My brother-in-law and his beautiful wife life in Japan, so you can imagine how crazy today has been for my husband's family. Thankfully they live on the southern most island, and while they felt the earthquake and saw the tsunami, they haven't been directly affected. They were both at work when it happened, which is apparently a good thing as their apartment building isn't as sturdy as some office blocks.
Anyway, they're safe and well, and they're going to call us tomorrow morning for an update.
Jeez, what a day for Japan.
Tina.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
9. I is for Idea
I have an idea: I should go to bed, instead of making up some drivel no-one wants to read.
Night night!
Tina.
Night night!
Tina.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
8. H is for Happy Times
I think I've touched upon Little O's recent developmental spurt but I haven't gone into too much detail. Well, it's all tremendously exciting and I think it's to do with him not wearing a cast for his scoliosis at the moment. Basically, I think he's been determined to try out some new tricks since Christmas but the cast he was wearing has prevented any new mobility. We took off the cast Friday 11th Feb, with the intention of letting his skin take a breather over the weekend and a new cast applied on Monday 14th Feb. Well that all went out the window when Little O got sick right after the cast was removed, and he started a round of hospitalisations and so on. The new cast was never put on.
It's so nice to see him catch up a bit. In the last three weeks he's learnt how to sit up by himself from being in a lying-down position on the floor, how to kneel, how to walk using a walker the physiotherapist lent us, and, most excitingly of all, how to pull himself to stand up using a large object such as a couch! Today he spent most of the day rolling around, sitting up, getting over to me, then using me or the couch to pull himself upright. I am absolutely thrilled to bits! Children figure out this upright thing before they're a year old, so my theory that Little O is developing at half the pace of other children is right on. I think he'll walk at about 27-30 months too. Right now it's about determination and figuring out what will motivate him best. He likes things he's not supposed to have, which usually means prying an XBOX controller out of his sticky little hands, so we bribe him with one to get him to walk, or crawl, or pull himself upright. Anything, really, to try and encourage him.
The cast will have to go back on in the next few weeks, which is very sad. But we are taking him to the Wisconsin Dells for his second birthday in May as they have the greatest water parks in the country and my son LOVES the water! He will have to be cast-free to go though, so at least we know we have that time to look forward to. I can't believe my baby will be two!
Tina.
It's so nice to see him catch up a bit. In the last three weeks he's learnt how to sit up by himself from being in a lying-down position on the floor, how to kneel, how to walk using a walker the physiotherapist lent us, and, most excitingly of all, how to pull himself to stand up using a large object such as a couch! Today he spent most of the day rolling around, sitting up, getting over to me, then using me or the couch to pull himself upright. I am absolutely thrilled to bits! Children figure out this upright thing before they're a year old, so my theory that Little O is developing at half the pace of other children is right on. I think he'll walk at about 27-30 months too. Right now it's about determination and figuring out what will motivate him best. He likes things he's not supposed to have, which usually means prying an XBOX controller out of his sticky little hands, so we bribe him with one to get him to walk, or crawl, or pull himself upright. Anything, really, to try and encourage him.
The cast will have to go back on in the next few weeks, which is very sad. But we are taking him to the Wisconsin Dells for his second birthday in May as they have the greatest water parks in the country and my son LOVES the water! He will have to be cast-free to go though, so at least we know we have that time to look forward to. I can't believe my baby will be two!
Tina.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
7. G is for Getting It Done
I apologise for not posting yesterday, but in all honesty I was out there getting shit done so that I would actually HAVE summat to blog about!
Little O and I spent yesterday and today getting up to and in to loads of stuff. First we went to a craniofacial appointment at CHOW on Monday morning, which is one of my least favourite clinics to visit because they have such appalling time-management. Once I was a there for nearly two hours, and saw the doc for about five or ten minutes of that. Yesterday was a little better though, and we were there for only about an hour or so, seeing the doc for about ten minutes. Doesn't mean I don't still hate them though.
After that went to see my friend up in Milwaukee for lunch, and she's lost loads of weight from having the stomach flu so she looked a bit gaunt. Still beautiful though. Then we went to buy Little O a new swimsuit and supplies for swimming in the afternoon. I LOVE buying clothes for my son, but shopping in Babies R Us is VERY dangerous. I seriously had to set myself a budget and only walk out of there with a new swimsuit and those fancy diapers that don't explode when your kid gets in the pool. I got so close, too! I walked out with diapers, swimsuit, and a new sheet for Little O's bed that cost $4.99. That's actually pretty amazing. His new shorts are rainbow-coloured and I bought a UV-protective t-shirt in orange to match. It says Beach Bum on it. It's awesome. :)
After that we went swimming! It was kinda rubbish, actually, because the pool was advertising that time as designated for special needs users only, but it was no different to any other time of day. It's a water park too, which meant there were loads of slides and cool shit for older children, but nothing that suitable for babies. Little O is trying to figure out to crawl, and when we were in the zero depth section he kept trying to put his face in the water and crawl into the deeper sections. I was terrified he'd inhale water and start drowning! I think if I go again I'll take my husband.
Today we've being doing chores, seeing therapists, and running errands. I even got something very special sent to Butterfly Charlie in the mail! (Shh... don't tell her...). My kitchen is finally tidy again, after a weekend of not doing any dishes AT ALL - I am disgusted at myself, but mature enough to blame my husband - and I am trying to get caught up on laundry. But, more importantly, I have been playing with my son. He is pulling himself to stand all the time now, and figuring out this crawling and walking malarky, and he's just so much FUN at the moment! It's been like having a 12-month-old in the house, when they learn all this new cool stuff suddenly, and I'm just enjoying it so much.
I'm also enjoying "An Idiot Abroad", which is currently airing over here. Sooo funny!
Happy 100th International Women's Day, everyone! May the next 100 years be even better than the last.
Tina.
Little O and I spent yesterday and today getting up to and in to loads of stuff. First we went to a craniofacial appointment at CHOW on Monday morning, which is one of my least favourite clinics to visit because they have such appalling time-management. Once I was a there for nearly two hours, and saw the doc for about five or ten minutes of that. Yesterday was a little better though, and we were there for only about an hour or so, seeing the doc for about ten minutes. Doesn't mean I don't still hate them though.
After that went to see my friend up in Milwaukee for lunch, and she's lost loads of weight from having the stomach flu so she looked a bit gaunt. Still beautiful though. Then we went to buy Little O a new swimsuit and supplies for swimming in the afternoon. I LOVE buying clothes for my son, but shopping in Babies R Us is VERY dangerous. I seriously had to set myself a budget and only walk out of there with a new swimsuit and those fancy diapers that don't explode when your kid gets in the pool. I got so close, too! I walked out with diapers, swimsuit, and a new sheet for Little O's bed that cost $4.99. That's actually pretty amazing. His new shorts are rainbow-coloured and I bought a UV-protective t-shirt in orange to match. It says Beach Bum on it. It's awesome. :)
After that we went swimming! It was kinda rubbish, actually, because the pool was advertising that time as designated for special needs users only, but it was no different to any other time of day. It's a water park too, which meant there were loads of slides and cool shit for older children, but nothing that suitable for babies. Little O is trying to figure out to crawl, and when we were in the zero depth section he kept trying to put his face in the water and crawl into the deeper sections. I was terrified he'd inhale water and start drowning! I think if I go again I'll take my husband.
Today we've being doing chores, seeing therapists, and running errands. I even got something very special sent to Butterfly Charlie in the mail! (Shh... don't tell her...). My kitchen is finally tidy again, after a weekend of not doing any dishes AT ALL - I am disgusted at myself, but mature enough to blame my husband - and I am trying to get caught up on laundry. But, more importantly, I have been playing with my son. He is pulling himself to stand all the time now, and figuring out this crawling and walking malarky, and he's just so much FUN at the moment! It's been like having a 12-month-old in the house, when they learn all this new cool stuff suddenly, and I'm just enjoying it so much.
I'm also enjoying "An Idiot Abroad", which is currently airing over here. Sooo funny!
Happy 100th International Women's Day, everyone! May the next 100 years be even better than the last.
Tina.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
6. F is for Frustration
My husband snores. It's an issue.
Have you ever slept next to a snorer on a regular basis? My God, it's awful. I am a person who needs a lot if sleep (between eight and ten hours a night usually does me right) and recently I've been getting around five or six. Between Little O being sick, having to get up early for work or therapists visiting the house, and my husband snoring his blasted head off ever night, it's driving me mental. I can't fix Little O and I can't stop the therapists coming over, but I CAN get my other half to do something about his nocturnal soundtrack.
The thing that drives me round the bend with snoring is that it's so inconsistent. At least with a ticking clock there's a definite pattern to it, and you can predict when the next sounds will come. With snoring, each person has their own cycle and variety of delightful nuances in tone and volume, and it's hard to fall asleep when you're laying there waiting for the next shuddering breath to make an appearance. It's so stupid to get so worked up about it, but night after night of trying to drop off for up to three hours is getting really annoying.
So, my husbands has been given an ultimatum. Either he does something about his snoring, or he sleeps in the guest room. It's perfectly fair, given that it's HIS problem, not mine, and it has already started to work. He has now been looking for snoring remedies online and in the shops, although he has yet to buy anything. Yes, I could use ear plugs, and yes, I have used them routinely for years and years since having to share houses with noisy housemates as a student, but it isn't treating the problem itself. Besides, why should I have to give myself ear infections and the like because HE'S snoring? It doesn't make any sense.
We had my brother-in-law stay with us last weekend, and we have guests staying next weekend too. The guest room is therefore unavailable, so my husband sleeps with me. It's no fun for either of us though, because I get so frustrated that I wake him up whenever he starts snoring just to let him know he's at it again. Then he gets mad and doesn't sleep, and I feel guilty but also satisfied I'm making a point, and then we're both not sleeping and get up cranky e next day.
We really need a better solution, but until we find one the guest room beckons...
Tina.
Have you ever slept next to a snorer on a regular basis? My God, it's awful. I am a person who needs a lot if sleep (between eight and ten hours a night usually does me right) and recently I've been getting around five or six. Between Little O being sick, having to get up early for work or therapists visiting the house, and my husband snoring his blasted head off ever night, it's driving me mental. I can't fix Little O and I can't stop the therapists coming over, but I CAN get my other half to do something about his nocturnal soundtrack.
The thing that drives me round the bend with snoring is that it's so inconsistent. At least with a ticking clock there's a definite pattern to it, and you can predict when the next sounds will come. With snoring, each person has their own cycle and variety of delightful nuances in tone and volume, and it's hard to fall asleep when you're laying there waiting for the next shuddering breath to make an appearance. It's so stupid to get so worked up about it, but night after night of trying to drop off for up to three hours is getting really annoying.
So, my husbands has been given an ultimatum. Either he does something about his snoring, or he sleeps in the guest room. It's perfectly fair, given that it's HIS problem, not mine, and it has already started to work. He has now been looking for snoring remedies online and in the shops, although he has yet to buy anything. Yes, I could use ear plugs, and yes, I have used them routinely for years and years since having to share houses with noisy housemates as a student, but it isn't treating the problem itself. Besides, why should I have to give myself ear infections and the like because HE'S snoring? It doesn't make any sense.
We had my brother-in-law stay with us last weekend, and we have guests staying next weekend too. The guest room is therefore unavailable, so my husband sleeps with me. It's no fun for either of us though, because I get so frustrated that I wake him up whenever he starts snoring just to let him know he's at it again. Then he gets mad and doesn't sleep, and I feel guilty but also satisfied I'm making a point, and then we're both not sleeping and get up cranky e next day.
We really need a better solution, but until we find one the guest room beckons...
Tina.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
5. E is for Electricity
Whoo hoo! The lights in the basement work!
Crap post, I know, but it's Saturday and I've been too busy with weekend stuff to write anything else of note.
Tina.
Crap post, I know, but it's Saturday and I've been too busy with weekend stuff to write anything else of note.
Tina.
Friday, March 4, 2011
4. D is for Drilling
We have the electricians in. Oh dear.
We only have ourselves to blame. We bought this house in 2009 knowing full well it needed A LOT of work doing to it, and knowing that we had neither the time nor the money to get it all done at once. So here we are, two years later, finally getting around to finishing off the "nice" side of the basement and changing it from a dumping ground for old baby junk and stuff we want to sell this summer in our first-ever Yard Sale (eek! I'm so American!), to a dumping ground for new baby junk and stuff my husband thinks is important. The idea is that all the video games, consoles, too-big-for-the-living-room TV and other assorted gear will now have a place to go, and the upstairs will be a nice place for entertaining guests. We're putting in a fourth bedroom too, although we can't technically call it a bedroom because the only window down there is too small and high up the wall for anyone to escape in an emergency, and another walk-in closet. Hopefully the closet will end up being large enough for future prospective buyers to imagine upgrading it to an en-suite bathroom, but we have neither the need nor the money to do that just yet.
The basement is split into two halves: the side to the left of the stairs houses our washing machine and dryer, all the electrical maintenance and plumbing stuff for the house, the sump pump (if you're British, don't ask), my husband's tools, and shelving for all the boxes of holiday decorations, baby clothes Little O grew out of, and some random carpet tiles my husband imagines he will get around to laying down one day. On the other side, to the right of the stairs, is where the action is happening. When we first moved in, it had rust-coloured carpet sitting on top of bare concrete (not stuck down, or over insulation... just sitting there), and the vilest dark-brown fake wood panelling covering every available inch of wall and ceiling. It was so dark and grim that for the last two years I've not even ventured into the gloom to investigate what's under the stairs. I swear Gollum lived there, muttering about some bloody ring and being generally creepy.
Anyway, in January my in-laws came to visit and drywalled the entire right side of the basement, covering up the wood panelling with clean, bright plasterboard, and ripping up the carpet ready for fresh flooring. It already looks so much nicer, and I'm excited to get down there and start finishing it up. We're having all the lighting re-done today so that the bedroom and closet actually HAVE lights, and getting recessed lights added overhead in the living space because the ceilings are so low. The people who owned the house before us obviously did a lot of this work themselves, because it's taken Sparky the entire morning just to get everything to a state where he can stop ripping out and start installing. There's noise, and dust, and drilling, but progress is good and I think it's going to look so much better when they're done.
Next step: the ceiling!
Oh, and if anyone does want to give us a few million dollars to help speed this process along, please feel free.
Tina.
We only have ourselves to blame. We bought this house in 2009 knowing full well it needed A LOT of work doing to it, and knowing that we had neither the time nor the money to get it all done at once. So here we are, two years later, finally getting around to finishing off the "nice" side of the basement and changing it from a dumping ground for old baby junk and stuff we want to sell this summer in our first-ever Yard Sale (eek! I'm so American!), to a dumping ground for new baby junk and stuff my husband thinks is important. The idea is that all the video games, consoles, too-big-for-the-living-room TV and other assorted gear will now have a place to go, and the upstairs will be a nice place for entertaining guests. We're putting in a fourth bedroom too, although we can't technically call it a bedroom because the only window down there is too small and high up the wall for anyone to escape in an emergency, and another walk-in closet. Hopefully the closet will end up being large enough for future prospective buyers to imagine upgrading it to an en-suite bathroom, but we have neither the need nor the money to do that just yet.
The basement is split into two halves: the side to the left of the stairs houses our washing machine and dryer, all the electrical maintenance and plumbing stuff for the house, the sump pump (if you're British, don't ask), my husband's tools, and shelving for all the boxes of holiday decorations, baby clothes Little O grew out of, and some random carpet tiles my husband imagines he will get around to laying down one day. On the other side, to the right of the stairs, is where the action is happening. When we first moved in, it had rust-coloured carpet sitting on top of bare concrete (not stuck down, or over insulation... just sitting there), and the vilest dark-brown fake wood panelling covering every available inch of wall and ceiling. It was so dark and grim that for the last two years I've not even ventured into the gloom to investigate what's under the stairs. I swear Gollum lived there, muttering about some bloody ring and being generally creepy.
Anyway, in January my in-laws came to visit and drywalled the entire right side of the basement, covering up the wood panelling with clean, bright plasterboard, and ripping up the carpet ready for fresh flooring. It already looks so much nicer, and I'm excited to get down there and start finishing it up. We're having all the lighting re-done today so that the bedroom and closet actually HAVE lights, and getting recessed lights added overhead in the living space because the ceilings are so low. The people who owned the house before us obviously did a lot of this work themselves, because it's taken Sparky the entire morning just to get everything to a state where he can stop ripping out and start installing. There's noise, and dust, and drilling, but progress is good and I think it's going to look so much better when they're done.
Next step: the ceiling!
Oh, and if anyone does want to give us a few million dollars to help speed this process along, please feel free.
Tina.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
3. C is for Complaint
Day three! Things are going well.
When we brought Little O home, some of his... ahem... presents... were left behind so the lab could run some tests. In the event we had further problems at home and would need to bring Little O back for more IV fluids, the lab would already be one step ahead and we would have a clearer picture of what we were dealing with. Well, it turned out that my son actually DID have something else wrong with him: C. Difficile. AGAIN. Jeysus. C. Difficile lives in your gut normally, but is a superbug that is resistant to most antibiotics. If, like Little O, you have been on antibiotics for some other reason (he'd had bronchitis in January), then that can kill a lot of the good bacteria in your system as well as the bad. Because C. Difficile is resistant, however, and the good bacteria is being removed, it has the opportunity to grow quite rapidly and essentially take over the entire gut south of the stomach. This means the good bacteria cannot get back in once the antibiotic treatment has finished, and you get stomach cramps, diarrhea, a fever, etc. If left untreated you can potentially get very, very ill, and it can even kill you.
So, we had to go back to Little O's regular doc and get ANOTHER presciption... which has been successful and we have seen no further signs of illness or diarrhea. At that appointment he also checked Little O's arm and told me how disgusted he was at how it happened. I told him I had very strong feelings about it, but that I was going to be polite and keep my language clean. He suggested I complain to CHOW's Patient Care line, and I told him I already had... :) In fact, after I brought Little O home from the hospital and made sure all of us got a good night's sleep, it was the first thing I did on Thursday morning. I spoke to a very nice chap who listened carefully to my concerns, and then started apologising and apologising, over and over again. I told him that I needed to know that the staff who had treated my son were going to be spoken to, and that this would not happen to another child, and he promised me that all the staff concerned would indeed be "interviewed". Because this might take a while I might not hear back for several weeks, but I have already had a letter at home telling me the investigation is ongoing and that I will be contacted when it is resolved.
Result! Malpractice lawsuit not withstanding, that's basically the best outcome I could hope for. I wanted someone to take my concern seriously, and for the staff at CHOW to know that their neglect (for that is what it was, essentially) did have consequences. It's not as though I could get my money back, or coupons off my next visit (although that would be SWEET, given the cost of healthcare in this country), so making everyone aware that they need to do a better job listening to parents and paying attention to the cries of tiny children in pain is all that matters. Job done.
Little O's arm is now almost healed, two weeks after the incident. We kept applying that magic stuff, Vaseline, to the sore to create a barrier without using cotton wool or gauze (the threads could have gotten stuck to the wound and caused an infection), and it seems to have worked. The swelling took about three days to go down completely, but the scabs fell off earlier this week and we now only have some pinkish scars in the crook of his arm to remind us of that awful day. We also haven't seen any more diarrhea or signs of other gut problems... but we have been giving him more water than usual to help things heal faster anyway. The only problem we have now is that his ear has been draining what looks like green snot... and that isn't a great surprise, seeing as he has a minor cold and ear tubes helping his ear canals keep clear of infection. But it's still REALLY DISGUSTING, and I do gag when it's my turn to clean things up. I can't help it! Blood, poo, wee and vomit I'm fine with. Bogies from the nose, eyes and ears are HORRIBLE and they make me retch. Gah! I'm turning green just thinking about it.
I need to lie down.
Tina.
When we brought Little O home, some of his... ahem... presents... were left behind so the lab could run some tests. In the event we had further problems at home and would need to bring Little O back for more IV fluids, the lab would already be one step ahead and we would have a clearer picture of what we were dealing with. Well, it turned out that my son actually DID have something else wrong with him: C. Difficile. AGAIN. Jeysus. C. Difficile lives in your gut normally, but is a superbug that is resistant to most antibiotics. If, like Little O, you have been on antibiotics for some other reason (he'd had bronchitis in January), then that can kill a lot of the good bacteria in your system as well as the bad. Because C. Difficile is resistant, however, and the good bacteria is being removed, it has the opportunity to grow quite rapidly and essentially take over the entire gut south of the stomach. This means the good bacteria cannot get back in once the antibiotic treatment has finished, and you get stomach cramps, diarrhea, a fever, etc. If left untreated you can potentially get very, very ill, and it can even kill you.
So, we had to go back to Little O's regular doc and get ANOTHER presciption... which has been successful and we have seen no further signs of illness or diarrhea. At that appointment he also checked Little O's arm and told me how disgusted he was at how it happened. I told him I had very strong feelings about it, but that I was going to be polite and keep my language clean. He suggested I complain to CHOW's Patient Care line, and I told him I already had... :) In fact, after I brought Little O home from the hospital and made sure all of us got a good night's sleep, it was the first thing I did on Thursday morning. I spoke to a very nice chap who listened carefully to my concerns, and then started apologising and apologising, over and over again. I told him that I needed to know that the staff who had treated my son were going to be spoken to, and that this would not happen to another child, and he promised me that all the staff concerned would indeed be "interviewed". Because this might take a while I might not hear back for several weeks, but I have already had a letter at home telling me the investigation is ongoing and that I will be contacted when it is resolved.
Result! Malpractice lawsuit not withstanding, that's basically the best outcome I could hope for. I wanted someone to take my concern seriously, and for the staff at CHOW to know that their neglect (for that is what it was, essentially) did have consequences. It's not as though I could get my money back, or coupons off my next visit (although that would be SWEET, given the cost of healthcare in this country), so making everyone aware that they need to do a better job listening to parents and paying attention to the cries of tiny children in pain is all that matters. Job done.
Little O's arm is now almost healed, two weeks after the incident. We kept applying that magic stuff, Vaseline, to the sore to create a barrier without using cotton wool or gauze (the threads could have gotten stuck to the wound and caused an infection), and it seems to have worked. The swelling took about three days to go down completely, but the scabs fell off earlier this week and we now only have some pinkish scars in the crook of his arm to remind us of that awful day. We also haven't seen any more diarrhea or signs of other gut problems... but we have been giving him more water than usual to help things heal faster anyway. The only problem we have now is that his ear has been draining what looks like green snot... and that isn't a great surprise, seeing as he has a minor cold and ear tubes helping his ear canals keep clear of infection. But it's still REALLY DISGUSTING, and I do gag when it's my turn to clean things up. I can't help it! Blood, poo, wee and vomit I'm fine with. Bogies from the nose, eyes and ears are HORRIBLE and they make me retch. Gah! I'm turning green just thinking about it.
I need to lie down.
Tina.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
2. B is for Baby Steps
Okay... day two!
So, we left off with Little O being admitted to CHOW for dehydration following a Rotavirus diagnosis at a different hospital. Well, we finally got settled in our room at about 8pm, which is usually Little O's bedtime, but, as anyone who's ever been admitted to hospital knows, getting through the barrage of tests, questions, medical history and other assorted interruptions, means that it's another several hours before you're left in peace. Finally at around midnight we were left alone for a while, and I managed to get the pull-out couch set up so I could also sleep. However, during the night we were constantly being woken up by nurses and other medical professionals who needed more blood drawn, or vitals taken, or even just medical students 'taking a look' at 4am. It was absolutely absurd, and by 5am I'd given up and got up for the day. I'd had about three hours of sleep, and Little O had had about five.
Because he was so tired and ill, my son was also GRUMPY! I therefore made an executive decision to instruct all medical staff and other busy-bodies to leave us the hell alone after 12pm so we could both nap. Little O was getting sleepy around 12.30pm, but he was finding it hard to drop off and just wanted to roll around and tug on the number of tubes and devices attached to his body. At 1pm he finally succeeded in ripping off the splint that was keeping his arm straight so the IV would stay put, and before I could run over to his bed and stop him, he'd already begun playing with the IV itself. Convinced he'd done some more damage than I could see (with my medically-untrained eyes), I pushed the call button for the nurse and held Little O's hands still until we could fix the bandages, splint and IV. After about 20 mins a different nurse came in from our usual one, took a cursory look at the IV, and announced that she saw nothing wrong with it. I protested, and explained that Little O had definitely been playing with it, but she flushed it a few times and stuck to her guns. Then she wrapped the splint back on his arm so tightly I couldn't see any skin from armpit to fingertip.
Feeling unsure but relieved, I tried to get Little O to sleep again, but he started cycling through patterns of sleeping for about 15 mins, then waking up screaming and being restless. Then he'd tire himself out from screaming so hard he'd fall asleep, and 15 mins later the pattern would start all over again. I was really upset. I was so, so tired, and getting frustrated and worried. I called a nurse in (our usual one, this time) to look at him and she said she'd get a doctor, who never came. Then twice I called for a doctor myself, even going out into the hallway to physically bring one back with me. Doctors are not gods, and no matter how much respect I have for their knowledge, profession, or time, I felt as though I needed to start making a fuss so someone would help me with my son.
At about 2pm I called my husband away from his work and he arrived just after 3pm. The first thing he said when he entered the room was: "Little O is in pain". At around 4.30pm we managed to get some more doctors and med students in to take another look, and both my husband and I told them explicitly that we felt Little O's IV was bothering him, and that he was in pain. Finally one of them agreed to give him Tylenol (paracetamol) and a nurse was sent off to complete the order. At 5pm she came back in to administer the meds, and while she was in the room she checked his IV, for the first time since 1pm. Immediately she said, "This has to come out" and pulled off the gauze, tape and splint to reveal a very swollen little arm. She ripped out the IV and ran out of the room to get some help.
I approached the bed to see what the problem was, and to my horror Little O's arm was so swollen that he could not physically move his fingers. His arm was about three times the size it normally is, and he was SCREAMING in agony. His whole arm, from fingertip to shoulderblade, was absolutely massive. It looked like someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. When the nurse had taken off the adhesive, the skin underneath had been stretched so thin that the tape had taken several layers off with it and left a gaping, weeping wound in the crook of his arm. There were also blisters and burns, and the whole thing was very painful to touch. The IV must have infiltrated about four hours prior, when he'd been playing with it, and the fluid meant to rehydrate him had instead been slowly pooling under the skin, swelling the arm and causing a lot of pain.
Well, I just lost it. I scooped Little O up and started sobbing and sobbing. I disconnected his feeding pump and took him over to the couch for cuddles and kisses, while both us got drenched in tears. My husband began the practical stuff, by getting us pillows and blankets, and applying the warm compresses the nurse had brought in to soothe the pain and start to relieve the swelling. I was able to calm down enough to tell my husband I wanted to take Little O home, because I felt he was being harmed more than healed under CHOW's care, and he immediately agreed with me. We told the nurse our intentions and she got a doctor in to try and talk us out of it. We didn't listen, and prepared to go home.
Before we left, Little O's regular GI doctor stopped by to see us, and recommended getting some stool samples to test on while we were heading home. As it was non-invasive (Little O kindly prepared a "sample" during the discussion), we said it was okay and then left at about 7.30pm.
More on the results of those tests tomorrow... But just one last thought for today: I called this post "Baby Steps" for a reason. One, because Little O is finally learning to walk, and two, because learning how to be an advocate for your child can take you to places you never thought you'd go. Having a nurse ignore your pleas for four hours, and for medical professionals to cause harm by thinking they know your child's patterns of behaviour better than you do, well, it really made me take a few baby steps in a new direction. I have been forced to face up to the fact that I may be seen (or unseen) to be invisible, and for my instincts to be ignored. This has never happened to me before, because most doctors my son sees defer to me on how to take care of him in the best way. However, I am certain, more than ever, that I am the best advocate for my son, and I am certain that I will not take no for an answer next time. I will do better and will be stronger, so that there is never, ever, a "next time" anyway.
Baby steps, baby steps.
Tina.
So, we left off with Little O being admitted to CHOW for dehydration following a Rotavirus diagnosis at a different hospital. Well, we finally got settled in our room at about 8pm, which is usually Little O's bedtime, but, as anyone who's ever been admitted to hospital knows, getting through the barrage of tests, questions, medical history and other assorted interruptions, means that it's another several hours before you're left in peace. Finally at around midnight we were left alone for a while, and I managed to get the pull-out couch set up so I could also sleep. However, during the night we were constantly being woken up by nurses and other medical professionals who needed more blood drawn, or vitals taken, or even just medical students 'taking a look' at 4am. It was absolutely absurd, and by 5am I'd given up and got up for the day. I'd had about three hours of sleep, and Little O had had about five.
Because he was so tired and ill, my son was also GRUMPY! I therefore made an executive decision to instruct all medical staff and other busy-bodies to leave us the hell alone after 12pm so we could both nap. Little O was getting sleepy around 12.30pm, but he was finding it hard to drop off and just wanted to roll around and tug on the number of tubes and devices attached to his body. At 1pm he finally succeeded in ripping off the splint that was keeping his arm straight so the IV would stay put, and before I could run over to his bed and stop him, he'd already begun playing with the IV itself. Convinced he'd done some more damage than I could see (with my medically-untrained eyes), I pushed the call button for the nurse and held Little O's hands still until we could fix the bandages, splint and IV. After about 20 mins a different nurse came in from our usual one, took a cursory look at the IV, and announced that she saw nothing wrong with it. I protested, and explained that Little O had definitely been playing with it, but she flushed it a few times and stuck to her guns. Then she wrapped the splint back on his arm so tightly I couldn't see any skin from armpit to fingertip.
Feeling unsure but relieved, I tried to get Little O to sleep again, but he started cycling through patterns of sleeping for about 15 mins, then waking up screaming and being restless. Then he'd tire himself out from screaming so hard he'd fall asleep, and 15 mins later the pattern would start all over again. I was really upset. I was so, so tired, and getting frustrated and worried. I called a nurse in (our usual one, this time) to look at him and she said she'd get a doctor, who never came. Then twice I called for a doctor myself, even going out into the hallway to physically bring one back with me. Doctors are not gods, and no matter how much respect I have for their knowledge, profession, or time, I felt as though I needed to start making a fuss so someone would help me with my son.
At about 2pm I called my husband away from his work and he arrived just after 3pm. The first thing he said when he entered the room was: "Little O is in pain". At around 4.30pm we managed to get some more doctors and med students in to take another look, and both my husband and I told them explicitly that we felt Little O's IV was bothering him, and that he was in pain. Finally one of them agreed to give him Tylenol (paracetamol) and a nurse was sent off to complete the order. At 5pm she came back in to administer the meds, and while she was in the room she checked his IV, for the first time since 1pm. Immediately she said, "This has to come out" and pulled off the gauze, tape and splint to reveal a very swollen little arm. She ripped out the IV and ran out of the room to get some help.
I approached the bed to see what the problem was, and to my horror Little O's arm was so swollen that he could not physically move his fingers. His arm was about three times the size it normally is, and he was SCREAMING in agony. His whole arm, from fingertip to shoulderblade, was absolutely massive. It looked like someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. When the nurse had taken off the adhesive, the skin underneath had been stretched so thin that the tape had taken several layers off with it and left a gaping, weeping wound in the crook of his arm. There were also blisters and burns, and the whole thing was very painful to touch. The IV must have infiltrated about four hours prior, when he'd been playing with it, and the fluid meant to rehydrate him had instead been slowly pooling under the skin, swelling the arm and causing a lot of pain.
Well, I just lost it. I scooped Little O up and started sobbing and sobbing. I disconnected his feeding pump and took him over to the couch for cuddles and kisses, while both us got drenched in tears. My husband began the practical stuff, by getting us pillows and blankets, and applying the warm compresses the nurse had brought in to soothe the pain and start to relieve the swelling. I was able to calm down enough to tell my husband I wanted to take Little O home, because I felt he was being harmed more than healed under CHOW's care, and he immediately agreed with me. We told the nurse our intentions and she got a doctor in to try and talk us out of it. We didn't listen, and prepared to go home.
Before we left, Little O's regular GI doctor stopped by to see us, and recommended getting some stool samples to test on while we were heading home. As it was non-invasive (Little O kindly prepared a "sample" during the discussion), we said it was okay and then left at about 7.30pm.
More on the results of those tests tomorrow... But just one last thought for today: I called this post "Baby Steps" for a reason. One, because Little O is finally learning to walk, and two, because learning how to be an advocate for your child can take you to places you never thought you'd go. Having a nurse ignore your pleas for four hours, and for medical professionals to cause harm by thinking they know your child's patterns of behaviour better than you do, well, it really made me take a few baby steps in a new direction. I have been forced to face up to the fact that I may be seen (or unseen) to be invisible, and for my instincts to be ignored. This has never happened to me before, because most doctors my son sees defer to me on how to take care of him in the best way. However, I am certain, more than ever, that I am the best advocate for my son, and I am certain that I will not take no for an answer next time. I will do better and will be stronger, so that there is never, ever, a "next time" anyway.
Baby steps, baby steps.
Tina.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
1. A is for Announcement
Well! This marks the 100th post on this blog, and with it comes an announcement: for the entire month of March I will attempt to post every single day, so that I get back into the habit of regular updates.
I'm hoping to use each letter of the English alphabet, with perhaps a few Welsh characters thrown in at the end to take me to 31 days. Welsh, or French, or anything else that takes my fancy on the way... I haven't decided yet.
So let's get started.
Since I was last on here, I have had (and now stopped) a full-time job. Little O was in full-time daycare as a result, and in addition to the never-ending guilt I felt about that, it also meant he was exposed to far more germs and beastly beasties than he ever was at home. He got sick so often, and so severely, that by Friday, February 11th, I'd had enough. As I was taking him in to the local ER, and he was being admitted overnight again, I reassessed my priorities and decided I would not be going back to work on Monday. I went in to clear my desk on Sunday and wrote a formal e-mail (gosh, how modern of me) to my boss explaining my decision. She was absolutely wonderful about it and said I'd get a glowing reference if and when I needed one. However, it was a real turning point, and the culmination of five weeks of illness for my little boy. He had been ill with a cough before Christmas which turned into bad asthma... and that then turned into bronchitis in January... which then went back to being bad asthma again... then he got double ear infections... twice... and then in mid-Feb he came down with similar symptoms he'd had last October (remember that?). Not willing to risk more hospital treatments, I took him in to the ER to be proactive and nip whatever it was in the bud, and he was admitted anyway. Sigh.
They ran all manner of tests on him overnight and the results came back Saturday afternoon saying he had Rotavirus. It's something they vaccinate for here in the USA, although my folks back home have never even heard of it. And yes, Little O WAS vaccinated. But his immune system has a hard time making antibodies and keeping him healthy, so his defences against this rather unpleasant virus weren't exactly solid. Anyway, armed with this knowledge we came home on a different feeding schedule with extra fluids, and did our best to keep him hydrated at home. It worked, until I felt he was looking and acting a bit peaky ("peaky" is not an American expression, apparently. Trying to describe your child's status as "a bit peaky" to an American doctor gives you both an education...), and I took him in to CHOW's ER for some more IV fluids. And, of course, they admitted him again. When will I learn? Sigh.
...and because I need something to post about tomorrow, I will leave it on that tantilising note for now. See you tomorrow!
Tina.
I'm hoping to use each letter of the English alphabet, with perhaps a few Welsh characters thrown in at the end to take me to 31 days. Welsh, or French, or anything else that takes my fancy on the way... I haven't decided yet.
So let's get started.
Since I was last on here, I have had (and now stopped) a full-time job. Little O was in full-time daycare as a result, and in addition to the never-ending guilt I felt about that, it also meant he was exposed to far more germs and beastly beasties than he ever was at home. He got sick so often, and so severely, that by Friday, February 11th, I'd had enough. As I was taking him in to the local ER, and he was being admitted overnight again, I reassessed my priorities and decided I would not be going back to work on Monday. I went in to clear my desk on Sunday and wrote a formal e-mail (gosh, how modern of me) to my boss explaining my decision. She was absolutely wonderful about it and said I'd get a glowing reference if and when I needed one. However, it was a real turning point, and the culmination of five weeks of illness for my little boy. He had been ill with a cough before Christmas which turned into bad asthma... and that then turned into bronchitis in January... which then went back to being bad asthma again... then he got double ear infections... twice... and then in mid-Feb he came down with similar symptoms he'd had last October (remember that?). Not willing to risk more hospital treatments, I took him in to the ER to be proactive and nip whatever it was in the bud, and he was admitted anyway. Sigh.
They ran all manner of tests on him overnight and the results came back Saturday afternoon saying he had Rotavirus. It's something they vaccinate for here in the USA, although my folks back home have never even heard of it. And yes, Little O WAS vaccinated. But his immune system has a hard time making antibodies and keeping him healthy, so his defences against this rather unpleasant virus weren't exactly solid. Anyway, armed with this knowledge we came home on a different feeding schedule with extra fluids, and did our best to keep him hydrated at home. It worked, until I felt he was looking and acting a bit peaky ("peaky" is not an American expression, apparently. Trying to describe your child's status as "a bit peaky" to an American doctor gives you both an education...), and I took him in to CHOW's ER for some more IV fluids. And, of course, they admitted him again. When will I learn? Sigh.
...and because I need something to post about tomorrow, I will leave it on that tantilising note for now. See you tomorrow!
Tina.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Let's catch up, shall we?
Ha! The last post I wrote on here was called My newly insane life, and how apt that turned out to be. My apologies for not having updated recently, but... well... it's been a bit insane.
When I last wrote, my son was still in the hospital, recieving IV fluids for dehydration and the stomach flu. It was a Thursday, if I recall correctly. Well, my own father flew in from the UK to spend time with us that Saturday, and it was the same day Little O was discharged. He came home to see his Grandad, and we were thrilled his doctor thought he was well enough to come home back on a regular feeding schedule. We were all looking forward to getting some sleep, some food, and spending time with my dad.
That night, Little O took a turn for the worse, and we ended up being rushed to CHOW on Sunday afternoon by ambulance so he could be re-admitted up there. It was scary to be told your child was in a worse state than ever, just 24 hours after being discharged. His stomach flu and dehydration had led to a critical inbalance of electrolytes, and everyone was very concerned. It wasn't until later that I finally had time to sit and think about everything, but it scares me now to consider the possibilities of what could have happened if we hadn't taken him in again. It's possible we could have lost him.
The doctors on-call up at CHOW told us they would not be releasing him until they were 100% sure he had fully recovered, which implied they felt the staff at All Saints hadn't done their jobs properly and had fixed the symptoms, not the cause. Little O had blood drawn every hour until he screamed because his veins were so bruised and sore, and his diapers were weighed constantly to see how much fluid he was putting out. The most frightening score I saw was his weight. Before he was ill, Little O had worked hard to get to 25lb; when he was admitted to All Saints, he had dropped to 22lb, and when they took an initial set of measurements at CHOW only a few days later, he was between 18 and 19lb. For a little boy like that, losing 6lb is a scary, scary amount. Most of it was fluid, which he put on again fairly quickly with the IV rehydration, but it's still a significant part of this whole ordeal.
When he started getting better properly, the doctors told me what they thought was going on. Initially they suspected C. Difficile, which Little O had a few months ago, and we all had to wear protective gowns, masks, and gloves when he touched him. (I didn't, because I'm his mother and I thought it was ridiculous to wear protection after changing dirty diapers for over a week with bare hands.) Then those tests came back negative after 48 hours, which meant they settled on a diagnosis of several components:
1. Borderline compromised immune system
2. Catches stomach flu, like anyone else
3. Body can't fight off the flu easily because of the compromised immune system
4. Parents continue to feed liquid nutrition and fluids as instructed by healthcare staff
5. Body tries to absorb fluids but is also fighting off flu still
6. Fluids cannot be absorbed, so get 'washed out' of gut
7. As fluids pass through, they also wash out all the 'good' bacteria and enzymes, which cannot get a good grip because they body is still fighting the flu
8. No enzymes or bactera = no absorbtion = dehydration
9. Dehydration makes the diarrhea worse
10. Diarrhea makes the dehydration worse, which makes the diarrhea worse, which makes the dehydration worse... etc...
So, once Little O was discharged from All Saints and came home on a normal feeding routine again, his body actually couldn't cope and the dehydration got worse. In order to break the cycle, all food and fluids had to be stopped, and Little O had to be maintained on IV fluids only. It worked after 72 hours and we managed to get his body to accept small amounts of Pedialyte and formula again by Wednesday afternoon. He was discharged late on Thursday, after being in the hospital for five days (eight, if you include All Saints). He now has a different feeding plan altogether, and different liquid nutrition. It seems to be working, although it's a shame the new formula is made by Nestle, because Nestle is evil. I'm choosing my battles though, and have accepted this minor inconvenience because it's literally keeping my son alive. Hopefully it's not forever and he can move onto something less annoying as he continues to recover.
So, I went back to work and things pottered along for a bit until Little O got his cast. Remember that? He's wearing a cast for 3-6 months to help improve his scoliosis, and then a brace for another 3-6 months to keep his spine in place as he grows. The cast is incredibly heavy, and bright green. It's also a bitch to keep clean, as it comes down very low on the back - almost to Little O's tailbone. Because Little O has very loose poops anyway (which are further exacerbated by an overgrowth of bacteria in the small intestine, for which he is now on Flagyl for), the diapers cannot contain everything they need to. We've had to actually change diaper brands from Target (cheap, and we've never had a problem with them) to Pampers (horrifically expensive) because they're smaller, lighter, and use a different system of keeping the contents of diapers in its place. It's all very disgusting and technical, and it's such a colossal pain in the neck to deal with. Changing diapers isn't particularly enjoyable at the best of times, but trying to change one that cannot be secured in the usual manner because there's a giant fucking plaster cast in the way just gets ridiculous. Thankfully most of Little O's blowouts happen in the middle of the day, so the daycare staff have to deal with it more than we do. Small mercies, right?
There's more to say but I'm all typed-out for now. I shall endevour to provide another update shortly on the highs and lows of being back at work while juggling more freelance projects than I've ever had at any one time, and sinking further back into a grey depressive state (mmm... meds...), but for now I shall leave it here. Little O is home, and healthy(-ish), and it's nearly Christmas. I am thankful.
Tina.
When I last wrote, my son was still in the hospital, recieving IV fluids for dehydration and the stomach flu. It was a Thursday, if I recall correctly. Well, my own father flew in from the UK to spend time with us that Saturday, and it was the same day Little O was discharged. He came home to see his Grandad, and we were thrilled his doctor thought he was well enough to come home back on a regular feeding schedule. We were all looking forward to getting some sleep, some food, and spending time with my dad.
That night, Little O took a turn for the worse, and we ended up being rushed to CHOW on Sunday afternoon by ambulance so he could be re-admitted up there. It was scary to be told your child was in a worse state than ever, just 24 hours after being discharged. His stomach flu and dehydration had led to a critical inbalance of electrolytes, and everyone was very concerned. It wasn't until later that I finally had time to sit and think about everything, but it scares me now to consider the possibilities of what could have happened if we hadn't taken him in again. It's possible we could have lost him.
The doctors on-call up at CHOW told us they would not be releasing him until they were 100% sure he had fully recovered, which implied they felt the staff at All Saints hadn't done their jobs properly and had fixed the symptoms, not the cause. Little O had blood drawn every hour until he screamed because his veins were so bruised and sore, and his diapers were weighed constantly to see how much fluid he was putting out. The most frightening score I saw was his weight. Before he was ill, Little O had worked hard to get to 25lb; when he was admitted to All Saints, he had dropped to 22lb, and when they took an initial set of measurements at CHOW only a few days later, he was between 18 and 19lb. For a little boy like that, losing 6lb is a scary, scary amount. Most of it was fluid, which he put on again fairly quickly with the IV rehydration, but it's still a significant part of this whole ordeal.
When he started getting better properly, the doctors told me what they thought was going on. Initially they suspected C. Difficile, which Little O had a few months ago, and we all had to wear protective gowns, masks, and gloves when he touched him. (I didn't, because I'm his mother and I thought it was ridiculous to wear protection after changing dirty diapers for over a week with bare hands.) Then those tests came back negative after 48 hours, which meant they settled on a diagnosis of several components:
1. Borderline compromised immune system
2. Catches stomach flu, like anyone else
3. Body can't fight off the flu easily because of the compromised immune system
4. Parents continue to feed liquid nutrition and fluids as instructed by healthcare staff
5. Body tries to absorb fluids but is also fighting off flu still
6. Fluids cannot be absorbed, so get 'washed out' of gut
7. As fluids pass through, they also wash out all the 'good' bacteria and enzymes, which cannot get a good grip because they body is still fighting the flu
8. No enzymes or bactera = no absorbtion = dehydration
9. Dehydration makes the diarrhea worse
10. Diarrhea makes the dehydration worse, which makes the diarrhea worse, which makes the dehydration worse... etc...
So, once Little O was discharged from All Saints and came home on a normal feeding routine again, his body actually couldn't cope and the dehydration got worse. In order to break the cycle, all food and fluids had to be stopped, and Little O had to be maintained on IV fluids only. It worked after 72 hours and we managed to get his body to accept small amounts of Pedialyte and formula again by Wednesday afternoon. He was discharged late on Thursday, after being in the hospital for five days (eight, if you include All Saints). He now has a different feeding plan altogether, and different liquid nutrition. It seems to be working, although it's a shame the new formula is made by Nestle, because Nestle is evil. I'm choosing my battles though, and have accepted this minor inconvenience because it's literally keeping my son alive. Hopefully it's not forever and he can move onto something less annoying as he continues to recover.
So, I went back to work and things pottered along for a bit until Little O got his cast. Remember that? He's wearing a cast for 3-6 months to help improve his scoliosis, and then a brace for another 3-6 months to keep his spine in place as he grows. The cast is incredibly heavy, and bright green. It's also a bitch to keep clean, as it comes down very low on the back - almost to Little O's tailbone. Because Little O has very loose poops anyway (which are further exacerbated by an overgrowth of bacteria in the small intestine, for which he is now on Flagyl for), the diapers cannot contain everything they need to. We've had to actually change diaper brands from Target (cheap, and we've never had a problem with them) to Pampers (horrifically expensive) because they're smaller, lighter, and use a different system of keeping the contents of diapers in its place. It's all very disgusting and technical, and it's such a colossal pain in the neck to deal with. Changing diapers isn't particularly enjoyable at the best of times, but trying to change one that cannot be secured in the usual manner because there's a giant fucking plaster cast in the way just gets ridiculous. Thankfully most of Little O's blowouts happen in the middle of the day, so the daycare staff have to deal with it more than we do. Small mercies, right?
There's more to say but I'm all typed-out for now. I shall endevour to provide another update shortly on the highs and lows of being back at work while juggling more freelance projects than I've ever had at any one time, and sinking further back into a grey depressive state (mmm... meds...), but for now I shall leave it here. Little O is home, and healthy(-ish), and it's nearly Christmas. I am thankful.
Tina.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
My newly insane life
Wow. My life in the last few weeks has taken such a dramatic turnabout that I'm exhausted just sitting here typing it out. And I'm not complaining, either... it's just... different.
So, I got the job I wanted, and I organised my life around a brand new routine. I organised it. Me. Not my husband; not my friends or family. Me. I, and I alone, set up Little O's new daycare arrangements; I called my mother-in-law to come out for two weeks to help us transition everything; I got the job and bought new work clothes; I researched the best route for avoiding traffic; and I typed up the daily instruction sheets for Little O's carers to follow. It has been a bit of a marathon, to be honest, but I felt as though life was slowly coming together this weekend when my mother-in-law returned home and my husband and I were facing our first week of full-time employment and daycare simultaneously.
Then Little O got sick.
Saturday morning he came down with the most unpleasant stomach flu I've ever seen, and by Sunday he had a raging fever and kindly donated his germs to his parents. My husband and I therefore came down with the same stomach flu, which crippled us entirely and made the entire house stink of illness, poo, vomit, and stale laundry. We both took Monday off, which would normally have been something to celebrate, but instead we just rolled around the living room carpet in a state of helpless misery. It was like being pregnant again, but this time my husband felt just as bad and was no help whatsoever. Incidentally... my husband is NOT good at being ill. Our cat developed a limp over the weekend, to add further insult to injury, so seeing as we had taken the day off, I sucked up my stale, sickly breath, and took him to the vet. I also ran to get some groceries and made soup for lunch... all before 12pm and while having stomach cramps from the flu bug. I returned home to find my husband laying pathetically on the couch, a quivering hand extended in my direction to pass him a sip of water for his parched throat. He hadn't done a single thing in my absence.
That man got no sympathy. He also got no sympathy when I got a phone call telling me Little O's glasses had arrived and we needed to take him down to the opticians the same day to get them fitted correctly. My husband did not want to come, but there was no way in hell I was doing ALL the chores by myself so he grumpily accompanied me.
So, bearing all this unpleasantness in mind, Monday evening came around with a significant improvement in mine and my husband's health, but none in Little O's. In fact, he seemed worse than on Saturday. We gave him a nice warm bath and attempted to put him into bed for an early night, but he seemed so fitful and restless that I decided to take him into Prompt Care. My husband was extremely reluctant, but I had a niggling feeling that all wasn't right, so I got my way and off we set. When we arrived we were seen by a nurse and then a doctor, who both agreed Little O needed some blood tests and possibly IV fluids to get him feeling better. We don't like the ER attached to our local Prompt Care (been there before and they look at Little O like he's a fuckin' unicorn), so we told the nice doctor we'd take him up to CHOW to their children's ER instead.
WELL!! On the way home, my husband said he didn't want to go all the way to Milwaukee (a good 40 min drive away) only to sit in an ER all night and be told nothing was wrong, so he turned the car into our house. I understood. He felt unwell. I felt unwell. Little O needed fluids, which we could give him at home via his feeding pump. After all, one of the advantages to having to feed a child with a pump is that you can keep them hydrated even when they're refusing to eat or drink. I understood. I strongly disagreed, but I understood. I pointed out that I've never once been wrong about taking Little O in to be seen, and I've never created an emergency where there hasn't been one. I've always trusted my instincts, and they've always been right.
But I understood. And I let it slide. I agreed, against my better judgement, against my Mama-instincts, against everything my heart and head were telling me, to keep Little O at home in his own bed and to allow my husband's body time to fully recover. (Never mind the fact I was also still feeling shit - I'd sorta forgotten about that in all the fuss over my baby's health.) We spent the night at home and I took Tuesday off work to give Little O some extra care and love. By this point, I must have changed over 100 diapers in about 72 hours, and they were still coming strong. My baby's bottom was red and raw and he was so fussy and irritable that he was almost inconsolable non-stop.
By Wednesday morning I decided to take him into daycare and go back to work myself. I felt miserable having to choose work over him, but I've just started a new job! What else was I supposed to do? It also isn't helped my the fact my husband leaves for work at 5.30am, two whole hours before I do. If Little O is sick, he won't know about it until he's already been at work for several hours... so I have to make the decision. Anyway, I told the daycare to call my husband with any concerns as he was 'on duty', and drove in.
Around 3pm I got a call saying Little O had a fever. The daycare called my husband but he wasn't answering either his cell phone or his work number, and they really felt Little O needed to be seen by a doctor immediately. I was SO angry! I'd been fretting and worrying all day about my baby; why hadn't my husband?! Why wasn't his cell phone glued to his head? Why wasn't he chewing his nails to the quick every time his work phone rang? I was so mad I had him paged. The last time I did that I was in premature labor, so he knew something was up when I finally got him on the phone. And he left work. Immediately. Because he had no other choice.
Little O was admitted to hospital Wednesday night for severe dehydration and dangerously high sodium levels. I'm typing this out on my laptop in a hospital room while he naps peacefully, comfortable for the first time in nearly a week. It's Thursday afternoon and he's hopefully coming home tomorrow. I feel three things: 1) Anger towards my husband for not taking Little O to CHOW on Monday night; 2) Guilt at my own decision to keep him at home, despite my instincts telling me otherwise; and 3) Happiness that Little O is finally getting the help and comfort that he needs to feel better. But mainly anger and guilt.
I spent the night here; my husband went home. I took today and tomorrow off; my husband plans on working a full shift both days. I am proactive in seeking out support and assistance; my husband won't even speak to his HR team about FMLA law. It's deeply, deeply upsetting that I am still expected to carry the burden of Little O's care while also holding down (or not) a full-time job. Right now I'm seriously considering quitting work. I don't want to, but I also don't want to be 'that' employee who always has to take time off for her child. I don't want to get fired. I don't want that on my record. I don't want to let my new employers down, who have been wonderful and kind and generous, but whose patience will not last forever.
I was so invigorated starting a new job. Today I feel utterly exhausted again, and back in the same place I was a month ago.
Tina.
(I wish this were a happier post, but it isn't. So I'll round it off with a happy ending instead: Happy Anniversary, Anthea and Husband! Four years of marriage, and ten years together. Well done you.)
So, I got the job I wanted, and I organised my life around a brand new routine. I organised it. Me. Not my husband; not my friends or family. Me. I, and I alone, set up Little O's new daycare arrangements; I called my mother-in-law to come out for two weeks to help us transition everything; I got the job and bought new work clothes; I researched the best route for avoiding traffic; and I typed up the daily instruction sheets for Little O's carers to follow. It has been a bit of a marathon, to be honest, but I felt as though life was slowly coming together this weekend when my mother-in-law returned home and my husband and I were facing our first week of full-time employment and daycare simultaneously.
Then Little O got sick.
Saturday morning he came down with the most unpleasant stomach flu I've ever seen, and by Sunday he had a raging fever and kindly donated his germs to his parents. My husband and I therefore came down with the same stomach flu, which crippled us entirely and made the entire house stink of illness, poo, vomit, and stale laundry. We both took Monday off, which would normally have been something to celebrate, but instead we just rolled around the living room carpet in a state of helpless misery. It was like being pregnant again, but this time my husband felt just as bad and was no help whatsoever. Incidentally... my husband is NOT good at being ill. Our cat developed a limp over the weekend, to add further insult to injury, so seeing as we had taken the day off, I sucked up my stale, sickly breath, and took him to the vet. I also ran to get some groceries and made soup for lunch... all before 12pm and while having stomach cramps from the flu bug. I returned home to find my husband laying pathetically on the couch, a quivering hand extended in my direction to pass him a sip of water for his parched throat. He hadn't done a single thing in my absence.
That man got no sympathy. He also got no sympathy when I got a phone call telling me Little O's glasses had arrived and we needed to take him down to the opticians the same day to get them fitted correctly. My husband did not want to come, but there was no way in hell I was doing ALL the chores by myself so he grumpily accompanied me.
So, bearing all this unpleasantness in mind, Monday evening came around with a significant improvement in mine and my husband's health, but none in Little O's. In fact, he seemed worse than on Saturday. We gave him a nice warm bath and attempted to put him into bed for an early night, but he seemed so fitful and restless that I decided to take him into Prompt Care. My husband was extremely reluctant, but I had a niggling feeling that all wasn't right, so I got my way and off we set. When we arrived we were seen by a nurse and then a doctor, who both agreed Little O needed some blood tests and possibly IV fluids to get him feeling better. We don't like the ER attached to our local Prompt Care (been there before and they look at Little O like he's a fuckin' unicorn), so we told the nice doctor we'd take him up to CHOW to their children's ER instead.
WELL!! On the way home, my husband said he didn't want to go all the way to Milwaukee (a good 40 min drive away) only to sit in an ER all night and be told nothing was wrong, so he turned the car into our house. I understood. He felt unwell. I felt unwell. Little O needed fluids, which we could give him at home via his feeding pump. After all, one of the advantages to having to feed a child with a pump is that you can keep them hydrated even when they're refusing to eat or drink. I understood. I strongly disagreed, but I understood. I pointed out that I've never once been wrong about taking Little O in to be seen, and I've never created an emergency where there hasn't been one. I've always trusted my instincts, and they've always been right.
But I understood. And I let it slide. I agreed, against my better judgement, against my Mama-instincts, against everything my heart and head were telling me, to keep Little O at home in his own bed and to allow my husband's body time to fully recover. (Never mind the fact I was also still feeling shit - I'd sorta forgotten about that in all the fuss over my baby's health.) We spent the night at home and I took Tuesday off work to give Little O some extra care and love. By this point, I must have changed over 100 diapers in about 72 hours, and they were still coming strong. My baby's bottom was red and raw and he was so fussy and irritable that he was almost inconsolable non-stop.
By Wednesday morning I decided to take him into daycare and go back to work myself. I felt miserable having to choose work over him, but I've just started a new job! What else was I supposed to do? It also isn't helped my the fact my husband leaves for work at 5.30am, two whole hours before I do. If Little O is sick, he won't know about it until he's already been at work for several hours... so I have to make the decision. Anyway, I told the daycare to call my husband with any concerns as he was 'on duty', and drove in.
Around 3pm I got a call saying Little O had a fever. The daycare called my husband but he wasn't answering either his cell phone or his work number, and they really felt Little O needed to be seen by a doctor immediately. I was SO angry! I'd been fretting and worrying all day about my baby; why hadn't my husband?! Why wasn't his cell phone glued to his head? Why wasn't he chewing his nails to the quick every time his work phone rang? I was so mad I had him paged. The last time I did that I was in premature labor, so he knew something was up when I finally got him on the phone. And he left work. Immediately. Because he had no other choice.
Little O was admitted to hospital Wednesday night for severe dehydration and dangerously high sodium levels. I'm typing this out on my laptop in a hospital room while he naps peacefully, comfortable for the first time in nearly a week. It's Thursday afternoon and he's hopefully coming home tomorrow. I feel three things: 1) Anger towards my husband for not taking Little O to CHOW on Monday night; 2) Guilt at my own decision to keep him at home, despite my instincts telling me otherwise; and 3) Happiness that Little O is finally getting the help and comfort that he needs to feel better. But mainly anger and guilt.
I spent the night here; my husband went home. I took today and tomorrow off; my husband plans on working a full shift both days. I am proactive in seeking out support and assistance; my husband won't even speak to his HR team about FMLA law. It's deeply, deeply upsetting that I am still expected to carry the burden of Little O's care while also holding down (or not) a full-time job. Right now I'm seriously considering quitting work. I don't want to, but I also don't want to be 'that' employee who always has to take time off for her child. I don't want to get fired. I don't want that on my record. I don't want to let my new employers down, who have been wonderful and kind and generous, but whose patience will not last forever.
I was so invigorated starting a new job. Today I feel utterly exhausted again, and back in the same place I was a month ago.
Tina.
(I wish this were a happier post, but it isn't. So I'll round it off with a happy ending instead: Happy Anniversary, Anthea and Husband! Four years of marriage, and ten years together. Well done you.)
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Why do I even care what you think, anyway?
As we know, I am telling quite a lot of people about my current pregnancy, and when I do so, I have developed the need to follow the news up with the information that I don't intend to have any more.
This is because I want to pre-empt them thinking that I'm some kind of manic breeder, who either has no idea how to use contraceptives, or who is some martyr who just wants to devote herself to discomfort and the needs of others, I dunno. Well, what's wrong with either of those? It's not a sin to have children. It's not a sin to have 12 children! But I still don't want to be perceived as either of them, for some reason.
Yes, the pregnancies have followed in somewhat quick succession, but they're not really that close compared to, say, me and my sister, or my husband and his brother. These babies will be 23 months apart, perfectly respectable. There were many reasons why I chose to have a baby at this time, to do with my age, my career at this point, my finances and the desire for S to have a sibling he could have fun with. These were my reasons, dammit! Nothing to do with what anyone else thinks! Yes, there have been gasps of, "Oh! You didn't give yourself much breathing space did you?!" and, "Congratulations, you mad thing!" but who gives a crap what they think?
Apparently I do. And I was unable to stop myself from frowning and muttering, "Well, it's a lot to put your body through..." when judgy friend from a few posts back mentioned that she had stopped using contraception. (She has two children under the age of 2). I'm telling myself I was just getting my own back for her calling me silly the other week.
But really, have I too absorbed society's message that procreation and women's pregnant bodies and childbirth are obscene and that they should be controlled and constrained? Probably.
Anthea
This is because I want to pre-empt them thinking that I'm some kind of manic breeder, who either has no idea how to use contraceptives, or who is some martyr who just wants to devote herself to discomfort and the needs of others, I dunno. Well, what's wrong with either of those? It's not a sin to have children. It's not a sin to have 12 children! But I still don't want to be perceived as either of them, for some reason.
Yes, the pregnancies have followed in somewhat quick succession, but they're not really that close compared to, say, me and my sister, or my husband and his brother. These babies will be 23 months apart, perfectly respectable. There were many reasons why I chose to have a baby at this time, to do with my age, my career at this point, my finances and the desire for S to have a sibling he could have fun with. These were my reasons, dammit! Nothing to do with what anyone else thinks! Yes, there have been gasps of, "Oh! You didn't give yourself much breathing space did you?!" and, "Congratulations, you mad thing!" but who gives a crap what they think?
Apparently I do. And I was unable to stop myself from frowning and muttering, "Well, it's a lot to put your body through..." when judgy friend from a few posts back mentioned that she had stopped using contraception. (She has two children under the age of 2). I'm telling myself I was just getting my own back for her calling me silly the other week.
But really, have I too absorbed society's message that procreation and women's pregnant bodies and childbirth are obscene and that they should be controlled and constrained? Probably.
Anthea
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
I got it I got it I got it I got it
I got the job! :)
Of course I did. Why wouldn't I? As one of the interviewers pointed out, I'm more than qualified and I know I interview really well. But still, the nerves always get to me and for days before the event I practiced my answers to questions while on the bog, or driving, or waiting for Little O to stop screaming like a banshee and go the fluck to sleep. But I digress. It was lovely to finally be back in a work environment, and now we move on to the next phase of sorting out Little O's daycare arrangements.
My husband's mother is coming to stay with us next week to learn the ropes of looking after Little O, and to help us out while I start my new position. Initially we thought we were going to need her from Monday 4th Oct, but there was a huge balls-up with the drug test this afternoon and now I won't be able to start until Wednesday. But no matter: it's nice that she's able (and willing, more importantly) to drop everything and visit us while we're in need. Very, very nice. The drug test incident, to clarify, wasn't an error on MY part. I'm drug free. In fact, the last pot I smoked was before Little O was even conceived, so it's not as though I'm having to wait to re-take the test or something. No, the problem was that I arrived at the testing centre (center, I suppose) with a small child in tow. Apparently some "parents" - I use the term loosely - have used their child's urine in place of their own to avoid detection, so now kids aren't allowed in. I asked if Little O could stay outside the bathroom while I completed the test, but they don't have liability insurance or waivers so that wasn't allowed either. So I was told to go away and find child care arrangements, and then come back by myself. The whole thing is so infuriating, because if I'd been able to find someone to look after Little O this week, I would have started the new job earlier... grr...
Anyway, I'm taking the test Friday morning before my husband and I take Little O to get the results of his MRI test, so now the drug test results won't be available until Tuesday, which means I can't start until Wednesday. I'm sure it doesn't send the greatest message to my new employers, but quite frankly they can lump it. THEY'RE the ones who want my pee so badly, so they can jolly well wait until I'm ready to give it to them.
But I am excited. And it's a contract-to-permanent position, which means even if they choose not to renew the contract come February, I already know in advance and can start looking forbetter paid other work. Plus, if we do decide to have another baby (took a test or seven and I'm NOT currently pregnant... which is a bit of a relief now this job's come up) then I can take the third trimester easy at home, sitting on a comfortable cushion of hard-earned dollar bills, yo.
Yay for me! I think Little O's good luck charm worked. :)
Tina.
Of course I did. Why wouldn't I? As one of the interviewers pointed out, I'm more than qualified and I know I interview really well. But still, the nerves always get to me and for days before the event I practiced my answers to questions while on the bog, or driving, or waiting for Little O to stop screaming like a banshee and go the fluck to sleep. But I digress. It was lovely to finally be back in a work environment, and now we move on to the next phase of sorting out Little O's daycare arrangements.
My husband's mother is coming to stay with us next week to learn the ropes of looking after Little O, and to help us out while I start my new position. Initially we thought we were going to need her from Monday 4th Oct, but there was a huge balls-up with the drug test this afternoon and now I won't be able to start until Wednesday. But no matter: it's nice that she's able (and willing, more importantly) to drop everything and visit us while we're in need. Very, very nice. The drug test incident, to clarify, wasn't an error on MY part. I'm drug free. In fact, the last pot I smoked was before Little O was even conceived, so it's not as though I'm having to wait to re-take the test or something. No, the problem was that I arrived at the testing centre (center, I suppose) with a small child in tow. Apparently some "parents" - I use the term loosely - have used their child's urine in place of their own to avoid detection, so now kids aren't allowed in. I asked if Little O could stay outside the bathroom while I completed the test, but they don't have liability insurance or waivers so that wasn't allowed either. So I was told to go away and find child care arrangements, and then come back by myself. The whole thing is so infuriating, because if I'd been able to find someone to look after Little O this week, I would have started the new job earlier... grr...
Anyway, I'm taking the test Friday morning before my husband and I take Little O to get the results of his MRI test, so now the drug test results won't be available until Tuesday, which means I can't start until Wednesday. I'm sure it doesn't send the greatest message to my new employers, but quite frankly they can lump it. THEY'RE the ones who want my pee so badly, so they can jolly well wait until I'm ready to give it to them.
But I am excited. And it's a contract-to-permanent position, which means even if they choose not to renew the contract come February, I already know in advance and can start looking for
Yay for me! I think Little O's good luck charm worked. :)
Tina.
Monday, September 27, 2010
The greatest good luck charm EVER
This evening Little O said "Mama" for the very first time. I have my interview this week and it's the greatest good luck charm I've ever had. He's so cute when he says his Ms; he approaches them cautiously, as though he's warming up: "Aaaaa hhhhmmm mmmmaaaa". He likes to practice them in the car while we listen to music, and sometimes he even hums along and dances to the beat.
Tonight was the first time he really responded to me saying "Mama" to him though, because after copying me a few times and getting out a couple of "Mmmmaaa" sounds, he suddenly went "Mama", completely out of the blue. What a wonderful feeling, to hear your child say your name.
I was so happy I cried.
Tina.
Tonight was the first time he really responded to me saying "Mama" to him though, because after copying me a few times and getting out a couple of "Mmmmaaa" sounds, he suddenly went "Mama", completely out of the blue. What a wonderful feeling, to hear your child say your name.
I was so happy I cried.
Tina.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
I got an interview! Like Butterfly Charlie, I'm not going to say more about it just yet, but I'm pretty hopeful.
Now I just need to sort out a babysitter for Little O. Hope my husband bucks his ideas up a little and helps me find a solution...
Now I just need to sort out a babysitter for Little O. Hope my husband bucks his ideas up a little and helps me find a solution...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The big secret
I'm about 6 weeks pregnant, I think, and have told a lot of people. I told my family immediately. I found out on a Saturday, and told everyone at work on the Monday. I haven't told many friends, just a close few. Any others I'm going to tell as and when I see them. I'll do the big Facebook broadcast once I've had my first scan.
Last time I was pregnant, I was horribly sick - puking most mornings, the works. I came in late, left early and was a fetching shade of green. As a primary school teacher, the majority of my colleagues are women and as such many of them are mothers. Most people suspected I was pregnant and grilled my closest work friends about it (who denied all knowledge, bless 'em). But no-one actually came and spoke to me! Everyone was talking about me, but no-one was talking to me! The stupid thing is, if anybody had approached me and said, "are you pregnant?" I would have answered, "yes, but please keep it to yourself".
I posted here:
http://thegoodbodies.blogspot.com/2008/10/and-puking-began-here.html
about how unfair it is that during the first trimester, the time when you feel the worst and need the most support, you are not supposed to tell anyone. The reasons for this are that something like 95% of miscarriages happen some time in the first 12 weeks. So presumably, you wouldn't want to follow up the exciting announcement of a pregnancy with the sad one of a miscarriage.
Or would you? In a workplace full of women, mothers, children and family problems, my colleagues are a fabulous support network. We see each other through private and professional dramas, and rally round when somone is having a crisis, however large or small. In fact, I think that if I were to suffer a miscarriage - which is not that likely anyway, I'm not in any of the high-risk categories and have already had one straightforward pregnancy - my colleagues would provide me with tremendous support. If I suffered any other sort of loss or bereavement, I would want the support of the people around me. I wouldn't really want to soldier on as if nothing had happened. I wouldn't want it to be a secret. And therefore I can't see any good reason for me keeping early pregnancy a secret.
I'm lucky in that my employer is fully supportive (to the point of over-enthusiastic!) of staff having children. In other workplaces, it might be a good idea to keep it quiet until your maternity arrangments are fully in place, I don't know. But I've told everyone at work so that they know there's a good reason why I might not be keeping up properly, or be rather absent-minded, or be green. I want their support through this, because it's a big upheaval, even second time around. (Mind you, I seem to be getting evening sickness rather than morning sickness this time so maybe it would have been easy to conceal, I don't know!)
I play in a brass band and told one of my friends there, who herself has two children under the age of two, at the same time as another friend. She asked me how far along I was and I told her only a few weeks. "Well that's a bit silly, announcing it this early, isn't it?" she said, all judgemental. "Why?" I asked. "Well, you'd better hope nothing happens," she replied, implying a miscarriage. "But then I'd want people to know that as well," I said.
OK, so this particular friend is a bit like that, a bit judgy and speaks without thinking, but I reckon her comments only demonstrate the prevailing attitude in society. Where does this come from? Why should miscarriage be such a shameful secret? Why should early pregnancy be so embarrassing? Does this date back to a time when reproduction - and naturally, women's bodies in general - was just so shameful that it wasn't mentioned in public until the physical evidence was unavoidable: i.e. the bump began to show, at the start of the second trimester? Probably.
Ugh, in other news, a friend has just found out she is expecting twins! Please God no! I haven't got room for two more, just one please! It hadn't even occured to me until she told me that of course, she hadn't known either until the scan. And mine is about 6 weeks away! Fingers crossed, just the one baby please!
Anthea
Last time I was pregnant, I was horribly sick - puking most mornings, the works. I came in late, left early and was a fetching shade of green. As a primary school teacher, the majority of my colleagues are women and as such many of them are mothers. Most people suspected I was pregnant and grilled my closest work friends about it (who denied all knowledge, bless 'em). But no-one actually came and spoke to me! Everyone was talking about me, but no-one was talking to me! The stupid thing is, if anybody had approached me and said, "are you pregnant?" I would have answered, "yes, but please keep it to yourself".
I posted here:
http://thegoodbodies.blogspot.com/2008/10/and-puking-began-here.html
about how unfair it is that during the first trimester, the time when you feel the worst and need the most support, you are not supposed to tell anyone. The reasons for this are that something like 95% of miscarriages happen some time in the first 12 weeks. So presumably, you wouldn't want to follow up the exciting announcement of a pregnancy with the sad one of a miscarriage.
Or would you? In a workplace full of women, mothers, children and family problems, my colleagues are a fabulous support network. We see each other through private and professional dramas, and rally round when somone is having a crisis, however large or small. In fact, I think that if I were to suffer a miscarriage - which is not that likely anyway, I'm not in any of the high-risk categories and have already had one straightforward pregnancy - my colleagues would provide me with tremendous support. If I suffered any other sort of loss or bereavement, I would want the support of the people around me. I wouldn't really want to soldier on as if nothing had happened. I wouldn't want it to be a secret. And therefore I can't see any good reason for me keeping early pregnancy a secret.
I'm lucky in that my employer is fully supportive (to the point of over-enthusiastic!) of staff having children. In other workplaces, it might be a good idea to keep it quiet until your maternity arrangments are fully in place, I don't know. But I've told everyone at work so that they know there's a good reason why I might not be keeping up properly, or be rather absent-minded, or be green. I want their support through this, because it's a big upheaval, even second time around. (Mind you, I seem to be getting evening sickness rather than morning sickness this time so maybe it would have been easy to conceal, I don't know!)
I play in a brass band and told one of my friends there, who herself has two children under the age of two, at the same time as another friend. She asked me how far along I was and I told her only a few weeks. "Well that's a bit silly, announcing it this early, isn't it?" she said, all judgemental. "Why?" I asked. "Well, you'd better hope nothing happens," she replied, implying a miscarriage. "But then I'd want people to know that as well," I said.
OK, so this particular friend is a bit like that, a bit judgy and speaks without thinking, but I reckon her comments only demonstrate the prevailing attitude in society. Where does this come from? Why should miscarriage be such a shameful secret? Why should early pregnancy be so embarrassing? Does this date back to a time when reproduction - and naturally, women's bodies in general - was just so shameful that it wasn't mentioned in public until the physical evidence was unavoidable: i.e. the bump began to show, at the start of the second trimester? Probably.
Ugh, in other news, a friend has just found out she is expecting twins! Please God no! I haven't got room for two more, just one please! It hadn't even occured to me until she told me that of course, she hadn't known either until the scan. And mine is about 6 weeks away! Fingers crossed, just the one baby please!
Anthea
Friday, September 17, 2010
The eternal question
I'm facing that eternal question; the one that plagues mothers everywhere:
"Should I go back to work?"
Yesterday I was sent an invitation to apply for a proofreading position at a pharmaceutical company 30 miles away, based in the same business park my husband used to work in (although for a different company). We know the company and we know how far away it is (40 min commute), and we know that I am absolutely desperate to find meaning in my life beyond that of a-mother-with-a-special-needs-kid-who-does-some-freelancing-stuff-when-she-has-time. So when this opportunity came up I was really interested, but I delayed in answering the e-mail because any decision I make involves the whole family. It really does.
I spoke to my husband about it when he called home at lunchtime and he was very positive, saying I should definitely apply and totalling up how much extra income we would have if I got the job. But something still stopped me, and it took me a while to figure it out.
Daycare isn't really an issue long-term. I'm visiting a nursery on Monday that caters for children like Little O, and they seem very keen to have him on board, but they can't offer him a week-long placement until mid-October, which is awkward. I'd be able to get him in all day Monday and Friday for a few weeks, but that would still leave Tues-Thurs with no care. Then my Dad comes out to visit at the end of October and it would be a shame to have Little O in daycare the whole time, and me at a new job. But come November, and daycare and family issues will be resolved, and I'll have plenty of time for a full-time position.
The commute also doesn't bother me, although the hours are a little sticky. It would be 50 hrs a week, plus occasional Saturdays, depending on deadlines. Thankfully I'm a very fast worker when I know what I'm doing, so I anticipate meeting their expectations and then surpassing them, and not actually having to work many Saturdays at all. I'm also not afraid to commit a large portion of my time to a new job if I really enjoy it. I actually love working in offices, but I've never found a JOB that I like. Perhaps that would change.
No, the thing that bothered me and took a while to surface, was my husband's attitude to Little O's care. My husband is almost as much of a feminist as I am, but on this particular topic it's as though he's thrown all notion of equal parenting out of the window. When we were discussing specifics last night in bed, I reminded him that if I were to work full-time, it would mean I couldn't take Little O to all the appointments and therapy sessions that I do now. Actually, at least initially, I wouldn't be able to do ANY of them because I'd be in a new job and trying to make a good impression. So I requested that he look into his employer's flexi-time policy, and find out whether he can start shifting his hours a little to accomodate Little O's care.
His response was quite astounding. He said, "No, they won't go for that", and turned over in bed. End of discussion. I was gobsmacked, so I pulled him back over to face me and asked him why. He said they're really busy, and besides, WE need the money. It struck me that he sees his job and my (potential) job differently. As far as he's concerned, it's ME who needs to ask for flexi-time because HIS job is already stable, and because it's MY responsibility to take care of Little O. I was lost for words. I had always assumed that if I worked full-time again, that parenting our son would be shared equally - indeed, before we knew about Little O's problems, I'd intended to go back to work much sooner than this. So what the hell is going on?
I feel like I'm meeting everyone else's needs and schedules... what about mine? I've given up my career to this point to be an advocate and parent to my son, but I feel like it's my time again. I WANT to go back to work, but I CAN'T do it if my husband won't meet me halfway. I just can't roll up to a new employer and tell them I need three days off a month to take my son to appointments because my husband won't help me. It isn't fair to ask that of me, or my (potential) company. I don't know what's going on. Maybe my husband's afraid of losing his job, or taking on extra responsibility at home; I don't know. But I do know that I can't have a full-time job AND be the primary caregiver. Not with Little O.
In the end, I did apply for the job, via an agency. I explained my situation to them and they seemed accomodating, but they recommended I don't tell the company until I'm offered a position. If and when that happens I'm going to feel really guilty, because it will feel like I've misled them. I'm already panicking about finding childcare for Little O for when I have to go to an interview - how the hell do I pick up those extra three days a week too? Frankly, I feel confident that I'll get the job if I get an interview, because unlike other jobs I've gone for where I just need the money, in this instance I'm really invested in the position itself. And I'm fucking good at what I do and I'm confident in my abilities, so selling myself to an employer should be okay. It's just post-interview that I'm worried about.
I need a grandparent around for about a month, I think. Someone to take care of Little O while I get a job organised; someone who can take him to his appointments and act on my behalf. But I also need a husband who supports my decision to go back to work properly, on MY terms. It's all very difficult. Exciting, but difficult.
Tina.
"Should I go back to work?"
Yesterday I was sent an invitation to apply for a proofreading position at a pharmaceutical company 30 miles away, based in the same business park my husband used to work in (although for a different company). We know the company and we know how far away it is (40 min commute), and we know that I am absolutely desperate to find meaning in my life beyond that of a-mother-with-a-special-needs-kid-who-does-some-freelancing-stuff-when-she-has-time. So when this opportunity came up I was really interested, but I delayed in answering the e-mail because any decision I make involves the whole family. It really does.
I spoke to my husband about it when he called home at lunchtime and he was very positive, saying I should definitely apply and totalling up how much extra income we would have if I got the job. But something still stopped me, and it took me a while to figure it out.
Daycare isn't really an issue long-term. I'm visiting a nursery on Monday that caters for children like Little O, and they seem very keen to have him on board, but they can't offer him a week-long placement until mid-October, which is awkward. I'd be able to get him in all day Monday and Friday for a few weeks, but that would still leave Tues-Thurs with no care. Then my Dad comes out to visit at the end of October and it would be a shame to have Little O in daycare the whole time, and me at a new job. But come November, and daycare and family issues will be resolved, and I'll have plenty of time for a full-time position.
The commute also doesn't bother me, although the hours are a little sticky. It would be 50 hrs a week, plus occasional Saturdays, depending on deadlines. Thankfully I'm a very fast worker when I know what I'm doing, so I anticipate meeting their expectations and then surpassing them, and not actually having to work many Saturdays at all. I'm also not afraid to commit a large portion of my time to a new job if I really enjoy it. I actually love working in offices, but I've never found a JOB that I like. Perhaps that would change.
No, the thing that bothered me and took a while to surface, was my husband's attitude to Little O's care. My husband is almost as much of a feminist as I am, but on this particular topic it's as though he's thrown all notion of equal parenting out of the window. When we were discussing specifics last night in bed, I reminded him that if I were to work full-time, it would mean I couldn't take Little O to all the appointments and therapy sessions that I do now. Actually, at least initially, I wouldn't be able to do ANY of them because I'd be in a new job and trying to make a good impression. So I requested that he look into his employer's flexi-time policy, and find out whether he can start shifting his hours a little to accomodate Little O's care.
His response was quite astounding. He said, "No, they won't go for that", and turned over in bed. End of discussion. I was gobsmacked, so I pulled him back over to face me and asked him why. He said they're really busy, and besides, WE need the money. It struck me that he sees his job and my (potential) job differently. As far as he's concerned, it's ME who needs to ask for flexi-time because HIS job is already stable, and because it's MY responsibility to take care of Little O. I was lost for words. I had always assumed that if I worked full-time again, that parenting our son would be shared equally - indeed, before we knew about Little O's problems, I'd intended to go back to work much sooner than this. So what the hell is going on?
I feel like I'm meeting everyone else's needs and schedules... what about mine? I've given up my career to this point to be an advocate and parent to my son, but I feel like it's my time again. I WANT to go back to work, but I CAN'T do it if my husband won't meet me halfway. I just can't roll up to a new employer and tell them I need three days off a month to take my son to appointments because my husband won't help me. It isn't fair to ask that of me, or my (potential) company. I don't know what's going on. Maybe my husband's afraid of losing his job, or taking on extra responsibility at home; I don't know. But I do know that I can't have a full-time job AND be the primary caregiver. Not with Little O.
In the end, I did apply for the job, via an agency. I explained my situation to them and they seemed accomodating, but they recommended I don't tell the company until I'm offered a position. If and when that happens I'm going to feel really guilty, because it will feel like I've misled them. I'm already panicking about finding childcare for Little O for when I have to go to an interview - how the hell do I pick up those extra three days a week too? Frankly, I feel confident that I'll get the job if I get an interview, because unlike other jobs I've gone for where I just need the money, in this instance I'm really invested in the position itself. And I'm fucking good at what I do and I'm confident in my abilities, so selling myself to an employer should be okay. It's just post-interview that I'm worried about.
I need a grandparent around for about a month, I think. Someone to take care of Little O while I get a job organised; someone who can take him to his appointments and act on my behalf. But I also need a husband who supports my decision to go back to work properly, on MY terms. It's all very difficult. Exciting, but difficult.
Tina.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Tantrums!
My sweet sweet baby has discovered he has an opinion. Wait, let me rephrase that: he has an OPINION!!
For a child who cannot talk, sign, or generally communicate to me what his needs and wants are, he sure is getting good at telling me anyway. He has entered a rather amusing phase in his life where tantrums are starting to play a significant role in his communication skills. We're not sure he'll ever be able to speak in the same way you and I do (well, not my little sister V - she and Little O may have a lot in common), but he's certainly finding his voice.
I was brushing my teeth this morning and put Little O on the bathroom counter so he could watch. He likes to play with the lotions and potions up there and it keeps him from scooting around on his backside outta the door and down the stairs. I gave him a packet of flossups to play with while I was occupied with a toothbrush, and he was very happy watching me and chewing on the plastic wrapping while he waited. Well, then I wanted to USE a flossup to floss my teeth with, which required me to extricate said item from small child. This did not go down well. He SCREAMED, went red in the face, burst into tears, and started whacking his thighs with tiny, bunched-up fists of infant fury. I found the whole thing terribly funny, especially as, as soon as I'd got out a flossup and given them back to him, he stopped his tantrum instantly and resumed chewing the corner of the packet.
Ah, I love Little O. The more 'normal' stuff he does, the prouder I am of him. It's just such a joy to see him achieve a goal he's really struggled with, as well as the other 'norrmal' development milestones like throwing temper tantrums. At this point I love everything he does, from the back-scooting to the tantrums. Ask me again in a month though and I may have changed my mind...
Tina.
For a child who cannot talk, sign, or generally communicate to me what his needs and wants are, he sure is getting good at telling me anyway. He has entered a rather amusing phase in his life where tantrums are starting to play a significant role in his communication skills. We're not sure he'll ever be able to speak in the same way you and I do (well, not my little sister V - she and Little O may have a lot in common), but he's certainly finding his voice.
I was brushing my teeth this morning and put Little O on the bathroom counter so he could watch. He likes to play with the lotions and potions up there and it keeps him from scooting around on his backside outta the door and down the stairs. I gave him a packet of flossups to play with while I was occupied with a toothbrush, and he was very happy watching me and chewing on the plastic wrapping while he waited. Well, then I wanted to USE a flossup to floss my teeth with, which required me to extricate said item from small child. This did not go down well. He SCREAMED, went red in the face, burst into tears, and started whacking his thighs with tiny, bunched-up fists of infant fury. I found the whole thing terribly funny, especially as, as soon as I'd got out a flossup and given them back to him, he stopped his tantrum instantly and resumed chewing the corner of the packet.
Ah, I love Little O. The more 'normal' stuff he does, the prouder I am of him. It's just such a joy to see him achieve a goal he's really struggled with, as well as the other 'norrmal' development milestones like throwing temper tantrums. At this point I love everything he does, from the back-scooting to the tantrums. Ask me again in a month though and I may have changed my mind...
Tina.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
News
I am a useless person.
Well, to be more accurate, I am a person who has worked full-time since her son was less than 10 weeks old, who devotes a minimum of two evenings a week to playing in and managing a band, and who has spent the last year or so buying and moving into a property. (A key worker property. Do you know how complicated that is??) What I actually am is a busy person.
And as such I have, since S's birth, written but two posts. Both about said birth. Surely I cannot really claim to be a contributor to this blog at all.
However, I feel I must at least post this: I found out yesterday that I am pregnant with our second baby. Congratulations to me, I feel.
(Do not confuse me with Tina at this point! She might be, whereas I definitely am!)
Anthea
Well, to be more accurate, I am a person who has worked full-time since her son was less than 10 weeks old, who devotes a minimum of two evenings a week to playing in and managing a band, and who has spent the last year or so buying and moving into a property. (A key worker property. Do you know how complicated that is??) What I actually am is a busy person.
And as such I have, since S's birth, written but two posts. Both about said birth. Surely I cannot really claim to be a contributor to this blog at all.
However, I feel I must at least post this: I found out yesterday that I am pregnant with our second baby. Congratulations to me, I feel.
(Do not confuse me with Tina at this point! She might be, whereas I definitely am!)
Anthea
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