Hey, Y'all!

Mr. Peanut

In the back of my mind, I always wondered.  I had issues with allergies throughout my entire childhood, including a peanut "sensitivity" that caused me to break out in mild hives and basically want to claw my own neck off.  We don't eat a lot of peanut products in our home as it is. Marcus used to be a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly enthusiast, but has replaced that sandwich with a salami one.  I hate peanut butter mixed with anything, preferring to eat it straight off a spoon, if at all.  I hate it in my baked goods, don't care for it in my candy (unless you've got some Reeses's Pieces, in which case, bring them ON!), and could take or leave a PB and J.  I have to watch my sodium intake, so I rarely eat roasted peanuts, as they are usually so salty. 

So, what I'm saying, is peanuts are not a big deal in our house. 

Until now.

On Sunday, Dean asked (several times) for a peanut butter and jelly "on bread."  I looked at Marcus, puzzled, and asked, "Have YOU ever made him a PB and J?" He said he hadn't and I knew I hadn't.  I asked Dean where he'd eaten one. He said, "We have them at school for snack. ALL THE TIME, MAMA. I want strawberry jelly."  I wasn't sure if they fed them these or not, but it fit in with the "heavy" snack they usually serve in the morning, which is sometimes toast and jelly or the like.  So I made him a fold-over PB and J and he gobbled up every crumb.

We went outside to swing.  About 10 minutes later, Dean said, "My tummy hurts. I need to go to the doctor."  I suggested the bathroom instead, so he went there.  We came back outside, started playing again, then he suddenly bent over and threw up.  He looked up and said, "Mama, I sorry I barfed in the yard. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech."  He got it all over him, which freaked him OUT (he doesn't barf often), so he screamed, "I NEED A BATH!"  By the time we got him upstairs and undressed, his torso was covered in bumpy hives.  We threw some clean clothes and socks on him and tossed him in the car, me in the back with him holding onto a bottle of Benadryl for dear life. Dean was very troubled by my being in the backseat. "Mama," he said between small wheezes, "get in your chair. UP THERE."

We arrived at the ER and were immediately taken to triage.  Dean introduced himself and retold the barf in the yard story numerous times before we got to our treatment room.  They tried to give him oral steroids, but he flat-out REFUSED to drink them.  The nurse kept telling him that if he didn't drink the medicine, he'd have to have 2 shots.  He didn't seem to care.  After 5 minutes (hives spreading the whole time), I told them to just give him the shots.  So they did. One in each cheek.  We were left alone for about 15 minutes, during which time Dean fell asleep on me. The doctor finally came in, though for the good he did, he may as well have just sent the nurse back. He seemed genuinely afraid of Dean (because he was a kid) and didn't really answer our questions.   The hives had gotten worse, covering Dean from scalp to toes.  FINALLY someoene came in with an epinephrine shot (not  an epi-pen--fortunately we never experienced breathing difficulties) and some Zantac.  Dean cooperated and took the Zantac orally and was pretty brave about the shot.  Within 10 minutes, the hives began to fade and Dean was ready to go.

When we got home, he said, "Let's have some juice and watch Jimmy Neutron now." And so we did.  We followed up with our doctor on Monday and he's scheduled for some more allergy testing in April.  Until then, no more peanuts anymore ever.  We've been coaching him on what to say if he's offered peanut butter or peanuts. "No, thank you, it makes me sick." He likes to add, "And then I barf in the yard. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh."

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh, indeed, buddy.

Tough Call

We switched pediatricians today.  Our former doctor was great. She is a very no-nonsense, but friendly, type who was in and out of the room very matter-of-factly.  I loved that she talked to me mom-to-mom as well as doctor-to-mom.  I never felt rushed by her and I thought she did a good job taking care of Dean.

Then we met one of her partners.

Last spring, Dean had a bad eczema breakout and our usual steroid cream wasn't cutting it.  We called for an appointment, but our regular doctor was out with a sick child of her own.  The receptionist asked if we'd like to see a partner and we said that would be fine.  The doctor we saw that day is wonderful .  In fact, he reminds me of my own childhood doctor, a great man whom I still remember very fondly.  He has a gentle, quiet voice and he smiles a lot.  Most importantly?  Dean LOVES him.  He talked about him for DAYS after we saw him. 

By chance, we the same doctor again over the summer and Dean was on the best behavior he'd ever been on at the doctor.  More importantly, Marcus and I were extremely happy with the slightly more aggressive treatment he recommended for Dean's asthma, a treatment that has made a world of difference in his day-to-day comfort.  Again, Dean talked about the doctor for days after the visit. Any time we mentioned a doctor, he asked if he got to see THIS doctor. 

For a while, I've wondered when the time might come that Dean would prefer a male doctor.  I, personally, have a female OBGYN and a female Internal Medicine doctor who take care of me.  I really like them both.  I like that they can relate to me as a woman and there's a lot less awkwardness during those pesky visits where you're required to shed some clothing.  I'm not sure exactly when modesty will kick in with Dean, who currently still strips at random times, despite whomever may or may not be in the room with him, but I don't want him to be embarrassed.  We've never talked to him about it because, frankly, I don't think he's old enough to get what we're saying and I don't want to give him a complex about his body.  However, I would like to establish a relationship with a doctor he trusts before these issues present themselves.

I wasn't quite sure how to bring up the subject of switching doctors.  Should I write our former doctor a letter explaining the situation and thanking her for her years of care?  Should I just mention it to the receptionist?  Do I owe an explanation?  Marcus constantly reminds me that the medicine is a service industry, so it is our right as the consumer to choose which doctor we want to treat our child.  (Also, thank you health insurance that gives us that choice.)  The decision was made when Dean got sick last night and was wheezy this morning. Marcus said, "You're taking him to the guy doctor, right? He likes him."  So I called for an appointment.  When they asked who his doctor was, I asked if it would be possible to switch to the preferred doctor. Without hesitation, they answered, "Sure, no problem. He's great." 

And he is great.

His exam room has pictures of sleeping babies and angels on the walls and Dean gave him a high-five when he came in to examine him.  Our choice was justified when, for the first time since Dean's original diagnosis of asthma last year, the doctor ordered a pulse ox test.  He even took a moment to explain in "kid terms" why Dean's ribs are sore today. (from coughing last night)

I left the office feeling like I'd done the right thing by switching doctors and Dean left with 2 Scooby Doo stickers and a pretty big crush on the new doctor's nurse.

Maybe it wasn't such a tough call after all.

The Croup

We haz it.

Dean started coughing a bit on Sunday afternoon.  We figured it was from playing outside with a friend all morning in the park. (Yes, I saw the air quality warnings. I just didn't want him to live in a bubble, ya know?)  By that evening, he was barking like a seal.  Given his asthma diagnosis, we tend to panic a little whenever there's a breathing-related issue.  We called the on-call number for our pediatrician to see whether or not we needed to run to the ER.  She listened to him over the phone and said it sounded like croup, which is viral.  Great! No trip to the ER! Not so great--this can't be "cured" with antibiotics. We've been cooped up in the house waiting this illness out ALL WEEK.  Dean and I are both prone to cabin fever, so we're losing our minds a bit. 

I decided today was the day we HAD to get out of the house, so we headed out to Target mid-morning. Dean was SO excited to get in the car. The entire way to Target, he kept talking about the big red balls outside the store. He was very well-behaved in the store, not running off or flailing about or anything his three-year-old self normally does on an outing. About halfway through our shopping list, though, he tuckered out. He looked up and held out his little arms and said, "Sugar, I hold you?"  I carried him the rest of the way. My arms may never recover.

What stinks about croup is the obvious sore throat you get from coughing that much.  Dean has not wanted to eat A THING this week.  For a couple of days, we could get some macaroni and cheese or scrambled eggs in him. Jello was our go-to for snacks.(Funny sidebar: I made Jello in one of my small mixing bowls. Dean has only ever seen it in snack packs. He kept saying, "Wow!"  He was very impressed that I could MAKE Jello.)  He'd eat yogurt.  Then yesterday, he wanted NOTHING. I even bought Gerber applesauce and some Beechnut baby oatmeal to see if he'd eat those (they're my usual last resort and they nearly always work). NADA.  I put out feelers to my Facebook and Twitter friends and called my mom to ask about PediaSure.  We're going to pick up some of that or some Carnation Instant Breakfast today to try and get some calories in this guy.  Fortunately, he'll still drink, so he's definitely not dehydrated.  I slip his asthma meds in his juice or milk, so it's good that we're still able to get those in him.

Our activities have included watching what is probably way too much tv (especially a new short Tinkerbell movie about 5 times), Play-Doh, playing with the Little People Farm, reading and reading and reading, working on potty training and perusing this week's Walgreen's sale paper.  Dean loves showing me the Easter stuff and telling me what the bunny is going to bring him. He also likes to sing a lot these days. Today we watched the Imagination Movers in concert and he sang nearly all the songs. (We listen to the CD in the car on our way to and from school every day.)

Here's hoping the croup vacates the premesis soon.  We need some socialization! 

Also, you'll notice I didn't mention the fact that Dean coughed into my open mouth and probably gave me the croup, because if I don't talk about it, it's not real. (I feel fine! REALLY! Where's the Claritin...)

Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Skanky, Awful Day

Our  day started with Dean coughing. Shortly after he started coughing, he started wheezing. Then he coughed and wheezed with every breath. Marcus took him to the doctor where they did a breathing treatment, prescribed steroids and sent him home with a nebulizer that looks like a penguin. (It even lives in an igloo.)   He had an asthmatic response to an allergen. We have no idea what caused it  and the doctor said it could have been  anything from something in the air to someone's perfume.  After a very hard afternoon, which consisted of Dean screaming in pain because the pharmacy took 98 forevers to fill his meds, me weaning off Percocet in favor of plain Tylenol and Marcus slicing his finger open at work, things are looking up. Dean did great with his last breathing treatment and is now resting with his sore  mother, watching Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown. Poor Marcus is in  dress rehearsal.

I'm gonna pull a Scarlett here and declare that "Tomorrow is another day," because I'm sure done with this one.

All the gory details

Ok. So I was nervous ALL day on Thursday. I went back and forth between completely calm and near-hysterics a few times.  I was scared of the anesthesia. I was terrified of the breathing tube. I was worried about Dean. I wondered what the recovery would be like. I let myself have one good last cry over the fact that Thursday was,  indeed,  my last day as a fertile female. I took a second and wrote a little letter to my body, something no one else will ever see, thanking it for producing one perfect child. I prayed a lot. I talked to my parents a lot. The fact that they weren't freaking out was comforting. I tried to go to bed early, but little household tasks kept haunting me. I'd go into the bedroom and decide to go give the kitchen sink one more wipe-down with Clorox spray or decide to change out the hand towel in the hall bathroom. I washed every stitch of clothing we own and spent lots of time picking up toys. Dean sensed something was up, so we had an extra-long storytime before bed that night and I cuddled with him until  he was asleep. Marcus got home around 12:30 with our overnight babysitter in tow and we finally went to bed.

The alarm went off at 3:45 Friday morning and Marcus sat straight up and asked, "Who's calling!?!??!?!" I told him it was the alarm and he nearly fell out of bed. I got up, brushed my teeth and hair, dressed in my comfy yoga pants, maternity undies (!) and a loose t-shirt and snuck into Dean's room for a quick kiss atop his sweet, sleeping head.  Once  Marcus was ready, we  hit the road. It was 4:07am and pitch-black outside. We didn't talk much on the ride. He told me a few stories from the previous night's rehearsal and I gave him a few reminders about Dean stuff.

The hospital was already bustling when we arrived just before 5am.  Everyone in admissions was super-pleasant and friendly.  The clerk who took care of us talked about Alabama football and really put me at ease. Once we went up to the one-day surgery unit, Marcus was given a tracking number so he could keep up with me (it's like I'm a UPS package!) and I was taken to a curtained room to get prepped.  Leaving my husband in the waiting room? NOT the best part of my day.

Once in my little curtained area, I was instructed to "go" in a cup (pregnancy test) and change into my surgical costume, which consisted of some grey slipper-socks, a sassy  blue bonnet and a lavender gown. Friends, we could have ALL fit into that gown TOGETHER.   I had to wrap the little waist tie around myself three times. I noticed some weird cardboard things on the shoulders  and knee areas of the gown, but figured I probably didn't want to  know what those were for.  My patient care tech, Derek, came in and took my temperature with what he called a "magic wand." It looks like the scope they use to check your ears, only the front is flat. He waved  it over  my temporal lobe and under my ear  and it took my temperature. Amazing! Also, non-invasive!  Then he brought out this hose, which immediately threw me into a panic,  thinking,"Oh,  gosh, he's gonna shove that down my throat  right now!" He explained that my gown was called a Bair Paw and contained air pockets. He hooked the hose up to the cardboard connector at  my knee and gave me the  controller. I selected "Warm #3" and  suddenly a whoosh of perfect, warm air filled my  gown. I immediately asked if I could take it home. Derek glared at me. The nurse came in and beat my arms for about 20 minutes, trying to find a vein. Finally, she tied  3 tourniquets onto my left arm, gave me some lidocaine and jabbed the IV into my left wrist. Ow  and also OW.

Marcus got to come in then  and upon seeing my puffed-up gown, asked if I'd opted for a boob job instead of a tubal. The anesthesiologists came in and talked me through the "putting you to sleep" parts, putting my mind more at ease. Suddenly, my OBGYN burst through the curtain and exclaimed, "Your kidney function is fantastic!" My creatnine was 0.5!!!! (That's really good for anyone, but  EXTRA good for a PKD patient!) She talked to us and stayed with me until they were ready to roll me down the hall.  Someone injected something wonderful into my IV and I actually kind of enjoyed the ride to the OR. I may have even waved a time or two.  Once we got there, they moved me  to the table, unplugged my warm, puffy gown (boo) and  asked if I was comfortable. My doctor took my hand and said, "Sweet dreams, Jen," and I was OUT.

The next thing I remember is a very sweet  nurse going, "Well, HAY! How are you?" I demanded that I needed to get up  and go to the bathroom, but they thought I should use a bed pan instead. It was not a fruitful effort.   For some reason, I was convinced that I needed to give something  to someone, but they said I  should lie still. When asked to rate my pain, I gave it a 7 and they gave  me  some  morphine. (I  like them.) I  got "the shakes" a bit from  the anesthesia and sort  of drifted in and out for  the next several  minutes.  Once I woke up a bit  and my pain was a 1, they moved me to Phase 2 of recovery, where I was presented with the  best Diet Coke  I've ever had along with a very cute visitor. (Marcus)

The  nurse  told me I could not leave until I  "pee-peed," so  I made it my mission. I took  my IV fluids  and drank my  Diet Coke. I got up  and tried. Nothing. They put me back to bed, gave me more to drink, hooked the fluids back up and waited 30 minutes.  By this point,  my  bladder was  about to burst,  so we tried again. After a painful  10 minutes, I finally went. They had catheterized me during  the surgery, so the aftermath is YOOOOOOWWWZZZZAAAA.

Now, my surgery was pretty routine. They  made a tiny incision under my belly button for the scope, then on my left side, just above  my hipbone,  for the  instruments.  They typically go in above the pelvic bone, but there's a lot of scar tissue left from my c-section  and they were concerned about bladder  injury, so they went through my abdomen instead. I appreciate this gesture.

After a trip through the drive-thru's at CVS  and KFC, we came home and I  got fed and medicated. I've been pretty much confined to my bed ever since. I  do get up and move around some  and I ate dinner at the kitchen table last night while Dean was outside with Mia, our phenomenal sitter who has taken excellent care of all of us this weekend. We are super-blessed to have her in our lives. This morning I went down and collected my coffee and cheese toast and  ate in bed (a  pet-peeve of mine, but you do what you gotta, right?). I took a shower  and it was glorious. I'm not sure the sticky goo from all the connecters will ever wash  off, but at least the betadine's gone.

I had  the idea that I would try  to skip a dose of pain meds. MISTAKE. The gas they use to inflate your abdomen escapes through your left shoulder and WOW, does it hurt! I feel like I'm having muscle spasms. My incision on the left is a  little bruised and hurts a bit,  so I took a Percocet. Now I'm feeling goofy,  so I'd better wrap up.  Leave me a comment and let me know about your  favorite Etsy shop or website. I  need new things to  look  at online!

xoxoxo. You're all lovely. I give you  great big slobbery internet kisses.

My first blog post on Percocet

Well, HEY, internet! I have to start off today by thanking Christy for assuming blogging duties here yesterday.  Didn't she do a lovely job? Hope you all enjoyed my photo.  At least I was having  a decent hair day, right?

I'm feeling ok today. I'm VERY,  VERY sore, but my appetite is good and I'm able to move around, so I'm working on getting better.  I'm also taking a  lot of pain meds. They are pretty fun. They're  especially fun about 2 hours after you take them when  they really take  affect full-swing.  Wheeeeeeeee!

The hospital staff was downright fabulous yesterday from the admissions clerk who checked me in all the way to the recovery nurses who gave me 2 Diet Cokes.  I'll tell you more about the procedure when I'm less dopey, but all went well. My scars are super tiny and actually hurt less than my IV site.

Need to lie down now.  I promised Marcus I would stay off Etsy, so I'd better put the computer away. Thanks for all your wonderful words of support and encouragement. They mean a lot.  I'll dream of you in  my Percocet-induced nappy nap.

Update on Jen's Fallopian Tubes!***Updated***Aaaannd updated again, with pictures!***

Hey Y'all! This is Christy here to fill you in on Jen's PUBLICITY STUNT uh, I mean surgery. I want you guys to know that I was really excited to help Jen out, for one because I think she's pretty great but mostly? Because I get to type with a southern accent. Up here in Minnesota we don't get to say charming things like "Hey Y'all" to greet one another we just say "Hello" (LAME) or maybe, "Hey, you guys!" Which when printed out sounds a lot like we're trying to be Sloth from The Goonies {but I promise we're not nearly as cool as Sloth}. The point of this being that this is a southerner's blog so I can totally get away with it so HEY Y'ALL, HEY Y'ALL, HEY Y'ALL, HEY Y'ALL, HEY Y'ALL. Also? Cornbread.

So then...It's kind of a trip taking over someone else's blog. I feel very powerful right now. MUAHAHAHAHA. What should I do with all this power?! (I mean besides practice my maniacal laugh?)  Take a nap maybe? To tell you the truth all this power is kind of exhausting.

How 'bout I just tell you how Jen's doing? I received this text from Marcus at 8:08 this morning...

"Just talked with the doc. Jen came through fine. They are going to take me in to see her in just a moment."

I will keep updating as I get information, so stay tuned. I suspect once Jen gathers as many wits as she can on all those pain meds she will quickly turn into the diva of the ER, requesting only certain hues of Jello and that the alarms for blood pressure and meds beep to the sound of Beethoven's 5th symphony for dramatic effect...oh wait. That would be me. Jen will most assuredly be perfectly lovely. Now let's all wish her a speedy recovery!

*UPDATE: I recieved these very informative texts from Jen right before noon...

Now as much as I love hearing about Jen's inability to pee comfortably, I'm hoping the next update will include something about brownies...

MOAR UPDATES: No brownies, Internet, but I've got something even better...a doped up southerner! I just got this text:

"Narcotics r mah friend"

With this picture:

I know I should have some commentary on this but I'm laughing too hard. Looks like our southern belle is being well cared for...

An excellent excuse to wear yoga pants for a full week

Wow, y'all.  If you want to drive up your blog traffic, do the  following:

1. Talk about getting your tubes tied.

2.  Post a recipe for Parma Rosa Sauce.

Tomorrow's the big day.  I had my pre-op appointment yesterday and all went well.  I'm in good health with super-low risk factors, so all is expected to go smoothly. They took SIX VIALS of blood from my horrible veins,  so I imagine they're checking out every single cell in  my body to make sure I'm prepared.  Did I mention that I had to fast before having this labwork done? At 10am? And NO coffee?   Yeah. Yet I remained relatively pleasant and even remembered my name and date of birth 302 out of the 303 times they asked.

I met with my OBGYN and she talked me through the procedure. They'll go in with the laproscope just under my belly button, then in through my c-section scar with the instruments.  They'll put me to sleep with IV medication and insert a breathing tube. Honestly, the breathing tube is the part that makes me the  most nervous, even though I'll likely never know it was there. When I had my c-section, I was more afraid of the catheter than the epidural. I'm weird like that.  Anyway, the entire procedure, from getting me into the OR  to waking me up, should take about an hour.   I'm the first case of the day, which should mean surgery starts at 9am. Christy will post some updates here.  The reality of it will likely be boring things like "Jen is attempting to tolerate liquids," so I fully expect her to spice it up a bit. I will admit right now that I'll be wearing maternity underwear  home from  the hospital so as not  to crush mah incisions. (See? GOOD THING I held onto those all this time!)

Thank you for already reaching out to me through  comments and emails. It means the world that you care.  I'm going to write my Comfort Food Saturday post now so I can schedule it to  post. Otherwise, you're likely to get doped-up Jen's recipe for taking Percocet. (Hey, it's comforting!)

Be sure to check out my awesome blog friends who are also participating in NaNaBloPop,  too!

Alissa (seriously, her Pay It Forward posts are not  to be missed!)  SSU  (Super-cute daily features about her life and adorable children) Christy (The Ham to my Cheese...or possibly vice-versa)  The Hotch Potchery  (One of my original NaBloPoMo friends from 2 years ago) and  Marianne (a new blog friend!)

EDITED TO ADD: Surgery is at 7am, so I have to be there at 5. GAH.

 

All Tied Up

I'm having my tubes tied on Friday.

DISCLAIMER! If reading about my ladybits makes you uncomfortable, look away! (DAD!) Go read Food Lush or something.

Ok, you  asked for it.

Ever since learning we wouldn't be able to have more children last year, Marcus and I have spent countless hours discussing our family-planning options.  The big V, IUDs and  many other things came up, but I ultimately decided, not that long ago, that I want to get my tubes tied.  Before  I (or anyone else) could talk myself out of it, I called my OBGYN and talked with the nurse. That was last Monday.  She offered me a surgery slot last Thursday. Seeing how we'd need to arrange childcare and the like, we put it off until this week.

This decision was both incredibly difficult and very easy to make.  Over the past few months, I have truly come to be at peace with the fact that I can't have another baby.  It still sucks, but I can live with it. What I can't live with is the slap-in-the-face of having to use various forms of birth control.  (I'm serious, Dad, go away.)  Hormonal methods are not an option for me, as they could interfere with my kidney function or my blood pressure, so it was to be IUD, snippity snip or party hats for us from here on out.

No, thanks.

I considered a copper IUD (Paragard), but learned that my uterus is retroverted and short-in-stature (like the rest of me), so I would  likely "expel" the device.  Haunted by visions of  an IUD flying across the room and smacking some poor actor  in the face during rehearsal was enough to take that option off the table. (Not to mention the extra cramps and bleeding often associated with those. NO WAY.)

I have a pre-op appointment on Wednesday,  followed by labwork, where they'll likely have to jab me in the hand to get the blood they need. (I have AWFUL veins.)  Assuming that all goes well, I go in bright and early Friday morning, have my surgery, then come home the very same day.  Our buddy Mia is moving in to help take care of Dean for as long as we need her to over the weekend and I intend to take it extremely easy until I feel like I can handle things on my own again.  The timing is great--I go back to work in mid-December, and by then I'll be all healed up and ready to climb the countless flights of stairs from my office in the basement to the rehearsal halls on the main floor.

I have to tell you, and I know I've said it before, I have the best blog friends.  I shared this news with a  couple of my close blogging girl friends last week and they graciously volunteered to take over the site on Friday to keep you updated. Christy will be my point-person, giving real-time updates as she's able.   Frema will be throwing support my way from Indiana while surfing the internet to research locations for a future blog friends getaway because MY MERCY do we need it.

Molly convinced me to  have two people on board for updates. Here's her take on things:

I would like to be your person in the event that you fly the coop prior to hospital check-in.  "Jen could have had her tubes tied," I will report to your readers, "but instead she is eating string cheese...with a tabby cat...named Santiago...in Mexico." 

So there you have it. Check back on Friday for updates. If you hear from Christy, it means all went  well and I'm recovering nicely. If you hear from Molly....who knows. Shannan will update the Twitter universe.

You should also know that Christy thinks I planned my surgery for November so I'd have good blog fodder for NaBloPoMo.  The truth? The world may never know.

Also, feel free to ask me questions.  The main reason I chose to share this with you all is because it will likely help someone at some point.  So ask  away! (And thanks for caring.)

** The only thing I do ask is that if you're a "real-life"  friend (especially if you live in Montevallo) that you  keep this info to yourself. I don't need all  my husband's students asking him how my tubal went. :)

The state of Mom

Those of you who are my friend on Facebook or in real life will already know that it's been a rough couple of weeks where my mom in concerned.  I thought I'd take a moment to fill you in on the details, since status updates can be a bit hazy and my mind has been reeling a bit this week.  I hope no one else ever has to go through what my family went through last Saturday.

On Tuesday, April 20, Mom woke up with chest pains. They were deep and they scared her.  My dad took her to the ER where they admitted her to the hospital in Oxford (where she lives).  If you don't already know this, my mom had a kidney transplant 17 days before Dean was born (December 19, 2007 to be exact).  Any time there are medical issues, we watch her kidney to make sure it stays healthy.  When she got to the hospital, they ran an EKG and echocardiogram, both of which were normal, but they wanted to do a heart cath to check for blockages.  The doctor said he was almost sure she had a full blockage and would at least require stents.  Her heart cath had to be delayed until her creatnine was 1.4 and they couldn't do the test until it was 1.0.  So they waited. She had a couple more episodes of chest pain, for which they gave her aspirin and nitroglycerine. 

On Saturday morning of last week, she got up to go to the restroom and took a bad fall due to dizziness.  She hit her shins on the bottom of her IV pole. By the time my dad got to the hospital several hours later (no one called to tell him she had fallen), she had developed compartment syndrome.  Her shins swelled to three times their normal size and she developed severe blisters. It looked as though she had third-degree burns and extremely bad bruises.  The doctors began talking about doing surgery because if they didn't , they might have to amputate her legs. They also said she needed a blood transfusion due to the amount of bruising and that a transfusion would pretty definitely kill her donor kidney.  At that point, my father decided she should be airlifted to UAB Hospital in Birmingham where her transplant had taken place so the doctors there could care of her if/when she rejected the kidney.  Due to weather, her flight was delayed 7 hours. She didn't leave Oxford until 11:30pm.

In the meantime, she was in horrible pain and asked to see her pastor and Bradley, her kidney donor, and his family.  She said goodbye to my grandmother when she left the room.  She talked with her pastor about her funeral.  I called and she said goodbye to me and gave me explicit instructions on what I should say to Marcus and to Dean.  We truly thought we had lost her. My dad said watching the blood transfusion go into her central line was like watching someone receive a lethal injection.

I found out about this as I started my afternoon show on Saturday.  I got a call from my dad, but didn't answer it.  I texted Marcus and told him to call my dad and tell him I'd call him at intermission. He texted back with this:  "Call me before you call your dad."  I was certain she'd died. I had to shut down and just go into hyper-overdrive to push through the first act of my show.  I called the production stage manager and asked her to come in to learn to call my show so I could leave in the evening.  At intermission I called and found out they were taking her to Birmingham.  Once the show was over and I'd talked Tanya through how to call it as best I could (she hadn't seen the first act), I drove like the wind to get home and pick up Marcus. We waited until Dad called to say she'd taken off in the UAB jet, then made our way to Birmingham which is, thankfully, only 20 miles from home for us. 

We arrived in her room before the jet had landed, so the nurse had me start giving her history.  I mentioned the blood transfusion and that we wanted her here when she went into rejection. The nurse asked, "Why would she reject?  We give transplant patients blood all the time."  Um, HUH?  The doctors in Oxford ALL more or less guaranteed us she'd lose her kidney.  Needless to say, the tone of the room changed a bit after that.  Once she arrived and the doctors checked her legs, it was determined that she would not need any kind of surgery.  They began managing her pain and dressing her wounds and by the time my dad and grandmother arrived 2 1/2 hours later (it's normally a 4 hour trip, by the way), we were out of the woods.  Amazing what can happen when doctors know how to handle a patient, eh?

It had been determined through a series of tests this week that her chest pains are due to severe reflux and a heart cath and stents are not needed.  Her kidney is working like a champ and her creatnine is down to 1.0--perfectly normal.  The swelling in her legs has decreased monumentally, but the wounds and bruising are still very bad.  They hadn't given her any pain meds yesterday before they started changing her dressings and she was in more pain than I've ever seen.  We had to make them stop until they could get her some Demerol.  She's got a pain patch now that seems to be helping. She is able to walk to and from the bathroom with a walker and today we washed her hair and got her a caramel macchiatto.  She is in good spirits, as she always is, and we're hoping she can go home on Monday or Tuesday.

Needless to say, the hospital in Oxford is never touching her again. If there are ever any more complications or issues, she will come to Birmingham, no doubt about it.  I cannot say enough good things about the doctors here. Mostly, though, I'm so thankful that God has, once again, given our family a miracle where my mom is concerned.  As bad as the results of the fall are, I think it saved her life because it got her to this hospital. She's got a bit of a long-haul ahead of her as far as rehab is concerned, but she's a tough bird. After all, in the past 28 months, she's had a kidney transplant, sinus surgery and both hips replaced and she's done it all with grace.  We could all learn a lesson or two from her.