How Was Your Week?

The week in brief:

1.) I was finally able to shampoo the barf out of The Baby's hair since she was feeling better and discharged from the hospital on Friday. When i was done braiding it I was startled by the colored balls and barrettes I had chosen. Reds, greens, tangerines and yellows. Obviously, I had needed a color pick-me-up after our drab hospital week from hell. She looked embarrassingly like Carmen Miranda.

It wasn't until The Teenager gave her a peck on the cheek on her way out to lunch with Iris that my suspicions were confirmed. "Goodbye my little fruit bowl head."

2.) We spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in a disgusted pediatricians office getting I.M. Rocephin for the crackles in The Baby's lungs and infected ears on all three days. Yes, still! When I asked her about Acidophilus she replied, "I AM VERY HOLISTIC." A two fisted M.D with a syringe in one hand that cures everything from Syphilis to lung crackles and Spirulena in the other hand. God, I love this women.

She wants us back in one week. I'm hoping to be out of town.
3.) The Teenager had a dental appointment today. I would have canceled it due to my illness but it would take 6 months to get another appointment. We went. " Mom! No, cavalries!" Thank God for that, dances with wolves.

Photo from Google Images

After a quick mystery lunch at the hospital we headed next to the eye doctor for The Baby's eye exam. I would have canceled it due to my illness but it would take another 4 months to get an appointment. The Baby is slightly nearsighted. Aren't we all? After holding her down with all of our might and prying her eyelids open while she fought maniacally (as usual) the eye doctor said she looked great. Being on oxygen last week no longer a concern for her preemie eyes as she is well past her due date. Follow-up in two years.

4.) I have come to the conclusion that parental illness is a luxury.

5.) We attended The Boy's Thanksgiving festivities at school. I called Mrs. M to ask if there was food involved since The Baby and I had been on the road all day. "Food involved for what?" she asked innocently. Her daughter, like The Boy, does not bring home notices from school and she had no idea today was the day for the Thanksgiving school program.

We met at the school and enjoyed the parade of students bearing gifts of canned food and packages of rice to baskets for the needy. I noticed three of those baskets had been donated by me and obtained at the Weigh n' Pay and Freecycle. I was cracking up until Mrs. M's son got a horrific nose bleed. "Pinch his nostrils together" I hiss-pered. The nurse in me always becomes bossy especially when there is blood involved.

"I can't breathe I can't breathe!"

So much for mouth breathing. Exit Mrs. M and one bloody, anoxic toddler. She returned later asking me if I was done with our Burger King Bag. Why? "I want to put our bloody tissues in it."

Yack.

There is nothing more affirming than being with the moms of other children with special needs. When one mom was told she would be able to take her son home early she informed the teacher, "Not until you give him his 2 PM behavior medication." I had to laugh. I felt renewed.

Tomorrow we have nothing scheduled. I know. I know. I can hardly believe it myself.

Tonight I received a phone call from a dad of a foster child that lived with us years ago. We still keep in touch. I sat on the only piece of furniture remaining in my living room and began sniff, sniff, sniffing something. Someone had peed on the love seat.

OMG.

The Boy and I drug the love seat out back. I phoned my neighbor and asked him to haul it away.

I have come to the conclusion that furniture is over rated.

From this day forward I am going Shaker-style.

But maybe not as elaborate as the above photo.

I'm Done

Follow-up at the Pediatricians office today who was not happy with the fact that the hospital gave one dose of Rocephin in the emergency room and never followed through. I questioned them numerous times receiving answers like, "One dose will do it," to "it's viral." They did come after me on three separate occasions mentioning they would give her the flu shot while in-patient but I refused figuring RSV, a 103 temp for 7 days and having to be on oxygen was enough stress for one week.

Now, ten days later The Baby still has an ear infection. Today she was given an injection of Rocehpin. When I asked about the flu shot the pediatrician said, "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Back tomorrow for a third shot of Rocephin.

Well allrighty then.

Even as a very old seasoned pediatric nurse it's hard to know who to listen to in times like this.

Now...I've got it. Sore throat started days ago. Congested. Feeling awful.

Just canceled tomorrows clients and that will be 2 weeks without pay. Looks like we're going to have a slim pickens Christmas as there is no time or energy for even handmade at this juncture. Good thing I did some shopping earlier in the year.

I have no strength to clean so my house would probably make me a candidate to audition for Hoarders.

After the Pediatrician I went to the fruit stand and to the grocery store. This was the baby's first outing in over 10 days. You could see the life draining out of her at our second stop. Home for lunch but she was un-glued at this point throwing her bowl of food at me. Nap time.

Times like this when you're weary to the bone you tend to lose sight of your blessings. It's often difficult to see them clearly through the fatigue, funky finances and snot fog.

This keeps me grounded.

And this.

And this.

And the knowledge that we live in a country where we probably won't die any time soon from dehydration, simple diarrhea or a wicked virus helps a lot as well.

Putrid Pets And Jabber Jaw Gnats

After this week I needed a good chuckle. My fascination for Engrish never lets me down.

Nothing worse than a hyperactive monkey. What IS that smell?

Mystery stank solved. Don't anyone light a match:

Exactly what is it with this fart obsession?

I mean even the humans appear fixated on fumes! BTW, don't ask this guy to be your prom date:

This gives new meaning to the mom mantra, "Please wash your hands with soap and water. Lord knows where that finger has been":

I know. I know. Everyone loves a wormy beagle:

I wonder if the parasitic infestation has an impact on his law practice, though?

I haven't decided which is worse? Worms? Flatulence? Or those blasted chattering winter gnats:


Next week. Children's clothes.

Of Seizures And Wheezers And Heads Beating Like A Drum

I wonder what happens if I pull this cable?

Thursday morning when I walked in to the hospital The Baby greeted me with a big smile. The first smile in 7 days. She was obviously feeling better as evidenced by the photo above of her yanking on every wire and cable in her hospital bed. She was also dangling over the edge head first on a few occasions. I grabbed Nurse G in the hall way and informed her it was time to put The Baby in a crib. The Genius had spent the night with her on Wednesday but on Thursday night The Baby would be going it alone. If she was indeed, feeling better she would never stay in the above bed.

Thursday afternoon the fever spiked again and the smile vanished. Seven relentless days of high temperatures.

The Genius saved the day and volunteered to spend the night again on Thursday. When I arrived on Friday morning I was greeted by this crib:



Zipped in on all four sides, The Baby was pissed. I prefer to keep this blog rated G even though at times I'm thinking R-rated thoughts but pissed sums up her attitude so nicely.

And then it occurred to me. Why this looks just like Cinderella's carriage! I love your Cinderella carriage!

Surprisingly, she bought it. Problem solved.

Still not eating or drinking The Genius struggled with The Baby the entire night on Thursday and with help from the nurse was able to get about 3 teaspoons of juice in The Baby. It had been 7 full days without one bite of food. Her only source of fluid was her 50cc/hr continuous IV.

The Genius arranged the bed chair to face The Baby Thursday night. This is the scene she awoke to:


Ah, what a sweet picture I commented to The Genius. Yeah? Check out the finger. "I think this sums up her current attitude towards me trying to get her to drink last night," replied The Genius.

Whoops.

After the medical team made rounds expressing concerns to The Genius about The Baby's lack of fluid or food intake I arrived armed with Pomegranate applesauce, organic yogurt, organic oatmeal I had cooked that morning and an organic banana smoothie. The genius brought up fresh blueberries, cantaloupe and honeydew melon from the cafeteria. The Baby downed it all. I mean think about it people. When you have refined taste buds like The Baby do you really think you would ingest hospital food? gag.

Fortunately, Dr. Friendly, a physician I have known for years, arrived to listen to The Baby obviously following up on his little medical student ducklings. We discussed The Baby's highly evolved palate. Favorite foods being Indian Curry and stir fried tofu from our favorite spicy Thai restaurant. Oh, and McDonald's french fries. (I mean who in their right mind does not like those salty, greasy, hot little bundles of artery clogging tater strings?)

I informed Dr. Friendly that at this point the aversion to fluids was purely behavioral having spent enough sick days with this pint sized twerp to recognize sick vs mule headed.

It's not what you know. It's who you know. Dr. Friendly (still chuckling over the curry) told me I knew where they were if we got in trouble at home and penned the discharge orders.We were home by noon.

Today The Boy has a fever of 101.4. I have the sore throat from hell and am honking green snot. The Genius is vomiting. At 4:42 AM I awake to The Teenager crying out on the baby monitor.

Seizure.

Because it only lasted two minutes I did not have to break out the Valium rectal rocket. While I'm sitting next to her waiting out the seizure, The Baby instantly needs a nebulizer treatment. I am up and down the stairs for one hour.

This morning, The Teenager wakes up and yells, "When I have a seizure my head beats like a drum the next day."

"Oh...did you have a seizure last night?" I ask innocently.

"No."

I dish out Motrin to the entire family like M and M's.

Home Sweet Home!

RSV

Yes, The Baby is in there somewhere.

Friday The Baby developed a temperature which continued over the weekend. On Monday morning I took her to her pediatrician who diagnosed an ear infection but when she began vomiting I knew I was defeated keeping her hydrated so off to the emergency room on Tuesday morning.

Emergency room medicine seems to be a lot different than it used to be. Instead of running a CBC and Chemistry Panel they did what they call a GEM which is actually the name of the machine that analyzes blood gases and electrolytes. In spite of a 103-104 temp for 5 days and vomiting the electrolytes came back within normal limits. I was also informed the chest x-ray was normal and they planned on sending her home without admitting her if she could keep Pedialyte down. She hadn't eaten since dinner on Friday and at this point was already looking skeletal.

Fortunately, she did not keep Pedialyte down. Why fortunately? Because after 10 hours in the ER we were transferred up to the floor where she immediately crashed. Oxygen saturation's plummeted from 100% to 89 % and oxygen was started. A nasal swab was done for RSV and came back positive. One of the nurses spilled the beans unknowingly. The chest x-ray showed atelectasis. It was not "normal" after all. I can't imagine what would have happened had we gone home.

RSV is a very common virus and is a leading cause of lower respiratory symptoms in the general population but can be deadly among the medically complex child and especially high risk preemies. There is absolutely nothing you can do but supportive care, i.e., oxygen and IV fluids. This is the crazy maker. Moms always want that quick fix.

Thanks to a wonderful support system and good friends Mrs. M and Iris I was able to stay at bedside with The Baby until around 8PM tonight. The Genius came after work and is spending the rest of the night at the hospital while I tend to the older kids who are traumatized by The Baby's absence. I am adamant that every patient no matter how old or young should have an advocate at the bedside at all times, especially when that patient can't speak for themselves. The Genius and The Artist have always been available to camp out at the hospital with their adopted siblings, foster siblings and grandmother during times of illness and hospitalizations.

I worry least about The Boy who is and always has been quite outspoken. On the few times I had to leave him he has not hesitated to call me and tattle on nurses. I'll never forget one nurse begging him to take some pain medication after one of his many surgeries. There he lay in his hospital bed, legs crossed, arms under his head obviously annoyed that his tv program was being interrupted by this well meaning Florence Nightingale. "NO THANK YOU! Just bring me coffee and bacon." He was 3 years old.

The hospital staff keeps reassuring me. Day #5 and day #6 are the absolute worse with RSV. "It will get better." Tonight when I left her temp was 103.2

Tomorrow is Day #7. sigh.

Please keep The Baby in your prayers.

There is a bright note. The new hospital is a thing of absolute beauty compared to the crowded conditions of the old hospital. Private rooms. Two beds for parents. Tv for the patient and an individual tv for the parent. Refrigerator. Room service. Valet parking. And beautiful views from giant picture windows. Brasilia summed it up nicely for me.

"Enjoy yourself. This will be the closest you ever get to a five star resort."

Engrish

I love reading other blogs. It seems that many of them have chosen certain days to blog the same catchy creative features each week. Wordless Wednesday, Haiku Thursday and Friday Featured Product of the Week come to mind. I'm sure there are many others that are equally as interesting and creative.

What about Engrish Sunday? Nothing says funny like the errors made in Japanese advertising written in English Engrish. And while we all sit facing having to go back to work on Monday wouldn't a little Sunday evening pick me up be nice?

Because I've been contemplating joining Weight Watchers this week I was particularly attracted to the following Engrish food adds:

Of course I couldn't give this to The Baby because it contains gluten but it does sound oh so tempting

Is this a blackened chicken on Oxycontin?

MMM! This sounds light and fluffy!

What's for dinner, Mommy? Why, fried horse crap with lime and a nice salad, kids. You can even put the leftovers in your Bento box tomorrow for school. This would go over well with The Boy who has to smell everything before he touches it.


And aren't fries everyone's dream? I know they're mine. That's why I'm contemplating joining Weight Watchers this week.


So what about it? Engrish Sunday? What topics would you like to see featured in the world of Japanese advertising next Sunday? How about fashion?

Vanna White Is Too Skinny

I mean she's 53 years old for Pete's sake. Look at her! Where is her stomach? Where is her turkey neck? Why doesn't she have dingle dangle arms? I'm only 5 years older and if you could NOT see my face and I was wearing a long sleeved turtle neck shirt, gloves and my legs were covered to the ankle you might possibly mistake me from the side for a woman who was expecting a baby in about 6 weeks because of my seedless watermelon stomach that gets bigger every year.

When you get to my age you begin to wonder. Are burqa's really all that bad?

I don't mean to be insensitive but they do seem a lot less expensive than a full body lift. And they come in blue.

But I'm not actually talking about that Vanna White today. I'm talking about our Vanna White. Yes, our dog extraordinaire pictured below with my precious American Bull granddaughger, Abigail who is a hurricane Katrina rescue...

Lazy? Not much.

Vanna has been with us for one year and was obtained from a Great Pyrenees rescue organization. A long time ago I vowed to never obtain a pet from anything other than a rescue organization and have kept that vow.

Prior to that fateful October one year ago I had never actually seen a Great Pyrenees in person. I liked to watch the Westminster or Eukanuba dog shows when we had a tv and vaguely remember that they are in the "gigantic working class dog" category being herd protectors by calling and reaching weights of well over 120 lbs.

So it was quite a surprise when The Boy conned us in to going to the opening of a new Pet Store and we were greeted at the front door by about eight Pyr rescues looking for a family. A beautiful, yet shocking sight. When I first walked in I thought i was being surrounded by a group of barking polar bears.

We milled around and in the process one female Pyr kept seeking me out and leaning her head against me. A completely endearing act. When I moved away she would shift her attention to The Boy placing her head in his lap as he was in a wheelchair recovering from a terrible fracture. I had just lost a decrepit poodle rescue named Ruby and was still reeling from the broken heart but I could feel myself being sucked in while looking into those sad, brown Vanna eyes.

"I'm sorry," said the Pyr rescue foster mom. "Vanna leaves tomorrow. She has been adopted."

Thank you, Jesus. I came so close to being reeled in hook, line and stinker sinker by those beckoning eyes with the inch-long, thick, black lashes. For some odd reason I felt compelled to give the foster mom my phone number, though. "If anything happens with the adoption would you call me? I am interested in this dog and this dog only." I figured she pitched my phone number the moment I left the pet store. I left feeling relieved.

When we arrived home The Boy asked me, "Mom, can we pray about that dog?" I reminded him that Vanna was leaving the next day for her adoptive placement. "I know," he replied. "I really want to pray for that one dog, though." Having experienced The power of The Boy's prayers in the past I agreed.

Dear God we really love this dog but we know she is being adopted. If anything happens will you send her to us? We want your will to be done. Amen.

I cried. The sweetness and maturity of his request overwhelmed me.

Three weeks later I got a phone call. The adoption fell through because "there was too much puppy in her." After our last two geriatric rescue dogs came to us and then basically died we were really up for "too much puppy." Yes! We still want Vanna White!

And the rest is history.

So this week I celebrated her one year anniversary by taking her for her annual check up and buying her a new, gigantic blue collar . And this is where this blog post really gets long winded.

I know I mentioned our beloved Hindu veterinarian in the blog before. Oh ladies! I would run away with this man in a minute if he asked. Yes, sisters. Me! A Bible thumping, fundamentalist Christian woman and a Hindu vet!, No, that's an exaggeration. First I would make arrangements for my children and then I would run away with him.

This is the kind of man you only meet on the mission field or at a PETA convention. He is THAT special. Last year when he left the practice and went on a "spiritual pilgrimage" in India I was incredulous, though. The nerve! Isn't the adoration of every four legged creature in the county and their human slaves enough fulfillment for you, Dr. Gandhi? Apparently not.

I was so grateful when he returned to work sporting a new holy man hair-do, i.e., shaved head with teeny pony tail. Oh! He was totally smokin'!

In a completely Hindu holy man kind of way, that is.

It was during this phase that he asked me one day, "Have you acquired this over time or is this something you were born with?" Once I determined he wasn't referring to my dingle dangle arms or turkey neck I asked him, "born with what? " "Patience," he replied. "Have you acquired this over time or were you born with it?" I figured he was referring to my laissez- faire attitude while my children were destroying his office. But then when he likened me to Mother Theresa I totally lost it.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Dude! You've spent too much time under the Bodhi-tree while in India. You probably should have applied sunscreen to your shaved head. And Mother Theresa? I adore her but come on! Could you get any more wrinkled?

Obviously too much transcendental mediation can make you delusional.

I still love him , however, which is why I was horrified when I called to make Vanna'a appointment this week. "Dr. Ghandi has taken a leave of absence."

"WHAT! Oh come on! Please tell me he's not on another blasted spiritual pilgrimage in India?"

"Um...no...he had a family emergency."

Well. Thank God for that.

So my vet replacement choices are:

Dr. HamilTAN

or:

Dr. GrumpyLUSH

Groan. You've got to be kidding. Ok. I'll take Dr.GrumpyLUSH.

"I'm sorry. Dr. GrumpyLUSH doesn't work on Thursdays.

Ok. Ok. I'll take Dr. HamilTAN if I have to. Dawg! I must be desperate.

Uh oh. Did I just say that out loud?

"That's ok." muffled laughter. "I'd be happy to give you an appointment with Dr. HamilTAN."

Apparently I did just say that out loud.

I've lived in the tropics most of my life other than an idyllic few yeas in Oregon running wild in the redwood forests, being pecked on the head by blue jays the size of ospreys, eating blackberries and climbing cherry trees. Which means I've been here long enough to be entirely suspicious of anyone with a FAKE tanning booth tan. Not to mention that when Dr. Gandhi was on his pilgrimage in India Dr. HamilTAN charged me almost $300.00 for my decrepit poodles' ear infection to Dr. Gandhi's usual charge of $40.00.

Which bring me to the entire Vanna White is too skinny thing. When Vanna arrived a year ago she only weighed 75 lbs. This week she weighs 88 lbs but Dr. HamilTAN wants her to beef up to 97 lbs. In one month.

Here's a suggestion Dr. HamilTAN: maybe you should wear a helmet along with your protective eye goggles the next time you're in the tanning booth? I think you've fried a few too many neurons.

And then he has the audacity to say I should NEVER crate Vanna while I am at work as I will "have behavior problems in the future." Tan man! Brasilia's husband the Flying Dutchman just hauled my sofa to the dump because Vanna mistook it for her personal port-o-let. You wanna talk behavior problems? I dare you.

Paging Dr. Gandhi. Dr. Gandhi. You have a call at the front desk.

Oh, where is my handsome, hairless guru when I need him?

Well, in summary...Happy adoption anniversary, Vanna White.You are perfect just as you are and we love you.

And you have my blessing if you want to eat Dr. HamilTAN. I will warn you, however. He is well done.

I know you like your steak rare.