I'm pretty sure I should have just stayed in bed yesterday. It didn't begin particularly well, and it ended… well, it hasn't ended yet. Technically, I suppose it has, but it certainly hasn't seemed like it.
I could get into all the ugly details of everything that happened before Tuesday evening, but I won't. Suffice it to say that while some parts of the day were good - visiting a friend in the hospital with ongoing issues and hanging with another friend at the pool while the kids played in the water - other bits were not so great, like losing the car in the massive hospital parking garage and causing the pool to be shut down because Doodlebug accidentally kicked Boo square in the nose and caused blood to gush everywhere.
Anyway, the real fun started after the kids went to bed. A few days ago - I remember it being Saturday - Oz mentioned that he was having fairly strong stomach cramps. Since his digestive system is temperamental at the best of times, he chalked it up to either something he'd eaten or some supplements that weren't agreeing with him. So he stopped taking the supplements and assumed it would go away.
It didn't.
By Sunday evening, he was taking painkillers for the issue, and then… then on Monday evening, the pain began to change. He didn't say anything to me, but the pain began to move and localize… in - where else? - the right lower quadrant of his abdomen.
On Tuesday evening, he admitted the movement and localization of the pain to me, and he didn't seem particularly well. His appetite had been affected for several days, and he'd lost 10 pounds, though since it had been a couple of weeks since he'd weighed himself and he had been going to the gym, we're not sure how quickly that had come off. Anyway, I insisted that he take his temperature, and while it was only 98.8, I know that to him that's at least a full degree of fever. I had him take it again throughout the evening, and it rose to just under 100 degrees and stayed there. The pain level rose with it, and by the time it was 11:30 and he went to brush his teeth and take a shower, nausea had appeared as well.
Shortly thereafter, he told me he wanted to go to the ER to get checked out. So at 11:48 p.m. I began calling people looking for childcare. Oz drove himself to the hospital, and once I was able to find someone whose phone rings after certain hours in the evening - mine doesn't, so I certainly understand - I woke the kids and piled them in the car and sped across town to drop them off with an incredibly wonderful family. (And yes, they went back to sleep once they got there and slept till sometime around 8, which is excellent!) Then I took off to the ER after Oz.
By the time I got to the hospital he'd been triaged and had blood work drawn, and shortly after my arrival he had a CT scan of his abdomen. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. And about the time that I was about to lose my mind because it was 4 a.m. and there were two televisions playing two different channels and small children crying and people talking and I just needed peace and quiet and Oz was about to send me home to sleep until something happened, he got a room. And 15 minutes after that, the PA on call came in, listened to him, and said (and I paraphrase), "Yup. It's your appendix. The doctor will be in shortly." And he was, and he'd seen the CT scan results and said (and I paraphrase), "Yup. It's your appendix. And it's ugly, so I'm getting the trauma surgeon on call to come and tell you what the plan will be, but likely surgery and likely first thing in the morning." And by the time the trauma surgeon came in and confirmed everything and gave us a tentative surgery time of 7:15, it was 5:15, and there was no point in going home, was there?
Things moved reasonably quickly after that. Oz had a chest x-ray and an EKG, and as the EKG was being done someone came to schlep us to an actual private room, and so about 5:50 a.m., approximately 22 hours after I had awakened, we finally arrived in a room. It was glorious. I'm not sure how we scored the giant room that we did, and I'm sure that will show up reflected on the hospital bill later, but I was not an am not arguing. I settled into the first comfortable chair of the night and answered questions about Oz's health (because all the gods love the man, he didn't even contemplate sleep apnea and his CPAP as being a health issue and couldn't remember his blood type and couldn't remember how high his temperature had risen throughout the evening) while half asleep. And the nurse tech brought in pillows and blankets, and when they came to get Oz for surgery at 6:40 a.m., I was tucked in.
Of course, that meant that at 6:45 a.m., just as I was drifting off to sleep, the texts began. I had been updating Facebook throughout the course of the night to let people know what had been happening, and some of my friends are early risers. They were all well meaning and wanting to help, but I couldn't help wanting to chunk the phone into the wall when it buzzed. I didn't, though, and responded to them all, grateful for such a wonderful group of friends who were willing to help. Most of them offered to take the kids or run errands or visit or just do absolutely anything that I needed. I could never say thank you to them all properly - I have so many favors to return as it is! I did doze, though, and shortly before 9 a.m., the doctor who performed the surgery came in to let me know what had happened with Oz.
Oz is fine. I'll say that first. But the surgery was, in the surgeon's words, "a tough case." Oz's appendix had indeed perforated and was releasing infection into his abdomen, and that all had to be suctioned out before anything else could be done. After that, the appendix itself had to be removed, and it was "stuck" inside some inflammation and the end of it was abscessed to begin with, so that took time. And then the whole abdominal area had to be flushed. At this point the plan is IV antibiotics today, another round tomorrow, and we'll see how his white blood cell count and fever stands after that. I suspect he'll be fine and ready to go home on Friday morning, but we shall see. I'm hopeful.
I spent the day organizing places for the kids to go; actually, that's not quite true. I have two amazing friends who conspired together and commandeered my children, so all I had to do was pack bags for them and they organized all the transportation themselves. I did talk to the kids and let them know that Daddy is okay, but I haven't seen them since midnight and it's starting to wear on me a little, mostly due to my own fatigue, I'm sure. Anyway, I got them sorted and packed a bag for Oz to have at the hospital and spent most of the afternoon there before coming back home.
It's now 8:24 p.m., and I'm just a tad tired, as you can imagine. I've run to the store, the animals are fed, I am fed, Oz is in good hands (and has had two bouquets delivered as well as several visitors throughout the evening), and the children are in good places. It won't be long now before I let the dog out for the night and tuck myself into an actual bed for a good, long night's sleep.
I'll pick the kids up and let them see Daddy tomorrow, and then… well, I suppose it'll depend on what the doctor says.
I'm glad I can be there for Oz. And I'm still so glad that I have such an amazing village of people willing to drop their own concerns and worries and rearrange schedules to help us out. I'm so lucky. And given the fact that Oz's issues could have been so much worse, I think he feels the same.
But I do believe I'm rather tired of hospitals for a while now…
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
My Son, the Unique One
We went to see the retinal specialist this morning. Our appointment was at 7:45, and when we got the paperwork in the mail a couple days ago, I was not encouraged. For one thing, it said I would need to allow three hours for an initial visit. For another, it said that Doodlebug would need to bring sunglasses because they dilate eyes on every visit. Makes sense for an office dedicated to peering deep into the pupils of every patient.
I discovered when we got there that they run an interesting ship. It's an efficient ship, I'll give them that. They open at 7:30, for one thing, which is the earliest I've ever seen any doctor's office open. We got called back around 8, and they took us to the first room, which was the basic vision check room. It was a tiny, narrow space, and Boo wound up wedged in the front corner on the floor. They don't often get kids in there, or parents with kids in tow. I was the youngest in the waiting room by some 30 years, and Doodlebug... well, the looks he got when the tech called his name and not mine were rather interesting. The tech took some vitals and checked Doodlebug's vision (an easy 20/20, just like it always is, with the exception of not being able to see some of the letters with his left eye due to the 'line' that we were there for in the first place). Then she put the drops in his eyes and we waited for them to dilate before we moved to room #2, where she took some photos of his retina and checked pressure. Then we moved to room #3, where we actually saw the doctor. He came in and did even more checking.
In the end, he sat back in his chair, looked at me, and said, "If you're looking for a diagnosis, I don't think I can give you one. His eyes look perfect." The retinal scan was perfectly normal, the pressure scans showed that the fluid seemed to be in the right place and have the right pressure, the fluid itself looked clear, etc. The best he can figure is it's just a weird manifestation of Doodlebug's amblyopia that he's had since his strabismus correction when he was 2. He dictated a letter to our referring physician [Side note: After he got off the phone, he told me what he'd done, which I had listened to and knew what he'd said and made my own assessments based on the technical version he gave the ophthalmologist. I told him I knew what he'd been doing because I had previously done medical transcription, and he laughed and apologized and said that he always felt sorry for those folks because of how fast and badly he figured he talked. Of course, I'd had no problems understanding him and thought he'd have been an easy doctor to work for! I told him that, and he said it made him feel better. It's always nice to give someone their daily odd compliment.], and we were out of there, potentially never to return.
All this is, I suppose, good. We don't have to go back, and there's nothing special we have to do (though I think it would be good for Doodlebug's long-term eye health if I made him use that eye once in a while... he's so right-eye dominant that I fear his left eye may just, like, quit if he doesn't ever use it). The down side is that there's no way to 'fix' it, either. Not a big deal but rather frustrating. I'm a 'fix-it' sort of person.
This boy... he blows my mind. I've never met his equal when it comes to having benign abnormalities. When he was born with his 12 fingers and 12 toes, it wasn't a health hazard, but it had to be corrected. When he was 2 and had his strabismus, same deal. Then he had his tonsils and adenoids out not because they were infected (though apparently the backs of his tonsils were grossly cryptic and did need to come out, anyway) but because they were so large they were causing him to have sleep issues and snore. He's seen an endodontist because of his missing/small teeth; I didn't even know what an endodontist was until we had to see that one. Now a retinal specialist. Oh, and we did genetic testing recently, too, to rule out a couple of issues (the panel came back clear... we're still supposed to go get an echocardiogram, just to be on the extra-safe side, but I'm of two minds about it... and that would be yet another specialist).
I'm extremely grateful that none of his issues will cause him any long-term problems, I really am. I know there are so many families out there who may only have to see one or two doctors but have to see them all the time and their children have to live with certain issues and even disabilities for a lifetime (I'm ignoring Doodlebug's ADHD and autism spectrum issues for the moment, because those don't really count in the grand scheme of things, if he can learn to function well enough). I just hate that every time I think we're done with specialists and doctor visits, something new crops up.
Ah, well. He's outside with his sister now, planting the herbs and other stuff they got yesterday. He wants to create his own garden space this fall so he can plant his own actual garden next spring. And I'm glad that he can plan for that and not have to worry about things like vision. I'm lucky I have such healthy kids.
I discovered when we got there that they run an interesting ship. It's an efficient ship, I'll give them that. They open at 7:30, for one thing, which is the earliest I've ever seen any doctor's office open. We got called back around 8, and they took us to the first room, which was the basic vision check room. It was a tiny, narrow space, and Boo wound up wedged in the front corner on the floor. They don't often get kids in there, or parents with kids in tow. I was the youngest in the waiting room by some 30 years, and Doodlebug... well, the looks he got when the tech called his name and not mine were rather interesting. The tech took some vitals and checked Doodlebug's vision (an easy 20/20, just like it always is, with the exception of not being able to see some of the letters with his left eye due to the 'line' that we were there for in the first place). Then she put the drops in his eyes and we waited for them to dilate before we moved to room #2, where she took some photos of his retina and checked pressure. Then we moved to room #3, where we actually saw the doctor. He came in and did even more checking.
In the end, he sat back in his chair, looked at me, and said, "If you're looking for a diagnosis, I don't think I can give you one. His eyes look perfect." The retinal scan was perfectly normal, the pressure scans showed that the fluid seemed to be in the right place and have the right pressure, the fluid itself looked clear, etc. The best he can figure is it's just a weird manifestation of Doodlebug's amblyopia that he's had since his strabismus correction when he was 2. He dictated a letter to our referring physician [Side note: After he got off the phone, he told me what he'd done, which I had listened to and knew what he'd said and made my own assessments based on the technical version he gave the ophthalmologist. I told him I knew what he'd been doing because I had previously done medical transcription, and he laughed and apologized and said that he always felt sorry for those folks because of how fast and badly he figured he talked. Of course, I'd had no problems understanding him and thought he'd have been an easy doctor to work for! I told him that, and he said it made him feel better. It's always nice to give someone their daily odd compliment.], and we were out of there, potentially never to return.
All this is, I suppose, good. We don't have to go back, and there's nothing special we have to do (though I think it would be good for Doodlebug's long-term eye health if I made him use that eye once in a while... he's so right-eye dominant that I fear his left eye may just, like, quit if he doesn't ever use it). The down side is that there's no way to 'fix' it, either. Not a big deal but rather frustrating. I'm a 'fix-it' sort of person.
This boy... he blows my mind. I've never met his equal when it comes to having benign abnormalities. When he was born with his 12 fingers and 12 toes, it wasn't a health hazard, but it had to be corrected. When he was 2 and had his strabismus, same deal. Then he had his tonsils and adenoids out not because they were infected (though apparently the backs of his tonsils were grossly cryptic and did need to come out, anyway) but because they were so large they were causing him to have sleep issues and snore. He's seen an endodontist because of his missing/small teeth; I didn't even know what an endodontist was until we had to see that one. Now a retinal specialist. Oh, and we did genetic testing recently, too, to rule out a couple of issues (the panel came back clear... we're still supposed to go get an echocardiogram, just to be on the extra-safe side, but I'm of two minds about it... and that would be yet another specialist).
I'm extremely grateful that none of his issues will cause him any long-term problems, I really am. I know there are so many families out there who may only have to see one or two doctors but have to see them all the time and their children have to live with certain issues and even disabilities for a lifetime (I'm ignoring Doodlebug's ADHD and autism spectrum issues for the moment, because those don't really count in the grand scheme of things, if he can learn to function well enough). I just hate that every time I think we're done with specialists and doctor visits, something new crops up.
Ah, well. He's outside with his sister now, planting the herbs and other stuff they got yesterday. He wants to create his own garden space this fall so he can plant his own actual garden next spring. And I'm glad that he can plan for that and not have to worry about things like vision. I'm lucky I have such healthy kids.
Friday, April 4, 2014
'Responsibility' is a 4-Letter Word
I went to bed last night optimistic about today. I really did. The plan was to get up, start a couple loads of laundry, do school (what little school we have on Fridays), run a couple of errands, attend our homeschool group meeting, come home, fix dinner, and relax. Oz was going to run one of my errands for me so I wouldn't have to drive clear across town (he'll be 2 miles from that particular errand, which is far closer than I would be with my planned schedule today), and I couldn't really foresee anything happening that would screw up my plans.
I forgot, however, the most important detail: I have children. Chaos machines. Engineers of things not going the way they should.
My first clue that the day was going to be shot to shit came when I looked out the front window at the curb and the trash can wasn't sitting there. Trash is supposedly Oz's job. Not that we have gender-specific job roles or anything, but he is the one who leaves the house each morning, and so taking the trash to the curb has been his job, more or less, for years. I used to be more understanding when he would forget, because at our old house, everyone was responsible for their own trash service. Some of our neighbors burned their trash; others used companies that didn't have pick-up on the same day we did; and all our neighbors were fairly spread out. It was easy to forget. Now there's no excuse. EVERYONE puts out their trash on Friday, and we live in a cul-de-sac. EVERYONE's trash cans are visible. Our neighbor's trash can actually goes right next to ours beside our basketball goal.
So I had to take out the trash. While I was having the kids empty the upstairs cans, I asked Doodlebug if he'd taken his medicine. "No," he said, "but I will. Oh, and Tom's out of worms."
I have asked the boy repeatedly to tell me when we're 2-3 days out from needing worms - or anything else, for that matter. And to be fair, he did tell me yesterday that he was almost out of worms, and that was one of the errands I had on my mental list to run today. I did, however, expect that I wouldn't HAVE to run that errand today if push came to shove and he lollygagged his way through school like he's done most of this week. Now I have no choice.
Then he went to take his medicine. He pulled out the container of Vyvanse, which we're giving him a low dose of right now because the Intuniv alone wasn't cutting the mustard, and no, I do not want to hear that diet changes will fix my kid because they won't, I've tried, and I don't need judgment from random trolls, anyway, and I noticed there wasn't much of a rattle.
"Doodlebug, how many of those do you have left?"
"Hm? Oh. Um. Two."
%&#*.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's been taking it. He's retaining his math, and he's far less aggressive and far more focused when he's on it. And I'm glad I caught the problem before we went into the weekend and came out med-less on Monday. But... BUT! Vyvanse is a Schedule II drug, which means I have to go into the doctor's office and physically pick up the prescription each month. And his pediatrician's office is on the other side of town, miles away from any other errand I potentially had to run today.
On any other day, I would just toss going to homeschool group to the wind, run all the errands, and possibly take the kids to the park to run for a while, maybe let Doodlebug take his roller skates or something. However, I agreed to give a friend a ride home from group today, so I don't feel like I can bail.
I hate days like this. I hate when I think I have things planned out neatly and life interferes and gets things all messy. I realize this is a personal problem. But it's still irritating.
-----
In other news, I called the pediatric ophthalmologist with an update on Doodlebug's eye today. It is both better and not better, and I'm not sure what will happen when the doctor gets into the office (he's in surgery this morning) and gets the report. The black line (Doodlebug's final description of the line was black with white edges) has faded to a medium-gray that is somewhat translucent, but he's getting occasional flashes around it now. He says the flashes aren't there all the time, and they're usually white but sometimes orange- or yellow-tinted. I don't even know what to make of all that. So I dumped on the poor ophthalmologist tech, and he said the doctor will probably give me a call later today. Lovely.
I forgot, however, the most important detail: I have children. Chaos machines. Engineers of things not going the way they should.
My first clue that the day was going to be shot to shit came when I looked out the front window at the curb and the trash can wasn't sitting there. Trash is supposedly Oz's job. Not that we have gender-specific job roles or anything, but he is the one who leaves the house each morning, and so taking the trash to the curb has been his job, more or less, for years. I used to be more understanding when he would forget, because at our old house, everyone was responsible for their own trash service. Some of our neighbors burned their trash; others used companies that didn't have pick-up on the same day we did; and all our neighbors were fairly spread out. It was easy to forget. Now there's no excuse. EVERYONE puts out their trash on Friday, and we live in a cul-de-sac. EVERYONE's trash cans are visible. Our neighbor's trash can actually goes right next to ours beside our basketball goal.
So I had to take out the trash. While I was having the kids empty the upstairs cans, I asked Doodlebug if he'd taken his medicine. "No," he said, "but I will. Oh, and Tom's out of worms."
I have asked the boy repeatedly to tell me when we're 2-3 days out from needing worms - or anything else, for that matter. And to be fair, he did tell me yesterday that he was almost out of worms, and that was one of the errands I had on my mental list to run today. I did, however, expect that I wouldn't HAVE to run that errand today if push came to shove and he lollygagged his way through school like he's done most of this week. Now I have no choice.
Then he went to take his medicine. He pulled out the container of Vyvanse, which we're giving him a low dose of right now because the Intuniv alone wasn't cutting the mustard, and no, I do not want to hear that diet changes will fix my kid because they won't, I've tried, and I don't need judgment from random trolls, anyway, and I noticed there wasn't much of a rattle.
"Doodlebug, how many of those do you have left?"
"Hm? Oh. Um. Two."
%&#*.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's been taking it. He's retaining his math, and he's far less aggressive and far more focused when he's on it. And I'm glad I caught the problem before we went into the weekend and came out med-less on Monday. But... BUT! Vyvanse is a Schedule II drug, which means I have to go into the doctor's office and physically pick up the prescription each month. And his pediatrician's office is on the other side of town, miles away from any other errand I potentially had to run today.
On any other day, I would just toss going to homeschool group to the wind, run all the errands, and possibly take the kids to the park to run for a while, maybe let Doodlebug take his roller skates or something. However, I agreed to give a friend a ride home from group today, so I don't feel like I can bail.
I hate days like this. I hate when I think I have things planned out neatly and life interferes and gets things all messy. I realize this is a personal problem. But it's still irritating.
-----
In other news, I called the pediatric ophthalmologist with an update on Doodlebug's eye today. It is both better and not better, and I'm not sure what will happen when the doctor gets into the office (he's in surgery this morning) and gets the report. The black line (Doodlebug's final description of the line was black with white edges) has faded to a medium-gray that is somewhat translucent, but he's getting occasional flashes around it now. He says the flashes aren't there all the time, and they're usually white but sometimes orange- or yellow-tinted. I don't even know what to make of all that. So I dumped on the poor ophthalmologist tech, and he said the doctor will probably give me a call later today. Lovely.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
I Fold. The Week Wins.
I have a headache this evening. It's threatening to turn into a migraine, but it hasn't crossed the magic line yet, so I'm hopeful that taking Aleve and not eating dinner will be enough to keep the pain at bay. I'm not sure if the headache is due to the events of the past 36 hours or if it's just due to the horrific wind and weather blowing through today.
Yesterday morning we went to the pediatric ophthalmologist for Doodlebug. We go every year. When he was 2 1/2, he had to have eye surgery for strabismus, and I can always remember the exact date because Oz and I sat in the waiting room of the surgical area and cuddled an itty-bitty Boo and watched on TV as Hurricane Katrina flung herself at the Gulf Coast. We've been fortunate - even though Doodlebug has a couple of odd quirks in his vision, he can see well and we've never had to have the surgery repeated. So when we got a call from the ophthalmologist's office saying that our regular doctor had been called away by an emergency and we could either reschedule or see the doctor who'd agreed to substitute, I was fine with the substitution.
When we went in, we were immediately called back, and the intake tech started her process. At one point during the exam, when Doodlebug's right eye was covered, he said, "I can't see that letter. There's a line over it." It caught my attention. The intake tech didn't say anything, but she was writing notes so I assumed she had noticed as well. (Hindsight: One should never assume.) When the doctor came in, Doodlebug again mentioned during a test that he wasn't able to see something with his left eye because of the "white line." The doctor held up a few lenses to his right eye - not the left at all - pronounced him good to go for another year, and we went on our merry way.
While we were in the elevator, I asked Doodlebug what he meant about not being able to see, and he told me that there was a blank spot in his vision. At the time, and because this weather front has been sitting here not moving but causing all sorts of problems since yesterday, I assumed that he was having a pre-migraine symptom. No biggie. When we got home, I asked him if his head hurt. He said no. I asked him if the line was still there if he closed his right eye. He said yes and told me where it was and described it exactly the same as it had been when we were in the office. Throughout the day, I asked him about it several more times. Each time the answers were remarkably similar. By 4 p.m., I was getting mad that the doctor hadn't taken him seriously and at least asked what he meant. By 7 p.m., (and with the help of the Internet), I was in what might best be described as a panicked rage.
Sleep didn't help much.
I called the ophthalmology office this morning. The woman who answered the phone was wonderful. She said that "we cain't have him goin' around not seein'!" and said that if there wasn't an appointment available, she'd go back and "be very firm" that we needed to get in. Thankfully there was an opening, and I jumped at it. Back in the car we got, and back to the office we went. I gathered from the way things were said that our story had made its way around the office, and the (regular) intake tech and our (regular) doctor were both very attentive when Doodlebug said, yet again, that there was a line in his vision.
The doctor dilated his eye to get a better look… and couldn't really figure out what was going on. I felt better after that, in that at least the other doctor hadn't missed something obvious (though it still irks me that Doodlebug wasn't taken seriously the first time), but at the same time I felt worse, because the news itself wasn't great. The doctor seems to think that there's something going on with the vitreous fluid and it's somehow pulling on the retina and causing just a little bit of a wrinkle, which is the cause of the line. As for what caused the vitreous fluid to mess up in the first place, that's anyone's guess. The doctor was optimistic and thinks the line will sort itself out in a few days, but in the meantime I have to keep a close eye (no pun intended) on things. Obviously if it gets worse, we go back in immediately and/or we'll be sent to a retinal specialist. That thought terrifies me. I hope it really is nothing and dissipates. Send up any thoughts you might have to spare, would you?
-----
Immediately after we left the ophthalmologist's office, we had to race across town, grab some lunch, and head to the local school administration building for my initial meeting with the school psychologist. We were there for nearly two hours, during which time he and I talked and he filled out a stack of forms. The amount of paperwork is mind-boggling. I knew teachers had to deal with a lot of crap and that there would be a lot of paperwork, but I don't think I was entirely prepared for what I brought home - a stack of copies of all the forms we filled out, a small book (well, more copied papers, but altogether they amount to a small book) of parental legal rights in the system and legal definitions and all that sort of thing, and four assessment forms for behavioral, ADHD, and ASD that Oz and I get to fill in before I go back. And this is only the beginning.
Next time we go in, we'll meet with the psychologist again as well as the gifted coordinator. We'll meet with her because she's the one with the grade-level assessments, wherein my kids will get to show off their smarts and I'll get to nibble my fingernails down to the quick over the idea that I'll have forgotten to teach them something major. We'll also probably start some of the other assessments that Doodlebug will have to have in order to qualify for any sort of special services. I'm sure it'll be another long meeting.
-----
And so I have a headache today. Whether it's the weather or just dealing with stress, I don't know, but I do know that I'm canceling our plans for tomorrow. We were supposed to go to a couple of events, but we all need a day to stay at home and ooze. Oozing sounds delicious.
Yesterday morning we went to the pediatric ophthalmologist for Doodlebug. We go every year. When he was 2 1/2, he had to have eye surgery for strabismus, and I can always remember the exact date because Oz and I sat in the waiting room of the surgical area and cuddled an itty-bitty Boo and watched on TV as Hurricane Katrina flung herself at the Gulf Coast. We've been fortunate - even though Doodlebug has a couple of odd quirks in his vision, he can see well and we've never had to have the surgery repeated. So when we got a call from the ophthalmologist's office saying that our regular doctor had been called away by an emergency and we could either reschedule or see the doctor who'd agreed to substitute, I was fine with the substitution.
When we went in, we were immediately called back, and the intake tech started her process. At one point during the exam, when Doodlebug's right eye was covered, he said, "I can't see that letter. There's a line over it." It caught my attention. The intake tech didn't say anything, but she was writing notes so I assumed she had noticed as well. (Hindsight: One should never assume.) When the doctor came in, Doodlebug again mentioned during a test that he wasn't able to see something with his left eye because of the "white line." The doctor held up a few lenses to his right eye - not the left at all - pronounced him good to go for another year, and we went on our merry way.
While we were in the elevator, I asked Doodlebug what he meant about not being able to see, and he told me that there was a blank spot in his vision. At the time, and because this weather front has been sitting here not moving but causing all sorts of problems since yesterday, I assumed that he was having a pre-migraine symptom. No biggie. When we got home, I asked him if his head hurt. He said no. I asked him if the line was still there if he closed his right eye. He said yes and told me where it was and described it exactly the same as it had been when we were in the office. Throughout the day, I asked him about it several more times. Each time the answers were remarkably similar. By 4 p.m., I was getting mad that the doctor hadn't taken him seriously and at least asked what he meant. By 7 p.m., (and with the help of the Internet), I was in what might best be described as a panicked rage.
Sleep didn't help much.
I called the ophthalmology office this morning. The woman who answered the phone was wonderful. She said that "we cain't have him goin' around not seein'!" and said that if there wasn't an appointment available, she'd go back and "be very firm" that we needed to get in. Thankfully there was an opening, and I jumped at it. Back in the car we got, and back to the office we went. I gathered from the way things were said that our story had made its way around the office, and the (regular) intake tech and our (regular) doctor were both very attentive when Doodlebug said, yet again, that there was a line in his vision.
The doctor dilated his eye to get a better look… and couldn't really figure out what was going on. I felt better after that, in that at least the other doctor hadn't missed something obvious (though it still irks me that Doodlebug wasn't taken seriously the first time), but at the same time I felt worse, because the news itself wasn't great. The doctor seems to think that there's something going on with the vitreous fluid and it's somehow pulling on the retina and causing just a little bit of a wrinkle, which is the cause of the line. As for what caused the vitreous fluid to mess up in the first place, that's anyone's guess. The doctor was optimistic and thinks the line will sort itself out in a few days, but in the meantime I have to keep a close eye (no pun intended) on things. Obviously if it gets worse, we go back in immediately and/or we'll be sent to a retinal specialist. That thought terrifies me. I hope it really is nothing and dissipates. Send up any thoughts you might have to spare, would you?
-----
Immediately after we left the ophthalmologist's office, we had to race across town, grab some lunch, and head to the local school administration building for my initial meeting with the school psychologist. We were there for nearly two hours, during which time he and I talked and he filled out a stack of forms. The amount of paperwork is mind-boggling. I knew teachers had to deal with a lot of crap and that there would be a lot of paperwork, but I don't think I was entirely prepared for what I brought home - a stack of copies of all the forms we filled out, a small book (well, more copied papers, but altogether they amount to a small book) of parental legal rights in the system and legal definitions and all that sort of thing, and four assessment forms for behavioral, ADHD, and ASD that Oz and I get to fill in before I go back. And this is only the beginning.
Next time we go in, we'll meet with the psychologist again as well as the gifted coordinator. We'll meet with her because she's the one with the grade-level assessments, wherein my kids will get to show off their smarts and I'll get to nibble my fingernails down to the quick over the idea that I'll have forgotten to teach them something major. We'll also probably start some of the other assessments that Doodlebug will have to have in order to qualify for any sort of special services. I'm sure it'll be another long meeting.
-----
And so I have a headache today. Whether it's the weather or just dealing with stress, I don't know, but I do know that I'm canceling our plans for tomorrow. We were supposed to go to a couple of events, but we all need a day to stay at home and ooze. Oozing sounds delicious.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Keep Calm? You've GOT to be Kidding.
I'm trying to focus on the positive today. Find my inner Qi/Zen/peace.
Breathe in, breathe out.
This week has not improved with age.
The boy-o finished up yesterday's work at noon and still, at 4:25 p.m., has three more subjects of today's work to complete. This is actually an improvement over yesterday, when he didn't get Monday's work finished until noon-ish and we were home all morning. At least today he has the excuse that we were at the therapist's office for an hour.
(Note to self: This is not how you walk away from the negative. Breathe in, breathe out...)
Boo is doing well! She's done with today's work and has practiced her violin in her newly-rearranged room (the girl has her grandmother's room-rearranging tendencies and isn't happy unless everything is moved and redecorated regularly) with a checklist that her teacher has started giving out each week.
Doodlebug's therapist is still working out beautifully. We stumbled on an excellent one, and I couldn't be happier. He pulled me in first today, and we chatted about plans. We're still trying to manage Doodlebug's anger and energy into more productive, positive channels - not burying the anger, just handling it in a healthy fashion. Yesterday I couldn't open my mouth without ugliness coming out of his, and that's not helping anyone.
I mentioned today that we'll put him into public school this fall, and he wants to get Doodlebug's assessment/diagnoses updated, either through the school or through private channels, since the only one we have is from when he was 5 and which was done through an office that has since dissolved. Then he wants to see if we can get the IEP ball rolling before summer even gets here so that there's a firm plan in place before Doodlebug walks through the door in August.
I like this idea. A lot.
He also recognized, even before I said anything, that there's only a 50/50 shot of public school working out for Doodlebug. It made me happy that we were on the same page and recognized the same stumbling blocks and had the same thoughts about solutions for them. When a parent and a doctor are on the same page, good things happen.
I called Doodlebug's pediatrician yesterday and made an appointment to discuss adding a low-dose stimulant to his current Intuniv. Anything that can help him focus is, at this point, a positive step.
I'm making progress on my reading, my cross-stitch, and a couple other projects I wanted to tackle this month. Now if I can only get my car in for its detailing...
Several of my friends are having birthdays this week, and we're going out this weekend to celebrate. We're all very ready to escape, I think. I've promised to drive, since my birthday is NOT this month, so that the birthday girls can have a little extra fun. They need it, too (one of them had her house flood this week, for example, and while that should be covered under her home warranty, they're trying to say it isn't). So obviously I'm excited about getting together, but in the meantime, my life is a little more like this:
Hang in there, y'all. I know I'm not the only one having a rough week.
Breathe in, breathe out.
This week has not improved with age.
The boy-o finished up yesterday's work at noon and still, at 4:25 p.m., has three more subjects of today's work to complete. This is actually an improvement over yesterday, when he didn't get Monday's work finished until noon-ish and we were home all morning. At least today he has the excuse that we were at the therapist's office for an hour.
(Note to self: This is not how you walk away from the negative. Breathe in, breathe out...)
Boo is doing well! She's done with today's work and has practiced her violin in her newly-rearranged room (the girl has her grandmother's room-rearranging tendencies and isn't happy unless everything is moved and redecorated regularly) with a checklist that her teacher has started giving out each week.
Doodlebug's therapist is still working out beautifully. We stumbled on an excellent one, and I couldn't be happier. He pulled me in first today, and we chatted about plans. We're still trying to manage Doodlebug's anger and energy into more productive, positive channels - not burying the anger, just handling it in a healthy fashion. Yesterday I couldn't open my mouth without ugliness coming out of his, and that's not helping anyone.
I mentioned today that we'll put him into public school this fall, and he wants to get Doodlebug's assessment/diagnoses updated, either through the school or through private channels, since the only one we have is from when he was 5 and which was done through an office that has since dissolved. Then he wants to see if we can get the IEP ball rolling before summer even gets here so that there's a firm plan in place before Doodlebug walks through the door in August.
I like this idea. A lot.
He also recognized, even before I said anything, that there's only a 50/50 shot of public school working out for Doodlebug. It made me happy that we were on the same page and recognized the same stumbling blocks and had the same thoughts about solutions for them. When a parent and a doctor are on the same page, good things happen.
I called Doodlebug's pediatrician yesterday and made an appointment to discuss adding a low-dose stimulant to his current Intuniv. Anything that can help him focus is, at this point, a positive step.
I'm making progress on my reading, my cross-stitch, and a couple other projects I wanted to tackle this month. Now if I can only get my car in for its detailing...
Several of my friends are having birthdays this week, and we're going out this weekend to celebrate. We're all very ready to escape, I think. I've promised to drive, since my birthday is NOT this month, so that the birthday girls can have a little extra fun. They need it, too (one of them had her house flood this week, for example, and while that should be covered under her home warranty, they're trying to say it isn't). So obviously I'm excited about getting together, but in the meantime, my life is a little more like this:
than like this:
Thursday, December 5, 2013
We Found a Therapist!
A while back I (think I) posted that we were going to find a therapist for Doodlebug and see about finding a social skills group for him to attend. I FINALLY found a therapist on our network who came recommended - one therapist out of more than 20 names that I was given, but never mind, I'm sure insurance companies totally know who's best - and we got an appointment for January. I didn't want to wait that long, but what do you do? Say no, hunt for another doctor who might not come with anyone's seal of approval, find out he or she is crappy, and then wind up calling the first one back anyway? I figured I'd take my chances. We also got added to the cancellation list, just in case something opened up. I figured it was a 50/50 chance of being called early. Even odds.
Yesterday I got The Call. With the weather moving in (or so I suspect was the reason for the sudden slew of openings), they had slots available. One of them was at 9 a.m. The weather wasn't supposed to move in till midday - in fact, it's 1:43, and it started snowing/sleeting/freezing raining in earnest about 44 minutes ago, give or take 30 seconds, (I know this because the kids and I were about to head out the door for Doodlebug's swim team practice and I looked out and saw the ice solidifying on our back patio and thought, "OH, WELL, OF COURSE." And then I tried to drive to swim, anyway, and slid a couple of times and had the freezing rain coat my windshield in its icy grip and said eff that and turned around and came back home, where I intend to remain until the temperature is above freezing again) so I figured a 9 o'clock appointment was a safe bet.
I'm so glad we went. The gentleman in question is soft-spoken and older, and he seems more competent than the therapist we visited when Doodlebug was 5 and 6. He seems to understand children who struggle with Doodlebug's particular alphabet soup of issues, and he appears to know what to do with them. He spoke to Doodlebug at least as much as to me, and his first questions weren't about his infancy or past treatments; rather, he wanted to know about Doodlebug himself - what he liked to do, who his friends were, what activities he was involved in. He would have asked about school, but the kids were lugging books and papers when we arrived, so it became obvious fairly quickly that we were homeschoolers. It didn't faze him that Doodlebug stared out the window the entire time he was talking or that Doodlebug stumbled over words and phrases and went off on random tangents.
The office itself was the most comfortable therapist's office I've ever been in. It's kind of like a Goldilocks sort of thing - our first therapist's office was too big, the second too small. This one was just right. It had a big window with nothing in front of it. There were Legos and stuffed animals and games and sensory toys and plenty of small items to fidget with, and there were also two recliners and a loveseat in addition to the doctor's own small wheeled desk that he rolled out to talk to us. I saw a foot massager and a heating pad and art supplies.
I think the best thing, though, was the atmosphere. I felt comfortable. There was no judgment. There was no tension or any sense that we were on a schedule (though, of course, we were). Initial visits can often have that awkwardness that simply comes from meeting someone for the first time, but I didn't feel that, either.
Time will tell, obviously, whether this therapist does anything good for Doodlebug or not, but I am hopeful. And that is something I've needed for a long, long time.
Yesterday I got The Call. With the weather moving in (or so I suspect was the reason for the sudden slew of openings), they had slots available. One of them was at 9 a.m. The weather wasn't supposed to move in till midday - in fact, it's 1:43, and it started snowing/sleeting/freezing raining in earnest about 44 minutes ago, give or take 30 seconds, (I know this because the kids and I were about to head out the door for Doodlebug's swim team practice and I looked out and saw the ice solidifying on our back patio and thought, "OH, WELL, OF COURSE." And then I tried to drive to swim, anyway, and slid a couple of times and had the freezing rain coat my windshield in its icy grip and said eff that and turned around and came back home, where I intend to remain until the temperature is above freezing again) so I figured a 9 o'clock appointment was a safe bet.
I'm so glad we went. The gentleman in question is soft-spoken and older, and he seems more competent than the therapist we visited when Doodlebug was 5 and 6. He seems to understand children who struggle with Doodlebug's particular alphabet soup of issues, and he appears to know what to do with them. He spoke to Doodlebug at least as much as to me, and his first questions weren't about his infancy or past treatments; rather, he wanted to know about Doodlebug himself - what he liked to do, who his friends were, what activities he was involved in. He would have asked about school, but the kids were lugging books and papers when we arrived, so it became obvious fairly quickly that we were homeschoolers. It didn't faze him that Doodlebug stared out the window the entire time he was talking or that Doodlebug stumbled over words and phrases and went off on random tangents.
The office itself was the most comfortable therapist's office I've ever been in. It's kind of like a Goldilocks sort of thing - our first therapist's office was too big, the second too small. This one was just right. It had a big window with nothing in front of it. There were Legos and stuffed animals and games and sensory toys and plenty of small items to fidget with, and there were also two recliners and a loveseat in addition to the doctor's own small wheeled desk that he rolled out to talk to us. I saw a foot massager and a heating pad and art supplies.
I think the best thing, though, was the atmosphere. I felt comfortable. There was no judgment. There was no tension or any sense that we were on a schedule (though, of course, we were). Initial visits can often have that awkwardness that simply comes from meeting someone for the first time, but I didn't feel that, either.
Time will tell, obviously, whether this therapist does anything good for Doodlebug or not, but I am hopeful. And that is something I've needed for a long, long time.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Breathe… Just Breathe
Sometimes breathing is difficult! Don't worry, I'm not stressed… I simply caught whatever bug Doodlebug had, and it's reminding me of all the respiratory ailments I caught as a child. I never had asthma, but every time I caught something, it would go straight to my lungs and cause what the doctor called "asthmatic symptoms." And then I'd have to take yet another round of Theo-Dur (raise your hand if you remember THAT shit… all those nasty little white sprinkles. My mom would make Jell-O and pour the capsules into little Jell-O squares. Jell-O shots for the under-21 crowd).
Doodlebug is on the mend, though he's still emitting enough snot to drown a whole slew of rats. We skipped his swim meet tonight because when I made him try to take several deep breaths in a row, he dissolved into coughs by the #3. Nobody wants to race in that condition. We'll keep him on Mucinex and his inhaler and do a few sinus rinses, and he should be good… and if that doesn't work, we still have that prescription for the antibiotics. I just don't want to go down that road if we don't have to.
Doodlebug also lost another tooth today. This would be something like his seventh or eighth this year. I would know which it was if I was a good mom and kept track of those sorts of things. The problem with this particular tooth is that it was one of his adult canines. So in addition to missing one of his laterals and having the other lateral be something called a 'peg lateral,' he'll now be missing a canine. I had canceled our second orthodontic consult that had been scheduled for last Monday, since I was out of town, but after he yanked that tooth today, I called and got us back on the schedule. I had really hoped to avoid braces, but I think they're inevitable, darn the luck. Maybe they can just put a veneer on the peg and shave down the other canine and make them look similar, kinda like mine. I'm missing both my laterals, so they took the points off the canines so I looked less vampire-ish, and just left everything else as is. Easy answers - I could use some of those.
Boo had another violin solo festival on Saturday and got straight 1s again. That's the best score a judge can give. She's thrilled, because in addition to getting another (pink) ribbon, that means she's gotten three sets of 1s in a row (we took a break from competitions for a while prior to that). As we were leaving, she announced, "I like judges. They're always really nice." Lucky girl hasn't met one of those old hags with unrealistic expectations yet. There are some major benefits to being 8.
Realized the other day that I'm staring Christmas in the face and haven't even thought about gifts for various family members. I have a stash started for each kid… need to fill in a few more things for the girl. The boy has actually been the easier child to shop for this year. My kids have never been trend-followers, so there's never a fight to find exactly what they want. But yeah… haven't thought at all about what to get my sister and her husband for their December birthdays, or to get my father. Must be time for a Target run.
I can hear the cold front blowing in. The wind is whistling down the chimney. Very glad I dug up and repotted the rosemary and had the boy bring in his garlic last weekend. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to try doing it when we all feel so icky!
Doodlebug is on the mend, though he's still emitting enough snot to drown a whole slew of rats. We skipped his swim meet tonight because when I made him try to take several deep breaths in a row, he dissolved into coughs by the #3. Nobody wants to race in that condition. We'll keep him on Mucinex and his inhaler and do a few sinus rinses, and he should be good… and if that doesn't work, we still have that prescription for the antibiotics. I just don't want to go down that road if we don't have to.
Doodlebug also lost another tooth today. This would be something like his seventh or eighth this year. I would know which it was if I was a good mom and kept track of those sorts of things. The problem with this particular tooth is that it was one of his adult canines. So in addition to missing one of his laterals and having the other lateral be something called a 'peg lateral,' he'll now be missing a canine. I had canceled our second orthodontic consult that had been scheduled for last Monday, since I was out of town, but after he yanked that tooth today, I called and got us back on the schedule. I had really hoped to avoid braces, but I think they're inevitable, darn the luck. Maybe they can just put a veneer on the peg and shave down the other canine and make them look similar, kinda like mine. I'm missing both my laterals, so they took the points off the canines so I looked less vampire-ish, and just left everything else as is. Easy answers - I could use some of those.
Boo had another violin solo festival on Saturday and got straight 1s again. That's the best score a judge can give. She's thrilled, because in addition to getting another (pink) ribbon, that means she's gotten three sets of 1s in a row (we took a break from competitions for a while prior to that). As we were leaving, she announced, "I like judges. They're always really nice." Lucky girl hasn't met one of those old hags with unrealistic expectations yet. There are some major benefits to being 8.
Realized the other day that I'm staring Christmas in the face and haven't even thought about gifts for various family members. I have a stash started for each kid… need to fill in a few more things for the girl. The boy has actually been the easier child to shop for this year. My kids have never been trend-followers, so there's never a fight to find exactly what they want. But yeah… haven't thought at all about what to get my sister and her husband for their December birthdays, or to get my father. Must be time for a Target run.
I can hear the cold front blowing in. The wind is whistling down the chimney. Very glad I dug up and repotted the rosemary and had the boy bring in his garlic last weekend. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to try doing it when we all feel so icky!
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Orthodontist
I remember having braces. Did you have braces? Because I did. For nearly three years, I wore giant metal railroad tracks on my teeth and avoided Snickers bars and popcorn like the plague. After that, I had the retainer. I had the case for it, too... you remember, the one you had to take to school to stash your phlegmy plastic mold while you chowed down lunch, and then you had to remember not to throw it in the trash can. And then you had to do the tooth check in the bathroom mirror before you crammed the retainer back on your teeth, because otherwise you'd wind up with pepperoni pizza displayed proudly on your top left front tooth for everyone to stare at all afternoon.
Not that this ever happened to me.
A couple years ago, the dentist started hinting that perhaps, one day, I should take M1 in to see an orthodontist. At the time, he was barely 8, and there was no way I was hauling my kid to see an orthodontist until he'd lost a few more teeth.
Since then, he's lost precisely one more tooth, for a grand total of 8 teeth lost.
That's right. My 10-year-old has lost 8 teeth. Five on the bottom and three on the top. Still, the 'hints' from the dentist have become less like hints and more like suggestions/recommendations lately, and Oz and I figured it was time to go ahead and get the one free visit to the orthodontist that we'll ever get out of the way.
M1 had his appointment today. The guy was nice but clearly busy, and he seemed rather surprised that I came prepared with educated questions, which rankled me a bit. Still, he did answer everything and said that since he's lost so few teeth, there's nothing we can really do yet, anyway. Come back in 8 months.
M1's teeth aren't all that bad, really. He's missing one tooth congenitally - one of the four that I'm missing (I'm missing both top lateral incisors as well as my top two wisdom teeth) - and that's what's causing all the commotion. The dentist and orthodontist seem to think that they should let the other one, which isn't even fully developed and is called a peg lateral, come in, make space using braces, and then insert a fake tooth where the other lateral should be. Me? I'm all for yanking the peg lateral and shoving everything together. The orthodontist also wants to close gap between M1's front teeth and, if necessary, trim the muscle that pushes those teeth apart. Me? If you can't flip your tongue sideways and shove it in between your teeth like I used to be able to do (OK, so the tongue flipping is another hereditary thing, but M1 didn't get that... M2 did, though), the gap isn't big enough to worry about. *I* think it's rather cute, thankyouverymuch. No overbite. No underbite. Plenty of space. I fail to see what the fuss is about, if I'm honest.
We will go back in eight months. The consults and any follow-ups after that are complimentary, and there is the possibility that the canine could make the peg lateral come in sideways or other spacing/crowding issues could develop, so I'm not going to say it's a bad idea to keep an eye on things. Still, after what Oz and I went through to get very minor adjustments in the end... well... maybe orthodontics just isn't my cuppa tea.
Any braces experiences that you'd like to share? Were they worth it for you/your kids/your siblings?
Not that this ever happened to me.
A couple years ago, the dentist started hinting that perhaps, one day, I should take M1 in to see an orthodontist. At the time, he was barely 8, and there was no way I was hauling my kid to see an orthodontist until he'd lost a few more teeth.
Since then, he's lost precisely one more tooth, for a grand total of 8 teeth lost.
That's right. My 10-year-old has lost 8 teeth. Five on the bottom and three on the top. Still, the 'hints' from the dentist have become less like hints and more like suggestions/recommendations lately, and Oz and I figured it was time to go ahead and get the one free visit to the orthodontist that we'll ever get out of the way.
M1 had his appointment today. The guy was nice but clearly busy, and he seemed rather surprised that I came prepared with educated questions, which rankled me a bit. Still, he did answer everything and said that since he's lost so few teeth, there's nothing we can really do yet, anyway. Come back in 8 months.
M1's teeth aren't all that bad, really. He's missing one tooth congenitally - one of the four that I'm missing (I'm missing both top lateral incisors as well as my top two wisdom teeth) - and that's what's causing all the commotion. The dentist and orthodontist seem to think that they should let the other one, which isn't even fully developed and is called a peg lateral, come in, make space using braces, and then insert a fake tooth where the other lateral should be. Me? I'm all for yanking the peg lateral and shoving everything together. The orthodontist also wants to close gap between M1's front teeth and, if necessary, trim the muscle that pushes those teeth apart. Me? If you can't flip your tongue sideways and shove it in between your teeth like I used to be able to do (OK, so the tongue flipping is another hereditary thing, but M1 didn't get that... M2 did, though), the gap isn't big enough to worry about. *I* think it's rather cute, thankyouverymuch. No overbite. No underbite. Plenty of space. I fail to see what the fuss is about, if I'm honest.
We will go back in eight months. The consults and any follow-ups after that are complimentary, and there is the possibility that the canine could make the peg lateral come in sideways or other spacing/crowding issues could develop, so I'm not going to say it's a bad idea to keep an eye on things. Still, after what Oz and I went through to get very minor adjustments in the end... well... maybe orthodontics just isn't my cuppa tea.
Any braces experiences that you'd like to share? Were they worth it for you/your kids/your siblings?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Dodging Bullets
Monday was lovely. Truly lovely. And then Monday and Tuesday got together and ganged up for what is truly one of the worst Valentine's Days I've had in... ever? It wasn't pretty, though I did get a box of chocolates, a couple of cards, and a dozen beautiful roses to make me feel better. Mostly I felt like all Oz and I have done for the past couple of days is dodge bullets and snatch sleep when we can.
Bullet #1: Oz's stepfather is in the hospital. He is not in good health. Most of his issues are due to some very poor choices he has made in his own life, but I still dread the day when he passes and we have to tell the kids that Papa is gone. He's supposed to see a nephrologist and possibly go home today, though.
Bullet #2: Oz's grandmother had to go back to the hospital yesterday. She was in the hospital all last week having biopsies done (see Bullet #3) and Oz only took her home on Sunday. However, she was feeling very ill, so Oz took her to the doctor yesterday. He drained some fluid, ran a few tests, then sent her to the ER. There, she had a few more tests done, including a CT, before they decided to admit her. I haven't heard anything yet today, but in my world, no news is good news.
Bullet #3: Oz's grandmother's biopsies came back benign for cancer. She's had cancer before, so we were all pretty concerned. This is a big bullet to dodge.
Bullet #4: Yesterday I caught M1 covering his left eye while he did his schoolwork. I've seen him do this before, but usually when I ask him to uncover it, he claims he didn't know he was doing it and it doesn't happen again. Yesterday he whined at me and promptly stuck his hand back over his eye. So I asked him to close his right eye and look at me and tell me how many fingers I was holding up. He couldn't tell me - he said there was "two sets of everything." Not good. I called the pediatric ophthalmologist, and apparently a kid seeing double out of one eye isn't considered a good thing, because I'll be darned if they didn't offer me an opening yesterday afternoon, which I declined. They found us a time slot this morning. I was honestly expecting to go in there and hear the word 'surgery.' I really was. I figured that the double vision was a symptom of M1's strabismus recurring, which isn't uncommon. Turns out that it IS a symptom of recurrence, but since it's only in the one eye and not severe, the doctor just gave us a prescription for a pair of reading glasses for M1. He says that when M1 looks at something far away, his strabismus is minimal - within the accepted range for kids who have had surgery. However, when he's reading something close up, his left eye turns inward just enough more that it's out of the standard range, which means it can mess with his head... and when he looks up from reading, it takes a while for the 'normal' vision to come back. We're not totally out of the surgical woods yet, but the doctor wants to see if he can make it to puberty before doing another surgery, since sometimes the sudden growth spurts can cause the vision to correct itself. I'll take the glasses. They sound good to me.
Bullet #5: The weather. I'm grateful for the snow day that we had, and I'm grateful that there wasn't a lot of ice. Icy roads are nasty.
Bullet #6: M2 has been very anti-practicing with her violin lately. She's not inclined to try very hard when she does play, and she is inclined to have a meltdown at the drop of a hat if I dare to correct her while she's playing. So last week her teacher suggested that she and M2 have a contest to see who could reach 20 days of practicing first. The 'loser' of the contest had to buy the other an ice cream cone or drink from Sonic. M2 was agreeable. For 48 hours. Then she decided not to practice. Then she decided not to practice the following day. By the time we had another lesson yesterday, she only had 4 stickers on her chart, one of which was her lesson and one of which was rather dubiously earned. She was quite confident that she'd lost (and was completely undaunted by this). Lo and behold, however, the teacher only had four stickers on her chart as well. The game is still on.
In the grand scheme of things, most of these bullets are rather minor, I know. I have plenty of friends who are dealing with much bigger issues. But sometimes you just have to get it all out of your system, KWIM?
I'll be doing a school-year review in the next week or so. It's been a while. I might even dig out the camera and take photos!
Monday, September 19, 2011
'Process' is a Dirty Word
M2 and I visited the therapist last Wednesday. We visited the psychiatrist today. In both appointments, I got to hear the word 'process.'
I'm coming to really dislike the word... and all that it stands for.
Last week, we had a really productive appointment with the therapist, assuming that by the word 'productive' you understand that she got really sassy and announced point-blank that the only reason she hadn't bitten me during a rage is that she hadn't thought of it.
Alternatively, productive might mean that I now know how to properly put my child in a therapeutic hold instead of just trying to make do... for the record, I had been pretty darn close the way I'd been doing it already. I just needed to be told to stick a pillow against my sternum because apparently I'm not intelligent enough to figure that one out myself. DUH, Sarah.
I also know what to do in case biting jumps to mind next time.
Oy and effing vey.
Either way, the therapist and I then discussed the wholeprocess scope of what we've accomplished (anxiety seems to be under better control), what we want to accomplish, and what is even POSSIBLE to accomplish with a girl whose mood switches more often than Oklahoma weather... and that's saying a lot. The long and short of the appointment was that we now have another mood gauge chart (since M2 systematically destroyed the first one during one during one of her moods) and we're trying to see what we can do to motivate the girl to try to help herself. I'm on the fence as to how much it'll actually help, but the only thing we can do is persevere.
It's a bloody process.
Today we visited the psychiatrist, whom we hadn't seen since school began. The visit didn't encompass so much in the way of treatment as the diagnostic side of things. I'm trying to hold off on medication for as long as we can, until we can get as firm a diagnosis as possible. Plus, the psychiatrist is extremely reluctant to make certain diagnoses - pediatric bipolar disorder being one of them. I'm okay with that, too, but it means that I get to deal with more and more in the way of going through the diagnostic process. When we first visited, the doctor was hesitant to diagnose anything other than anxiety (generalized and separation), which means we tried Lexapro, which ended in ULTIMATE FAIL. Since then, he's watched and listened and tried to work out if there actually are any other diagnostic possibilities that fit her slew of symptoms other than bipolar disorder. Two sessions ago, he admitted the possibility of a mood disorder, NOS. Last time, he added depressive disorder to the list of probabilities. Today, though, he admitted he's pretty darn close to giving up the ghost and said that he really can't figure out anything else other than bipolar disorder, NOS.
Heh. Heheheheheheheheh. I have triumphed over the processing process!
I didn't actually want to win that one, though.
Anyway, because M2 isn't consistently up or down for days and days on end (she'll have two or three good days, then two or three bad, then another one or two good and another one or two bad), we're still holding off on formal medication. We're doubling her melatonin each evening, and M2 is going to keep a sleeping log, writing down the times she wakes up each night. If she's not consistently sleeping at night, the doctor wants to add some clonidine or trazodone and see if that helps. After that... well, after that we head to Lamictal, assuming she doesn't get extremely manic since Lamictal is primarily used for patients who tend toward the depressed side of things rather than the manic. I wouldn't be surprised, though, if the doctor actually begins to recommend medication soon rather than agreeing we should hold off... he tends to agree with the 'kindling' theory that young people who have untreated bipolar tend to become more difficult to treat over time. However, if she doesn't have bipolar, then maybe we could try another SSRI and see if she reacts as negatively as she did last time.
Mostly, it's all a crap shoot.
A process.
Sometimes even processing it takes too much effort.
-----
Next time, a funnier post!
I'm coming to really dislike the word... and all that it stands for.
Last week, we had a really productive appointment with the therapist, assuming that by the word 'productive' you understand that she got really sassy and announced point-blank that the only reason she hadn't bitten me during a rage is that she hadn't thought of it.
Alternatively, productive might mean that I now know how to properly put my child in a therapeutic hold instead of just trying to make do... for the record, I had been pretty darn close the way I'd been doing it already. I just needed to be told to stick a pillow against my sternum because apparently I'm not intelligent enough to figure that one out myself. DUH, Sarah.
I also know what to do in case biting jumps to mind next time.
Oy and effing vey.
Either way, the therapist and I then discussed the whole
It's a bloody process.
Today we visited the psychiatrist, whom we hadn't seen since school began. The visit didn't encompass so much in the way of treatment as the diagnostic side of things. I'm trying to hold off on medication for as long as we can, until we can get as firm a diagnosis as possible. Plus, the psychiatrist is extremely reluctant to make certain diagnoses - pediatric bipolar disorder being one of them. I'm okay with that, too, but it means that I get to deal with more and more in the way of going through the diagnostic process. When we first visited, the doctor was hesitant to diagnose anything other than anxiety (generalized and separation), which means we tried Lexapro, which ended in ULTIMATE FAIL. Since then, he's watched and listened and tried to work out if there actually are any other diagnostic possibilities that fit her slew of symptoms other than bipolar disorder. Two sessions ago, he admitted the possibility of a mood disorder, NOS. Last time, he added depressive disorder to the list of probabilities. Today, though, he admitted he's pretty darn close to giving up the ghost and said that he really can't figure out anything else other than bipolar disorder, NOS.
Heh. Heheheheheheheheh. I have triumphed over the processing process!
I didn't actually want to win that one, though.
Anyway, because M2 isn't consistently up or down for days and days on end (she'll have two or three good days, then two or three bad, then another one or two good and another one or two bad), we're still holding off on formal medication. We're doubling her melatonin each evening, and M2 is going to keep a sleeping log, writing down the times she wakes up each night. If she's not consistently sleeping at night, the doctor wants to add some clonidine or trazodone and see if that helps. After that... well, after that we head to Lamictal, assuming she doesn't get extremely manic since Lamictal is primarily used for patients who tend toward the depressed side of things rather than the manic. I wouldn't be surprised, though, if the doctor actually begins to recommend medication soon rather than agreeing we should hold off... he tends to agree with the 'kindling' theory that young people who have untreated bipolar tend to become more difficult to treat over time. However, if she doesn't have bipolar, then maybe we could try another SSRI and see if she reacts as negatively as she did last time.
Mostly, it's all a crap shoot.
A process.
Sometimes even processing it takes too much effort.
-----
Next time, a funnier post!
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Oh, the Misery
My poor boy. I'll post some wonderful things about him tomorrow, but tonight I'm throwing him a pity party. This is not to neglect the girl, who is in her own special realm of reality and has been alternating between insanely happy and scarily despondent for the past few weeks, but the boy gets his own post tonight.
He is miserable.
M1 has had allergy problems since he was tiny. It started with eczema, which isn't an allergy per se but can indicate an inclination to them. By the age of 3, he was having regular sinus infections, and all the rinses in the world weren't enough to alleviate his misery, so we had to use antibiotics (and their other half, probiotics) to get the infections under control. We started him on Zyrtec to reduce his histamine response. As long as he was on that, he did okay, but I hated giving him a pill every single day, so sometimes I'd try to give him breaks. Inevitably, we'd wind up back at the doctor's office.
When he was five, he had his tonsils and adenoids removed. To paraphrase his ENT, they were gross. This helped his eczema and sleep patterns and some behavioral issues since he was able to breathe more easily, but it didn't help the sinus trouble. He also developed asthma triggered by cold, dry weather.
About two years ago, in the dead of winter, he developed a rash after being outside. *I* thought he must have been coming down with something, but when I braved the incoming sleet and hauled him to the urgent care center, they chalked it up to 'virus' and sent me home. Sure enough, the rash disappeared by evening. In summer, it reappeared at random intervals, like when we were having a Fourth of July party and he was being pelted with water balloons and running around in the sprinkler. At that point, I thought he must have had a grass allergy and began to try to wonder how on earth one deals with a grass allergy in an overactive 6-year-old when one lives in the middle of the country in an area well-known for being HORRIBLE for allergy sufferers.
Winter arrived and killed all the grass, but the hives persisted in appearing. I began to wonder if, in fact, my little boy was allergic to cold, not grass. My hypothesis was seemingly confirmed when we had a really warm day in spring and he hived up the instant we walked into the chilly grocery store. A few months ago, he developed these overblown, nasty-looking things and said they itched like crazy. I already knew that there was little to do for hives, but he'd never complained of itching before, so back to the pediatrician we went. We came home with antibiotics, which both helped and confused me as to why they helped. The pediatrician also suggested taking a daily Pepcid to up his body's histamine blocking abilities. It was too much. I asked for a referral to an allergist and got one.
We saw the allergist about two weeks ago. She agreed that it sounded like M1 had cold urticaria (a fancy name for hives) and made sure that I was carrying an EpiPen, which I do, since patients with cold urticaria can have an almost anaphylactic response to hives developing quickly and pulling all the body's energy away from vital organs. She told me that people who develop hives can also develop them whenever they're fighting an infection. That was what she suspected had happened when M1 looked and felt so awful. She then asked if M1 had ever had allergy testing done.
*sigh*
He had done a blood draw when he was four or five that showed a massive allergy to dust mites, but I'd been pretty diligent about taking care of the house since then - special pillow, mattress cover, HEPA vacuum used on a regular basis, air filters changed regularly, stuffed animals kept in a plastic container, etc. Oz and I even purchased him a separate HEPA air filter for his room after the Big Hive Incident.
Yet even on the daily Pepcid and Zyrtec, M1 is still sniffly. His nose still itches. The hives have pretty well stopped appearing, but if I forget to change the filters or if he steps into a dusty environment, M1 will have a sneezing fit. We still have to watch his asthma in cold weather, and I carry a rescue inhaler alongside the EpiPen. He's 8 - almost 9 - now. Developmentally there's a huge difference between 5 and 8, and it appears that his allergies have significantly worsened over the past couple of years.
As much as I had hoped to avoid it, allergy testing has become necessary. The doctor kindly explained the different techniques of allergy testing to M1, and he opted for the scratch test over redoing the blood test. We set up the testing date. Then the doctor gave me the pre-test instructions... including stopping all antihistamines one week prior to testing.
M1 has been off of his Zyrtec and Pepcid since Tuesday. He had been doing okay, but yesterday I noticed that his face was looking blotchy. He began complaining about his legs, too, and today they began to get spotty. I'm trying to keep him from scratching, but it's nearly involuntary so it's almost impossible to stop him. I don't think I can give him hydrocortisone lotion, but I'm using calamine in the hope that it won't mess with anything. I'm encouraging him to stay in his room with the door shut as much as possible to try to avoid all the airborne allergens that may be in the rest of the house, but again... he's 8 and he's active. I can't just shut him in a bubble!
He's asleep now, but Tuesday morning can't get here fast enough.
He is miserable.
M1 has had allergy problems since he was tiny. It started with eczema, which isn't an allergy per se but can indicate an inclination to them. By the age of 3, he was having regular sinus infections, and all the rinses in the world weren't enough to alleviate his misery, so we had to use antibiotics (and their other half, probiotics) to get the infections under control. We started him on Zyrtec to reduce his histamine response. As long as he was on that, he did okay, but I hated giving him a pill every single day, so sometimes I'd try to give him breaks. Inevitably, we'd wind up back at the doctor's office.
When he was five, he had his tonsils and adenoids removed. To paraphrase his ENT, they were gross. This helped his eczema and sleep patterns and some behavioral issues since he was able to breathe more easily, but it didn't help the sinus trouble. He also developed asthma triggered by cold, dry weather.
About two years ago, in the dead of winter, he developed a rash after being outside. *I* thought he must have been coming down with something, but when I braved the incoming sleet and hauled him to the urgent care center, they chalked it up to 'virus' and sent me home. Sure enough, the rash disappeared by evening. In summer, it reappeared at random intervals, like when we were having a Fourth of July party and he was being pelted with water balloons and running around in the sprinkler. At that point, I thought he must have had a grass allergy and began to try to wonder how on earth one deals with a grass allergy in an overactive 6-year-old when one lives in the middle of the country in an area well-known for being HORRIBLE for allergy sufferers.
Winter arrived and killed all the grass, but the hives persisted in appearing. I began to wonder if, in fact, my little boy was allergic to cold, not grass. My hypothesis was seemingly confirmed when we had a really warm day in spring and he hived up the instant we walked into the chilly grocery store. A few months ago, he developed these overblown, nasty-looking things and said they itched like crazy. I already knew that there was little to do for hives, but he'd never complained of itching before, so back to the pediatrician we went. We came home with antibiotics, which both helped and confused me as to why they helped. The pediatrician also suggested taking a daily Pepcid to up his body's histamine blocking abilities. It was too much. I asked for a referral to an allergist and got one.
We saw the allergist about two weeks ago. She agreed that it sounded like M1 had cold urticaria (a fancy name for hives) and made sure that I was carrying an EpiPen, which I do, since patients with cold urticaria can have an almost anaphylactic response to hives developing quickly and pulling all the body's energy away from vital organs. She told me that people who develop hives can also develop them whenever they're fighting an infection. That was what she suspected had happened when M1 looked and felt so awful. She then asked if M1 had ever had allergy testing done.
*sigh*
He had done a blood draw when he was four or five that showed a massive allergy to dust mites, but I'd been pretty diligent about taking care of the house since then - special pillow, mattress cover, HEPA vacuum used on a regular basis, air filters changed regularly, stuffed animals kept in a plastic container, etc. Oz and I even purchased him a separate HEPA air filter for his room after the Big Hive Incident.
Yet even on the daily Pepcid and Zyrtec, M1 is still sniffly. His nose still itches. The hives have pretty well stopped appearing, but if I forget to change the filters or if he steps into a dusty environment, M1 will have a sneezing fit. We still have to watch his asthma in cold weather, and I carry a rescue inhaler alongside the EpiPen. He's 8 - almost 9 - now. Developmentally there's a huge difference between 5 and 8, and it appears that his allergies have significantly worsened over the past couple of years.
As much as I had hoped to avoid it, allergy testing has become necessary. The doctor kindly explained the different techniques of allergy testing to M1, and he opted for the scratch test over redoing the blood test. We set up the testing date. Then the doctor gave me the pre-test instructions... including stopping all antihistamines one week prior to testing.
M1 has been off of his Zyrtec and Pepcid since Tuesday. He had been doing okay, but yesterday I noticed that his face was looking blotchy. He began complaining about his legs, too, and today they began to get spotty. I'm trying to keep him from scratching, but it's nearly involuntary so it's almost impossible to stop him. I don't think I can give him hydrocortisone lotion, but I'm using calamine in the hope that it won't mess with anything. I'm encouraging him to stay in his room with the door shut as much as possible to try to avoid all the airborne allergens that may be in the rest of the house, but again... he's 8 and he's active. I can't just shut him in a bubble!
He's asleep now, but Tuesday morning can't get here fast enough.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Surprises - The Good Sort
I suppose it's only fair that when Mondays kick you - repeatedly - when you're down, the rest of the week feels sorry for you and treats you a little more kindly. Now that I'm safely ensconced in Thursday, I say to Monday, "PTHTHTHTTHTHTH!!!"
I'm sure Monday will get its revenge next week, though maybe since it's Independence Day, I'll get a break.
HA.
Aaaaanyway. This week has not been as horrible as it looked to be when it first began. Thank heaven. I wasn't entirely sure I was going to survive at first.
The Z-Pak that M1's pediatrician prescribed has actually helped his hives quite a bit. He now generally looks like he has a weird case of chicken pox rather than the mumps, and he's stopped wheezing and complaining of stomach and chest pain. The allergist's scheduler just called, and we have a tentative consult in early August, though they'll try to get us in sooner if there are cancellations.
M2's mood has vastly improved over last week. Is she still having her difficult moments? Sure, but she's 6. It's what they do. The great thing is that we're not having entire days where she's pouting or crying or screaming or hitting or destroying or simply refusing to move/cooperate/speak. We visited the therapist for the first time today, too. M2 and I both really like her. She had already reviewed the file (a bonus of her being in the same building as M2's psychiatrist) and had some questions. M2 didn't really want to talk other than to offer a couple of random anecdotes, but the office was set up beautifully so that M2 was still able to communicate by writing on a whiteboard or making drawings. Our focus for now is going to be M2's anxiety, since she definitely has, at the very least, separation anxiety and the Lexapro EPIC FAIL proved that medication isn't an option to treat it... EVER. We'll go weekly until school starts in early August, and then we'll see beyond that. Our first assignment was to make 'mailboxes' for everyone because M2 agreed that even if she refused to talk to me, she could still write to me. So now we all have envelopes taped to our doors and M2 has been enthusiastically filling them all afternoon. I'm going to have to invest in several reams of paper before school starts, whether they're required on the school list or not.
M1 got a particularly special surprise today. After we got done at swimming lessons, I had the kids go to the bathrooms to change their clothes before M2's appointment. They had finished and we were headed to the van when the one of the teachers stopped me. I knew him vaguely as the swim team coach, and he had been running the location where our lessons were being held. He had been watching M1, he said, and had noticed that his backstroke was particularly good and his freestyle was solid, too. He pointed out that the only things holding him back from level 5 were his backstroke, which he just learned this week, and the way he held his head during freestyle (he tends to try to flip onto his back rather than side-breathe). I mentioned that M1 had been working hard since his aim was to eventually be on the swim team, and the guy grinned.
"You know I'm the coach, right?"
I nodded. He grinned again. "Well, I usually don't do this, but if the swim team is his goal and since he's such a strong swimmer, I do sometimes make exceptions. If he continues to take lessons [we're already signed up] to work on his trouble spots, I'd be happy to let him try out for the swim team now."
I was stunned. I hadn't even done research into what the swim team entailed other than the fact that you had to pass level 4 to join. I figured I had another year before I had to really think about it. I had the presence of mind to ask what the tryouts consisted of, when they were, about basic costs, practices, etc., and then the coach had another question for me.
"He's 11, right?"
"Um, no... he's actually only 8."
"YES!!!" the coach pumped his fist and grinned. "I'm in desperate need of younger swimmers. He'd be perfect."
So M1 gets to think about joining the swim team at the ripe old age of 8. Practices are late at night, so I'm not sure he's ready yet, but we'll see. He claims to want to be the next Michael Phelps... and, barring that, to be a lifeguard or swim teacher/coach himself. I can't think this would hurt his chances, do you?
I'm sure Monday will get its revenge next week, though maybe since it's Independence Day, I'll get a break.
HA.
Aaaaanyway. This week has not been as horrible as it looked to be when it first began. Thank heaven. I wasn't entirely sure I was going to survive at first.
The Z-Pak that M1's pediatrician prescribed has actually helped his hives quite a bit. He now generally looks like he has a weird case of chicken pox rather than the mumps, and he's stopped wheezing and complaining of stomach and chest pain. The allergist's scheduler just called, and we have a tentative consult in early August, though they'll try to get us in sooner if there are cancellations.
M2's mood has vastly improved over last week. Is she still having her difficult moments? Sure, but she's 6. It's what they do. The great thing is that we're not having entire days where she's pouting or crying or screaming or hitting or destroying or simply refusing to move/cooperate/speak. We visited the therapist for the first time today, too. M2 and I both really like her. She had already reviewed the file (a bonus of her being in the same building as M2's psychiatrist) and had some questions. M2 didn't really want to talk other than to offer a couple of random anecdotes, but the office was set up beautifully so that M2 was still able to communicate by writing on a whiteboard or making drawings. Our focus for now is going to be M2's anxiety, since she definitely has, at the very least, separation anxiety and the Lexapro EPIC FAIL proved that medication isn't an option to treat it... EVER. We'll go weekly until school starts in early August, and then we'll see beyond that. Our first assignment was to make 'mailboxes' for everyone because M2 agreed that even if she refused to talk to me, she could still write to me. So now we all have envelopes taped to our doors and M2 has been enthusiastically filling them all afternoon. I'm going to have to invest in several reams of paper before school starts, whether they're required on the school list or not.
M1 got a particularly special surprise today. After we got done at swimming lessons, I had the kids go to the bathrooms to change their clothes before M2's appointment. They had finished and we were headed to the van when the one of the teachers stopped me. I knew him vaguely as the swim team coach, and he had been running the location where our lessons were being held. He had been watching M1, he said, and had noticed that his backstroke was particularly good and his freestyle was solid, too. He pointed out that the only things holding him back from level 5 were his backstroke, which he just learned this week, and the way he held his head during freestyle (he tends to try to flip onto his back rather than side-breathe). I mentioned that M1 had been working hard since his aim was to eventually be on the swim team, and the guy grinned.
"You know I'm the coach, right?"
I nodded. He grinned again. "Well, I usually don't do this, but if the swim team is his goal and since he's such a strong swimmer, I do sometimes make exceptions. If he continues to take lessons [we're already signed up] to work on his trouble spots, I'd be happy to let him try out for the swim team now."
I was stunned. I hadn't even done research into what the swim team entailed other than the fact that you had to pass level 4 to join. I figured I had another year before I had to really think about it. I had the presence of mind to ask what the tryouts consisted of, when they were, about basic costs, practices, etc., and then the coach had another question for me.
"He's 11, right?"
"Um, no... he's actually only 8."
"YES!!!" the coach pumped his fist and grinned. "I'm in desperate need of younger swimmers. He'd be perfect."
So M1 gets to think about joining the swim team at the ripe old age of 8. Practices are late at night, so I'm not sure he's ready yet, but we'll see. He claims to want to be the next Michael Phelps... and, barring that, to be a lifeguard or swim teacher/coach himself. I can't think this would hurt his chances, do you?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
How to Scare People
Bring a boy who looks like this...
... or this...
... into a store. Or a library. And watch 'em jump.
If you're polite, you can then explain to anyone who's huddling their child/ren out of the way that he is not, in fact, contagious. It's all hives. Big, scary-looking, itchy hives.
What really sucks is that I took him to the pediatrician today, and it's anyone's guess as to what is causing these giant welts. It could be his cold urticaria. It could be that I dared to be lazy last week and purchased some All Free & Clear laundry detergent (which we've used before!) instead of making my own. It could be something totally new. So I'm keeping him doped up on Benadryl, his inhaler, and the usual Zyrtec and Pepcid and just hoping this goes away. Soon. Because he's miserable, and when my baby is miserable, so am I.
*sad face*
... or this...
... into a store. Or a library. And watch 'em jump.
If you're polite, you can then explain to anyone who's huddling their child/ren out of the way that he is not, in fact, contagious. It's all hives. Big, scary-looking, itchy hives.
What really sucks is that I took him to the pediatrician today, and it's anyone's guess as to what is causing these giant welts. It could be his cold urticaria. It could be that I dared to be lazy last week and purchased some All Free & Clear laundry detergent (which we've used before!) instead of making my own. It could be something totally new. So I'm keeping him doped up on Benadryl, his inhaler, and the usual Zyrtec and Pepcid and just hoping this goes away. Soon. Because he's miserable, and when my baby is miserable, so am I.
*sad face*
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Oh, Look! The end of the rope!
I have reached the end of my proverbial rope. I e-mailed M2's psychiatrist today to ask the name of a good counselor who deals with mood disorders in young children. He sent back a name (I love how prompt he is!), and I have called that office. We have an appointment next Thursday. I am looking forward to this. I am looking forward to meeting someone who understands that the word 'stubborn' doesn't even begin to describe the bullheadedness. I am thrilled that someone is going to have heard stories like mine before and will have suggestions on what to do. I'm hopeful that I will have options when M2 flies off the deep end with rage or melts into deep dark despair. The idea of recruiting another villager to raise my child is both exhilarating and relaxing. The relief is bringing tears to my eyes. M1 has asked if this means his sister won't be mad at him all the time any more.
It's time.
We can't go on like this.
C'mon, Thursday!
It's time.
We can't go on like this.
C'mon, Thursday!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Oh... Wow...
I remember now what my son is like when he can concentrate. Oh, wow, it's been too long. Remember how I said I wasn't yelling and it was making me crazy to not yell? I didn't even *have* to yell to get his attention yesterday. Today... yes. But yesterday had a lot of the placebo effect going on.
Let me back up.
On Monday, M1 and I went to see his pediatrician to talk about putting him back on ADHD medication. She asked if we wanted to try the nonstimulant Intuniv, and I said, "Ahhhhh... no." I thought about it, but in the end, I'm about 99.9% sure that guanfacine ain't gonna cut the mustard, long-acting form or not. My son does better on caffeine, which means stimulants are helpful. Sleeping meds... not so much.
She gave us a prescription for Vyvanse. Since it was almost 5 p.m. when we got out of the doctor's office, I wanted to wait until Tuesday morning to pick up the medication, but M1 insisted that he wanted to start it right away. Since I hadn't been able to pick up his EpiPen yet, either, we headed over to the pharmacy and got the script filled.
Yesterday morning, M1 took 20 mg of Vyvanse. I won't say it was a miracle worker, but it certainly made the day a lot easier. Instead of having to take 45-minute breaks every 10-15 minutes, he was able to focus. School was over and done by 9:30 a.m. He had a science review project due on Thursday and finished it yesterday. He started work on a project we're doing that doesn't have to be done till next Friday. And I didn't have to yell. He wasn't bouncing off the walls, he was able to focus, and I didn't have to redirect him 1000 times during the day. Now, like I said, some of that had to do with placebo effect because he really wanted to be focused. And even in the science project, the last couple pages were definitely not of the same quality of the first few because of this attention slip. But I didn't have to yell. I didn't have to beg or cajole or spend half my day standing over him to see if we could get the bare basics finished.
Today he's bouncier. He's forgotten about the placebo effect, and while he's definitely calmer and more focused than he was last week (school still got done by 10 a.m.), he's still distractable. This makes more sense at the dose he's at. We'll spend two more days at the 20-mg dose and then double it to 40 mg. Given his size and previous history, the pediatrician suspects that 50 mg will be his therapeutic level. Vyvanse is a controlled substance and so we can't get refills and the doctor can't fax a prescription in, but we don't have to have a visit, either; I just have to call her and let her know what dose I think is going to work best, and she'll make sure the prescription is prepared for us to pick up.
As always, there's a chunk of me saying, "What took ya so long??" It's a guilt thing. When I see how calm he is... when I see how he's able to process SO much more information... when I see how he doesn't flip his lid when I say 'no' to something or catch him doing something he shouldn't be (which will also settle down as his impulse control is curbed)... it all adds up to mean that I think our household will be a much happier, calmer one this summer than it could be otherwise.
Usually it's the little things that get me through the day, but the big things feed the little things. This is a big change, but wow. Just wow. I'm looking forward to spending the rest of the school year with my son!
Let me back up.
On Monday, M1 and I went to see his pediatrician to talk about putting him back on ADHD medication. She asked if we wanted to try the nonstimulant Intuniv, and I said, "Ahhhhh... no." I thought about it, but in the end, I'm about 99.9% sure that guanfacine ain't gonna cut the mustard, long-acting form or not. My son does better on caffeine, which means stimulants are helpful. Sleeping meds... not so much.
She gave us a prescription for Vyvanse. Since it was almost 5 p.m. when we got out of the doctor's office, I wanted to wait until Tuesday morning to pick up the medication, but M1 insisted that he wanted to start it right away. Since I hadn't been able to pick up his EpiPen yet, either, we headed over to the pharmacy and got the script filled.
Yesterday morning, M1 took 20 mg of Vyvanse. I won't say it was a miracle worker, but it certainly made the day a lot easier. Instead of having to take 45-minute breaks every 10-15 minutes, he was able to focus. School was over and done by 9:30 a.m. He had a science review project due on Thursday and finished it yesterday. He started work on a project we're doing that doesn't have to be done till next Friday. And I didn't have to yell. He wasn't bouncing off the walls, he was able to focus, and I didn't have to redirect him 1000 times during the day. Now, like I said, some of that had to do with placebo effect because he really wanted to be focused. And even in the science project, the last couple pages were definitely not of the same quality of the first few because of this attention slip. But I didn't have to yell. I didn't have to beg or cajole or spend half my day standing over him to see if we could get the bare basics finished.
Today he's bouncier. He's forgotten about the placebo effect, and while he's definitely calmer and more focused than he was last week (school still got done by 10 a.m.), he's still distractable. This makes more sense at the dose he's at. We'll spend two more days at the 20-mg dose and then double it to 40 mg. Given his size and previous history, the pediatrician suspects that 50 mg will be his therapeutic level. Vyvanse is a controlled substance and so we can't get refills and the doctor can't fax a prescription in, but we don't have to have a visit, either; I just have to call her and let her know what dose I think is going to work best, and she'll make sure the prescription is prepared for us to pick up.
As always, there's a chunk of me saying, "What took ya so long??" It's a guilt thing. When I see how calm he is... when I see how he's able to process SO much more information... when I see how he doesn't flip his lid when I say 'no' to something or catch him doing something he shouldn't be (which will also settle down as his impulse control is curbed)... it all adds up to mean that I think our household will be a much happier, calmer one this summer than it could be otherwise.
Usually it's the little things that get me through the day, but the big things feed the little things. This is a big change, but wow. Just wow. I'm looking forward to spending the rest of the school year with my son!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
In the Waiting Room
It's that season again. Spring? No. Doctor season. We tend to go in phases with them, and we'd had a dry spell ever since the Great Earberry Escapade of 2010.
We were due.
Last Monday was M2's 6-year well-child check. I mentioned before that she did well, even with the blood draw. Next Monday we have M1's appointment to get his ADHD meds. Every day between now and then is painfully slow. Finally, to complete the trifecta of pediatrician visits, M1 and I had an appointment yesterday. This was primarily for a rash.
Let me tell you about this rash. Rashes don't usually bug me, but this one has been around for a while and had been getting progressively worse. At first I thought it was viral, but it didn't look right, kept coming back and there were no other symptoms, so I ruled that out. Then I pondered a bacterial diagnosis, but that didn't fit, either, since it would go away and reappear on other parts of the body. Finally I assumed it had to be some sort of allergy, but I couldn't figure out for the life of me what he could have been allergic to. When the rash appeared on the Fourth of July after a water balloon fight, I briefly toyed with the idea that it was water-related, especially since the rash had also appeared after several swimming lessons. "Allergic to water??" I wondered. Surely not. But I kept watching. Then winter came, and along with it the snowstorms. We had one particularly frigid day when the temperature barely got above zero, but the kids still wanted to play outside, and I let them. M1 came in covered head to toe in bright red blotches. They went away after several hours, and the thought occurred to me, "What if it's cold?" And I kept watching. The rash kept coming back. Sometimes it would sit for hours in a minor form and then all of a sudden flare up into a major attack. Sometimes it would just come out of nowhere. The last straw for me came a couple weeks ago when he wore a tank top and shorts into a chilly grocery store. By the time we were half done, he looked like the victim from a B-rate horror movie. The clerk gave him an odd look when we were checking out but thankfully had the good sense not to open her mouth. "Cold," I thought again. Oz and I looked it up and found cold urticaria, which is a fancy-shmancy medical way of saying, "You get hives when you get cold."
Hm.
And then it occurred to me that if cold water is a trigger and M1's asthma has been playing up lately anyway, taking him to a family reunion on a lake in the middle of June probably isn't a good idea. Except that we've already booked the cabin and we want to go.
Hm.
So I figured I'd take him into the doctor and see what she said. I assumed she'd tell us to see an allergist and maybe up the dose of Zyrtec that he's already on for his dust mite allergy. (The day that I move into a house without carpet will be cause for a massive party.)
WRONG!!!
She said the following things:
1. It is cold urticaria.
2. Take a daily dose of Pepcid in addition to the Zyrtec.
3. Don't hop in cold pools.
4. Let's do a blood draw for autoimmune disorders.
5. And oh, by the way, I'm sending in a prescription for an EpiPen, just in case.
Blood draw. Autoimmune disorder. EpiPen. Heavy stuff. M1 flipped out for a little bit until I explained things, and then he settled down and challenged himself to do the blood draw better than his sister. He did about the same. Or at least that's what I'm telling both of them.
And so now we wait for the results from all the blood tests. They could change our treatment plans. They could tell us everything is fine. I'm not worried about them, merely curious to see what they say.
Either way, I'm sure we'll be back. It's doctor season.
We were due.
Last Monday was M2's 6-year well-child check. I mentioned before that she did well, even with the blood draw. Next Monday we have M1's appointment to get his ADHD meds. Every day between now and then is painfully slow. Finally, to complete the trifecta of pediatrician visits, M1 and I had an appointment yesterday. This was primarily for a rash.
Let me tell you about this rash. Rashes don't usually bug me, but this one has been around for a while and had been getting progressively worse. At first I thought it was viral, but it didn't look right, kept coming back and there were no other symptoms, so I ruled that out. Then I pondered a bacterial diagnosis, but that didn't fit, either, since it would go away and reappear on other parts of the body. Finally I assumed it had to be some sort of allergy, but I couldn't figure out for the life of me what he could have been allergic to. When the rash appeared on the Fourth of July after a water balloon fight, I briefly toyed with the idea that it was water-related, especially since the rash had also appeared after several swimming lessons. "Allergic to water??" I wondered. Surely not. But I kept watching. Then winter came, and along with it the snowstorms. We had one particularly frigid day when the temperature barely got above zero, but the kids still wanted to play outside, and I let them. M1 came in covered head to toe in bright red blotches. They went away after several hours, and the thought occurred to me, "What if it's cold?" And I kept watching. The rash kept coming back. Sometimes it would sit for hours in a minor form and then all of a sudden flare up into a major attack. Sometimes it would just come out of nowhere. The last straw for me came a couple weeks ago when he wore a tank top and shorts into a chilly grocery store. By the time we were half done, he looked like the victim from a B-rate horror movie. The clerk gave him an odd look when we were checking out but thankfully had the good sense not to open her mouth. "Cold," I thought again. Oz and I looked it up and found cold urticaria, which is a fancy-shmancy medical way of saying, "You get hives when you get cold."
Hm.
And then it occurred to me that if cold water is a trigger and M1's asthma has been playing up lately anyway, taking him to a family reunion on a lake in the middle of June probably isn't a good idea. Except that we've already booked the cabin and we want to go.
Hm.
So I figured I'd take him into the doctor and see what she said. I assumed she'd tell us to see an allergist and maybe up the dose of Zyrtec that he's already on for his dust mite allergy. (The day that I move into a house without carpet will be cause for a massive party.)
WRONG!!!
She said the following things:
1. It is cold urticaria.
2. Take a daily dose of Pepcid in addition to the Zyrtec.
3. Don't hop in cold pools.
4. Let's do a blood draw for autoimmune disorders.
5. And oh, by the way, I'm sending in a prescription for an EpiPen, just in case.
Blood draw. Autoimmune disorder. EpiPen. Heavy stuff. M1 flipped out for a little bit until I explained things, and then he settled down and challenged himself to do the blood draw better than his sister. He did about the same. Or at least that's what I'm telling both of them.
And so now we wait for the results from all the blood tests. They could change our treatment plans. They could tell us everything is fine. I'm not worried about them, merely curious to see what they say.
Either way, I'm sure we'll be back. It's doctor season.
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