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.

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.)

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

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 for better 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.

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.

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...

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