Miracle on the street of Wells

I love Christmastime.  I love the cold weather, bundling up in sweaters, hot cocoa by the fire, giving gifts, and snuggling up with my family.  I was a little worried that things would be off this year, and although it's not our normal Christmas, it seems as though things will be better than I thought.


T had his second chemotherapy infusion last week.  The first one was not exactly carefree: he ended up in the ER due to dehydration.  He was a zombie for at least four days, and I was terrified.  I know he was dreading the second infusion as soon as the first one was over.  After all, going into something that he knew would make him sick wasn't something to look forward to.  Luckily, the staff at NMH was, as always, on its A game and did some futzing around with the chemo dosage and anti-nausea meds.   Apparently there is a good twenty percent of leeway when it comes to the dosage, and T's doc lowered his a bit to see if it would help.

Help it did.  He has had very little nausea compared to the first time, and he has been able to eat and drink normally.  He also figured out that although it is encouraged for chemo patients to eat before a treatment, it's not such a good idea for him.  Hindsight.  My amazing dad took T in for his treatment, and I spent the whole day trying to stay as busy as possible so I didn't think about what the effects might be.  Imagine my surprise and delight when they arrived home and T wasn't clutching an emesis bag.

The sense of relief for me was immediate: I felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off my heart.  I didn't realize how tense I had been, and then all I wanted to do was sleep for about twenty hours.  T was obviously happy as well, and I think he slept well that night knowing that not every infusion would result in days and days of sickness and misery.

 T is still fatigued, but he'll be able to fully participate in our family's holiday happenings.  Even though there are still three days until Christmas Day, my Christmas wish has come true.  I can't think of anything else that could make me as happy as this did.  Well, unless someone got me a unicorn because that would be pretty cool.

From our home to yours, Merry Christmas, and may all of your Christmas wishes come true.

Credit: pwsa.co.uk

The moving plague

If you saw my last post, you'll know that Lottie was really sick the day we moved into the new house.  After a day on antibiotics, she was feeling back to her normal self.  I was happy that she felt better, but I was a little sad in a way because she was back to being loud, loud, loud.  I was particularly annoyed with her constant talking as I tried to unpack boxes, but I didn't know at the time it was because I was also getting sick.

On the Sunday after The Move, I started feeling a little under the weather.  I chalked it up to all the stress of dealing with the shiftless movers and the constant exhaustion from the thyroid issues.  But when I woke up Monday morning, my throat hurt and my ears were hurting.  I had to take Lottie back to the doctor for her follow-up appointment that morning, so I figured I could call and see the doctor myself while we were there.  Au contraire.  When I called to get an appointment for me, I was told that because I was a new patient, there was no way I could be seen that day.  I was already on the edge, and hearing that news didn't sit well with me.  I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears.  I wasn't sixty seconds into my tantrum when my cell phone rang with a call from a Lexington number.  It was my endocrinologist's office calling to say that my next appointment had to be rescheduled because both my doctor and his assistant would be out of town.  Uh huh.  GREAT timing.  I had been waiting for this appointment because I know that my thyroid medication still isn't working, and I need some answers before I start Hulk-smashing everything in sight.  Already in tears, I explained to the nurse on the phone that I was driving six hours to get to the appointment, and there was no way I was going to give up my slot.  She was very kind and said I could keep the appointment and see another doctor in the practice.  Crisis averted.  But I was still sick and feeling worse by the minute.  I visited a Minute Clinic at a local CVS and was diagnosed with an ear infection.  I left with a prescription and the hope that I would be much better the next morning.  You know where this is going, right?

Credit: http://www.rolemommy.com/sore-throat1.jpg

Tuesday morning arrived, and I felt worse.  My best friend Tiffany was coming from Colorado that day with her daughter Frankie, and I was willing myself to be instantly well.  I ended up sending T to pick them up from O'Hare because I didn't trust myself to make the drive.  I was so happy to see them that afternoon that I think I psyched myself into thinking everything was okay.  I continued to take my antibiotics, but by Wednesday afternoon, I knew something was still wrong.  I went to an off-hours clinic here in town out of sheer desperation, and wow, that was an experience.  The nurses were mean, the exam room was dirty, and I'm pretty sure there was blood on the wall.  That doctor said that if the antibiotics weren't working, my problem was probably viral.  He did a strep test and a mono test, and he promised to call in THREE DAYS with the results.  Three days?  Was he kidding?  (And, by the way, I never heard back from him.)  He sent me on my way with a prescription for cortisone pills and the advice to gargle with watered down Benadryl to ease my throat pain.  There were more tears from me, though this time I waited until I was alone in the car to lose it.  I was, as always, exhausted, I was in pain, and nothing was helping.  The next morning, my mom called and told me to get up and get dressed: my dad was taking me to another doctor.  I guess even when you're almost 40 years old, you're still your parents' baby.  My dad drove me to Franciscan ExpressCare where I filled out more forms and waited for someone else to dismiss my pain.  I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a great nurse and seen by a very kind doctor.  The doctor did another strep test and mono test, and I had immediate results: both tests were negative.  The doc was at a bit of a loss since the other antibiotics hadn't worked, so she decided a shot of something from the penicillin family was the way to go.  I was skeptical but I also knew I had nothing to lose.  By that afternoon, my sore throat was 90% gone.  I was thrilled but also waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Friday morning dawned beautiful and pain-free.  Yippee ki yay!!  I was able to go to the fair that afternoon with my dad, Tiffany, and the three kids and FINALLY truly enjoy their visit.  I don't know what my ailment was or why the oral antibiotics didn't work, but I'm grateful that I finally found someone who knew what she was doing to help.  Thanks, Dr. Pumputis!

There is no way I would have made it through the last few weeks without my family and friends.  My parents have been indispensable: they have helped with the kids, the house, and meals.  My brother and sister-in-law have moved furniture, watched the kids, and made us laugh and feel at home.  My buddy Jim Long came from Indianapolis to help unpack boxes and kick-start the organization process.  And Tiffany watched the kids while I napped during all of the sick, organized my kitchen, and kept me company while I was super-crabby and miserable.  T knows when to make me laugh, when to hug me,  and when to buy me chocolate. It can't get much better than that.  Thanks to all of you who have helped make the last few weeks bearable.

Now would be the perfect time to rest and get into a routine, right?  Negatory.  We're leaving for Lexington tomorrow morning for four days.  Trevor has some work to do there, and I have the appointment with the random endocrinologist Monday morning.  All I really want to do is finish putting things on the walls in my house and get fully settled-in, but I suppose that can wait until next week.  All that AND kindergarten registration.  Should be a typical few weeks to come.  :)

I'm back!

Holy cannoli, has it been a long, long, LOOOOOOOONG few weeks.  We closed on the house in Valpo, stayed at my parents' condo in Lexington while I packed up the rest of the house, and moved to Valpo all within less than four weeks.  So it should be no surprise that I have been offline for a little while.  I'm tired.  Really tired.

Overall, things on the Lexington side went well with The Move.  The movers showed up when they were supposed to at all three locations: the condo, T's office, and our house.  It was a crazy-long day for the movers, but luckily it had cooled down to the low-90's after having been 100 degrees just days before.  The guys all worked really hard all day and into the evening.  I was with them most of the day until it was time to get the kids from T's parents and get them ready for bed.  T stayed at our house to supervise the last few hours of the move, and at 6:59 PM that evening, I got a text from him that said, "They might not be able to get everything into one truck."  At that moment, I wished I had some smelling salts because I felt some true Victorian vapors coming on.  The movers ended up taking everything to their headquarters in Louisville to do some rearranging, and somehow, we only ended up needing one truck.  One enormous, tightly packed truck.

All of our earthly possessions were piled on the front lawn.  Classy.

We drove up to Valpo on Thursday: Trevor took Judy in his car and I took the kids.  I think he made it in 5.5 hours, but it took my crew about 8 hours.  We had more potty breaks, obvi.  The kids were great, though, and the trip was pretty smooth.  Lottie didn't seem to be quite herself, but I figured the excitement of the whole process was too much to handle.  I was wrong.

Friday morning, the driver from Lexington, Mike, showed up with the ginormous truck.  I was hoping to see the rest of the crew from Lexington with him, but I was sorely disappointed.  Instead, we had three guys hired from a random day-labor company who were supposed to help Mike unload the truck and move all our stuff.  I have nothing against day-labor workers, but these three guys didn't know the definition of the word labor.  Poor Mike was the only one who knew what to do and how to do it.  We had AJ, a friend of my niece's there to help us, but he couldn't do as much as he wanted to do because the truck just wasn't getting unloaded.  My brother, who has experience in the moving business, texted all morning to see how things were going.  I texted him at noon with the news that the truck was maybe 25% unloaded.  Plus, one of the three stooges left before noon, mumbling something vague about needing insulin, and never came back.  So we were down to Mike and two doofuses, and backup promised by the company was nowhere in sight.  About 45 minutes later, my brother, my knight in shining armor, showed up to show the guys how things were supposed to be done.  He got right in the truck, clapped his hands, and told the guys to get things moving.  With Matt's help, things finally got unloaded.  I guarantee that without Matt, we would have been unloading that truck for days afterwards.  Not a lot was where it was supposed to be, the house was an insane maze of boxes, and everyone was tired and sweaty and peckish.  But it was done.

My parents spent the day tag-teaming between helping at our house and watching the kids at their house.  By Friday morning, it was obvious that Lottie's ennui was more than just The Move: she was sick.  My mom took Lottie to the doctor and had to hold her arms down while the nurse did a throat swab.  Serious gaggage.  Lottie didn't have strep throat, but she did have an ear infection and tonsillitis on the remnants of the tonsils that were removed three years ago.  She had a temperature of 103.5 and fell asleep in the doctor's waiting room, and if you know Lottie, you know that the last time she napped was at the end of the Bush era.

My poor girl mid-yawn.  

With some meds and a lot of rest, she was back on track pretty fast.  The same couldn't be said for me.
That will have to be the next blog post, though.  There's only so much drama one can handle in a single report.  But I'm back and I'm home.  It feels good.

'Tis the season...

Yup, it's holiday time.  We're not quite to Thanksgiving, and the Christmas decorations are going up.  The Christmas music is in the stores, and I have even seen some Christmas trees up along our street.  But for me, right around the beginning of November doesn't signify holidays.  No, no.  Chez Wells, November always seems to begin the season of sickness.

With two kids in preschool, we definitely get our fair share of germs.  And despite the hand-washing and Lysol applications to every surface in the house, those germs eventually make everyone sick.  We seem to stay sick, too, until about May.  And by "we", I mean me, too.  That's about the only downside to preschool that I can see.  So far, Lottie has had two or three colds and strep throat.  Dallas, not to be out-sicked, has also had two or three colds, a double ear infection, and two cases of croup.  Winning!

Right now both kids are on antibiotics.  Lottie is almost finished with her ten day regimen, and Dallas has just started his.  By the time next week rolls around, I have a feeling that Lottie will be back on meds again because that's just the way it goes.

I decided to change the lyrics of one of my favorite Christmas songs to reflect my feelings about the season.

I'm dreaming of a well Christmas
Just like the one we've never had
Where the noses don't glisten
And mothers don't listen
To hear coughing in the night

I'm dreaming of a well Christmas
Without Amoxicillan
Without tissues, cough drops or phlegm
And no fevers or glassy eyes.

I'm dreaming of a well Christmas
With kids who just won't cough and sneeze
May the days be sunny and bright
And may all our Christmases be without blight

Happy holidays, y'all!

Why I do it

I'm at home with a sick little boy.

I kept Dallas home from school Monday.  He was really tired and whiny in the morning with a slight fever, and I didn't figure he would end up being any good in a classroom.  He also wasn't interested in eating, and that rarely happens.  He stayed with me, and we did a lot of snuggling.  All day, he just wanted to be held.  He slept a little over 13 hours Monday night, and I thought that might be the end of whatever crud had started.  Silly me.

Tuesday morning, he seemed much better.  His eyes weren't glassy, he wasn't as feverish, and his mood was overall improved.  I took him to school, and everything seemed okay when I dropped him off.  Fast forward to 10:30 when my phone rang.  One of his teachers called to say that he was having a hard morning.  He was not himself at all: sad, whiny, and unable to pull it all together.  She said he was calm at that moment, but she would keep me updated on his progress.  I got my shoes on, found my keys and my purse, and in less than 5 minutes, his teacher called again to say that maybe it was time for me to come get him.  I arrived a few minutes later with worry starting to build in my chest.  As soon as I saw his face, I knew something was wrong.  He was sobbing, and he flung himself right into my waiting arms.  He buried his hot head in my shoulder and whispered, "I didn't know where you were."  Ouch.  He apparently told his teachers in the midst of his breakdown that he needed his mommy.

He needed me.  He didn't just want to see me for a moment of comfort; he needed me.  And it hit me at that moment that this is why I do what I do.  I'm a stay-at-home mom, and I do it because my kids need me.  My little boy was sick, and he needed his mommy.  When I took him to the doctor after I picked him up from school, it was confirmed that he has croup.  He rarely complains about not feeling well, so I had no idea that he was that sick.  I must have missed the signs during the morning rush to get bags packed, shoes on, and sweatshirts zipped.  It's no wonder that he was so sad, and it broke my heart to think that he felt abandoned at school Tuesday morning.

The steroid shot worked its magic overnight.  Dallas isn't completely back to normal, but he has had a big turnaround from Monday.  His voice is still hoarse and scratchy; it's sort of like living with a mini-Vito Corleone.  But instead of calling for Luca Brasi to sleep with the fishes, he's calling for another granola bar or a hug.  He is laughing again, smiling again, and even arguing with me again.  He's working his way back.

Don't get me wrong: there are definitely days that I wish I were the one going to work and leaving the clean-up, the snacks, the fights, and the tedium all behind.  But I can't.  It's not in my nature to be away from the ones I love more than I have to be.  I know myself, and I couldn't be a good mom AND a good teacher.  Someone would always be getting my best while someone else would only get the leftovers.  My decision to stay at home is what works best for our family, and it may not work as well for other parents, other families.  It's definitely not a judgement or condemnation of parents who have to work or choose to work.  I admire the fact that those parents manage a career and a family.  But I'm beyond grateful that I was able to be there to wipe away Dallas's tears, hold his hand to reassure him during the steroid shot, and feel his ragged breath as he lay on the couch with me.  I stroked his soft hair and whispered, "Everything's okay now.  Mommy's here."  Because that's my job: I'm the Mommy.

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