel well enough for some great red beans and rice.

Yup, it's like that.

A New Year's holiday letter came in from a friend and mentor of mine at Virginia Tech. She wrote:

It's been a difficult year - tragic, exhausting, and a bit surreal. Really, I don't remember much of what happened before April, when we were shocked into a kind of violent parallel universe with the shootings at Virginia Tech. We still live there, partly, I think; there is a different feel to life in Blacksburg now, especially on campus. It's not that we are on edge constantly, but that we are all more careful and more responsive, and thus busier and more tired.

Wow, I thought when it read it, that sounds pretty darn familiar. Maybe it was particularly poignant that this arrived last week... where my thoughts were with last year, when we were marching downtown over the unfathomable violent crime that continues to tear away at our city. The loss, the fear, and the fact that it isn't changing is like a constant white noise in the background. But it's part of everything that makes life here just a little bit... harder? grittier? riskier? I'm not sure what describes it, although my friend's Blacksburg comparison made a lot of sense.

There is evidence of health impacts from the vagueness described above. Specifically, we know that people living in post-disaster zones experience higher rates of stress, fatigue, and related illnesses. Right now in New Orleans, there is an ongoing study of resting blood pressure rates -- it's being run out of various dentist's offices. So, if you go to the dentist and get hooked up to a machine taking your blood pressure every 15 minutes, you'll probably be asked to participate. The point is to see if us NOLA folks have higher resting blood pressure than average folks elsewhere. For me, the answer seems to be yes. (My BP is around 110/75 these days... more than the 100/70 I sported pre-K and much more than the 90/60 I had through both pregnancies. Granted, I wouldn't run those results to JAMA, confounders as likely as they are, but it's still something to think about.)

Thoughts on difference, choice, and education

We enjoyed having Valerie, Eric, and baby Diego with us this past week. We especially enjoyed watching Will and Kate interact with a baby in their house: Will was watchful, gentle, sweet, and concerned (just as he had been with Kate) and Kate was curious and, as with everything else, followed Will's lead. Here's Eric reading an Elmo book to Kate (in the cowgirl hat) as baby Diego listens in:
Something unique about Diego is that he was born with one arm. His right arm did not fully develop in utero, leaving him with a very small hand on a small arm. As a family, they endured countless needless tests and exams, multiple doctors looking for other "problems" based on this one difference. I can only imagine how frustrating this must have been; it is stressful enough becoming a parent without having to advocate for your baby to be respected simply for who he is. Sometimes, it seems that children with differences are not seen past their differences. We all have personalities, characteristics, and physical differences that give us group diversity; I have a hard time with the tendency to put those with physical or cognitive differences that create challenges to ability in a completely other group.

Will was naturally curious about Diego's arm and hand (he said it was "cute") and Valerie brought up the well-fitted example of Finding Nemo, where Nemo had one fin that was smaller than the other. The example made sense to Will, who got that Diego was just like any other baby, and that was that.

But the whole thing got me thinking. Right now, Will shares his school with children who have cognitive and physical differences. Indeed, the Reggio approach prioritizes children with differences as an important and essential part of its programs. But how long will this last? As we consider schools for our kids, I realize that finding out about how a school handles differences in ability isn't something I asked or even remembered to think about.

My junior high/high school had a special needs class completely separate from the rest of the school -- in a hallway on a floor rarely used, out of the way from the main areas. We rarely saw these students; sometimes there would be a class session where one or two might be in the room. But there was no interaction. The whole set-up seemed to give lip service to the idea of inclusion, but really, was designed to have as little distraction as possible on the comings and goings of the general school. And that was really unfortunate.

What would have happened if inclusion was better prioritized in this environment? Would my fellow students and I have learned more patience and be better at friendship? Would we have gained skills in listening, empathy, and respect? I believe so; for these are the lessons we learn when we stop to consider the world from another's point of view.


***

A variety of excellent work has shown how the concept of "choice" has been warped by social standards and values. One of the side effects of choice (and I should note that I am, unabashedly and completely in support of reproductive choice in every situation) -- is that women are judged for the choices they make regarding children. Choice of when to have a baby is closely tied to choice regarding what kind of baby to have. For example, every woman over the age of 35 is automatically referred a genetic counselor for invasive testing of her fetus. This is because the risk of genetic differences, Down's Syndrome in particular, increase in women over the age of 35. While there may be good reason to know if your child will have a condition that may require special care and knowing beforehand may help preparation, the practice seems more connected to the question "is this child normal" than to "how can I prepare for whatever this child may be." And what does genetic testing reveal? A list of percentages of risk related to a range of issues that may be present in the growing baby. You are presented a gamble, a numbers game that ultimately asks how much are you willing to risk that your child won't be the 100% standard kid. If you take this gamble and do have a child that is different, you are stigmatized for this "choice" because you were warned. The thing about having a choice (and I have a hard time using that word within the issue of reproduction since, in truth, very few situations involve choice in the liberal sense) -- is that when you are seen as having a choice, there is the possibility of not choosing the right one.

I did the triple screen with Will and when it came back abnormal, I was automatically referred to a genetic counselor for an appointment that included a consultation and amniocentesis "if, after the consultation, I decided to go ahead with it." I canceled the appointment on the spot. I did this because I knew that I was going to love my baby, no matter what, and I didn't want to deal with the frustrations and fears around the possibilities of problems. Having a baby is scary no matter what and regardless of who that child is, the parent will feel fear, uncertainty, and frustration. As it turned out, my dates were wrong and caused a false positive in the test (something that is exceedingly common with the triple screen.) With Kate, I declined this prenatal test and had to sign a variety of forms certifying that I didn't want screening. In short, I had to resolve anyone of responsibility: if my baby was born "different," I'd have no one to blame but myself.

I say all of this because I am troubled by the lack of respect we have for differences in each other and deeply bothered by the continued move to erasing differences in each new generation. While I try to teach my children to value diversity and appreciate others, I hope that they can find formative experiences in their schools to enhance these lessons.

Superman flies... and lands, 15 minutes before bedtime.

The Stats:
- 1 call to babysitter (our hermanita, Michelle) since Kate was asleep.
- 1 quick visit to Med School neighbor for a professional opinion.
- Just under 4 hours at Children's Hospital.
- Zero stitches, one big tube of glue.
- 15 minutes of holding and maneuvering (fatty tissue was problematic).
- 2 minutes on the exam table before he fell asleep during the wound cleaning.
- 1-2 day follow-up with PCP.
- 1 bet that after 1 year, the scar won't be visible.
- 2 very tired parents.
- 8:30am. Time we're suppose to be on the 9th floor of Oschner for Paul's post-op visit tomorrow.

Benefits Put to Use

Thanks to the thoughtfulness of some of Paul's coworkers, he is getting disability for last week and this week -- a welcomed relief since now he is not eating through his precious vacation time as he recovers. This has made us feel so much better; Paul may not be able to drive or work long hours, but he can catch up on little things... like pulling the family video off of tapes and burning it onto disc AND drawing up plans on graph paper for the back of the house. We're trying to look at this as an extra bit of time to get really prepared for the renovation (since we are seriously delayed at starting it)... pricing out doors and windows, deciding on materials.

Paul's Mom left this morning and we are officially on our own. We were really lucky to have her here; if Paul had to loose his appendix, we're glad it happened the day his Mom was scheduled to arrive. One more pair of hands offers many moments of respite for me... they let me sleep in little two mornings and have generous time in the bathroom to do things working Moms only dream of... like brush my hair and floss. I'm the only driver now which brings one more logistical issue to the already overwhelming mess of kids, class, guest speakers, assignments, and grading. Through on party-planning, holiday prep, house plans, Paul care-taking, and general things like laundry and meals... wow. I have absolutely no idea how single parents manage. Thank goodness I have the Abeona Village helping out with the kids each day.

The assignments I had intended to turn back in tomorrow? Five are graded out of the two hours I worked on them. I've got 38 more to go. I'd really like to finish them on Wednesday before family arrives. I have high hopes for down time this holiday weekend!

Drugs Good.

Paul is home and pretty chipper, all things considered. He has a two-week reprieve of all strenuous activities, which means the gutting of the back of the house we'd been planning for weeks is out of the question. So is the continued gutting and construction we'd been planning over Thanksgiving... and during the three days vacation Paul had planned to take around the holiday. Plans? What plans? Apparently they are very overrated.

But he's okay and that is what matters. It matters so much that it is even important enough for us to delay having a bathtub... and really, there is not much out there more important than this.

I finished and submitted the fellowship application. I owe special thanks to my friend in CA - the Sartre to my deBeauvoir - who came through at the last minute to help read when I couldn't anymore. Won't know of anything for 6 months, but it's done. Maybe 2008 will be a better year?

He's improving, but got stumped when asked for a witty title for this post

Paul is in one piece, minus an appendix. He went in sometime after 5am and was in recovery by 7:30 and in the room around 9am. Although the surgery went well, he had some post-operative complications with fever and trouble oxygenating. So, he may not go home today.

Right now, he is mostly comfortable, off oxygen, making jokes, and swollen from fluids. I am enjoying the room's reclining chair and great internet to finish my fellowship application due tomorrow (does the universe try to time these things all together on purpose?) Although he has asked, I've refused him access to the computer until he is well enough to proof-read my essays (which means he'll not be online for awhile). Paul's Mom arrived this morning (pre-planned trip) and is here in the room, too. The kids are good and at school; we'll bring them to see Daddy later today.

He loves the well-wishes so please feel free to send 'em on!

For Today's Parental Freak-Out Moment...

I bring you the following information from Consumer Reports. Lead is everywhere, existing in a ton of your household goods and children's playtoys. Love that lead. Here is what they found:

Our lab tests detected lead at widely varying levels in samples of dishware, jewelry, glue stick caps, vinyl backpacks, children's ceramic tea sets, and other toys and items not on any federal recall list.

Samples of a Fisher-Price blood pressure cuff that is part of a toy medical kit had surface lead in worrisome amounts. Parents should remove this toy from use.

And more on that...

Our tests found high total lead levels in three new samples of a red toy blood pressure cuff from classic Fisher-Price Medical Kits purchased in the New York area and three samples from the homes of employees of the Consumers Union, the nonprofit publisher of Consumer Reports.

We detected the highest concentration of total lead, more than 10,000 parts per million, in a cuff that a child had regularly played with for the past two years.

Right. Like my kids. Because we totally have this set. The kids LOVE it. When Kate was a baby, Will used to give her daily check-ups.

Why oh why oh why are we still even manufacturing lead??

Brushing Away

Just so my friend doesn't feel that she's the only 30-something who feels like she is falling apart, I'm writing of my newest aging issue. No, not the back thing. No, not the toe (which is definitely seeming broken, as it is getting worse not better.) One that has been on the horizon for years and one that I dutifully exacerbated in my attempts to thwart it. You know how dentists tell you to brush very gently, in little circles on each tooth, never hard, never "back and forth," always in little circles? They really aren't kidding about that.

When you don't brush in circles, when you rub on your gumline thinking that you need to be "massaging" it (as once recommended by your dentist), and when you do all of this on gums prone to recession due to thin tissue (a heredity thing) and early braces on small teeth (an unfortunate thing), you can do a lot of damage. Apparently, I have.

Months ago, when I saw our dentist, she referred me to a periodontist to check the gum recession on a few teeth. The gingiva over my teeth (that rounded part of tissue) was receding to the point where the bone underneath was visible and possibly eroding away (it's not tough like enamel.) I've known that I had problems with recession since college -- a long long time. Back then, I was told to brush at the gum line to massage the gums back down, which is what I thought I was doing. I brushed and flossed the heck out of them. And now, well, now I don't have much gum left on 7 -- yes SEVEN -- teeth. All the teeth are in the back of my mouth, since I was most concerned over plaque in these areas and worked the hardest back there.

So on November 7th, I am scheduled first for a tooth scaling and then to have two teeth surgically repaired through a soft tissue graft, where tissue is taken from the roof of my mouth and placed over my receding gums to bulk up the thin tissue and cover up the exposed root. The good news is that I don't have periodontal disease, although I am currently a good candidate. So the prognosis is good. What is unfortunate is that the surgery is costly, insurance only covers to a certain point, and I'm looking at doing one or two teeth each year for the next 3-4 years (so as to spread out what can be covered by insurance). We are nearing an open enrollment period for benefits and are considering an insurance change and/or getting Aflac as a secondary provider. In the meantime, while we wait for all the teeth to get done, I'll have scaling (which Paul had done earlier this year) every 12-18 months to clear any exposed root, and three normal cleanings each year.

The periodontist recommendations included: using a toothpaste with a very low RDA (Relative Dentin Abrasivity) which is a measure of how abrasive the paste is on your teeth. Most toothpastes are really abrasive, which can be damaging. (Who knew?) She recommended Biotene Gel with Fluoride (an RDA of 60) and using a toothbrush of very small size with extra soft bristles, which can be special ordered since they are hard to find in stores. Yowza.

So today's public health announcement: gently brush in circles!

The gross out weekend. First Jindal, now this.

As I left the kids' room after giving Will a good-nap kiss, I walked a little too close to the right side of the door frame. The majority of my foot went left, through the door. The little toe missed -- it went right, as it direct turn, spread, and SLAM into the corner of the frame. I'm pretty darn sure I heard a distinct *crack,* like the sound of splitting balsa wood. Not wanting to upset Will (i.e.: give him an excuse for getting out of bed), I hopped into our bedroom and announced, "I may have broken my toe."

Just then, the phone rang. It was a family I have helped out with translation and other tasks for over a year -- she was at the Zoo, trying to find the Children's Hospital because her twin baby boys wear very sick and could I come help? I told her to stay put; I was on my way. I figured the toe would be fine and I slipped on my trusty 7+ year old clogs and limped out the door.

The boys were sick. Mom had tried to take them to the doctor on Friday, but she couldn't communicate well enough with the doctor's office to get them seen. There is no "on call" with this clinic where she can reach a pediatrician to ask what to do; so after a few days of treating a 103 temp with Motrin, she decided to go to the ER. I have no idea how Children's deals with Spanish speaking patients and families, because if anyone there had even a word of Spanish, I didn't see them and no one made them known. (I can get the job done... but I'm in no way fluent... I heard myself ask, "When you give birth, how many weeks pregnant?" and had to stop myself from groaning at my own limitations. It speaks to the desperation of our need for bilingual professionals when one must rely on gringa me to get good medical care! But more on that in another post.) It was about 2 1/2 hours in the hospital with them, and at some point I looked at my toe -- which was aching non-stop, causing me to limp worse and worse, and clearly swelling in my shoe. Big, swollen, purple. Ouch.

If you're easily grossed out, forgive me. I seek advice.

Is this thing broken?
It looks much more purple in real life (big flash) -- and the purple is a stripe across the toe. But I can move it. I can spread it wide (the same direction it went in the door frame, I think) and curl it a bit (this hurts after I do it but not so much while I'm doing it). Walking is very uncomfortable. Standing is okay if I don't put weight on it. While I can't pretend I didn't hear a *crack,* when I hit the door frame, I don't think it's broken (if it was, wouldn't it be impossible to bend?) At least, I really really really don't want to believe it is. I want this to go away quickly.
How can I do standing poses in Yoga?? Even some inversions could be out of the question. And seriously, I need my Iyengar right now, baby. Especially since walking in the morning, something we've been lax on due to our recent sleepless nights, is currently out. We don't have a primary care doctor here (I know, I know, if I could only find someone that comes with a good recommendation in our system) so this might be an ER thing if I need an X-ray. In other words, I really want to feel like I *have* to go. There are actual people here with problems bigger than a little toe... I feel silly trying to make this a priority. So would you get this seen, or just wait it out a few days and see what happens?