How do you explain when it hurts?

James's bus stop is down the street at the main road, at the foot of a pretty steep hill. We usually use the van to go down and drop him off and pick him up -- between the weather, the hill and having the baby as well it's just much quicker. Now he's half-day kindergarten, so when he goes in there's only one other little girl at his stop. Coming home however, he comes home with all the other elementary school kids. Now he loves all this interaction and riding the bus to and from school is the highlight of his day.

My neighbor's daughter Kaitlyn gets off here too, along with a few other children. Now since the hill really is a bear, if it's not an inconvenience I usually do offer them rides up to the top of the hill, so they can go home from there. Then if the weather is nice, the children often go over to Kaitlyn's to play for awhile before dinner. She's right next door to me, they have a swingset also, as well as one of those netted in trampolines. So it's become a sort of a habit that James will go over there for an hour before dinner. He looks forward to this all day and as soon as he gets off the bus he'll ask me, "Jamesie go play wif friends?"

Now in a stroke of irony, my neighbors are quite Christian -- I am not sure the denomination, but he's actually the minister and the church owns his house. Being a family of practicing pagans this can make coffee talk a tad awkward. His wife is pleasant and we'll chat over benign topics, but I do get the distinct impression that the minister doesn't care of us. Yes, my son is smitten with the Preacher's daughter, go figure. Add to that James's hearing I am a bit overcautious with his playdates. However she tells me that he plays nicely and he comes home promptly at 5 each day.

Now considering she's the minister's kid, one would think that she'd have a nicer disposition -- but she does have a tendency to be quite the bossy little thing. I cut her some slack because she's 8, and obviously going to be the alpha blonde heartbreaker type but that's no reason to be rude. But James is nuts about her and I let it go for the 15 second trip.

Today I go to the bus stop and they come piling off. James comes running for his hug and we're walking to the car. Ms. Thang comes and says, "Do you still have all that junk in the car?" The "junk" she's referring to is the couple of boxes in the minivan that have the daily stuff -- dvds, my papers for work, cds, etc. A little taken aback, I tell her that of course my stuff is in the car. She says (quite snotty I might add), "I'm going to walk, I don't want to ride with all that junk and papers anymore." And she grabs the other kids and they start hiking. James is confused and frankly so am I, but ok.

So we get up to the house and he gets ready to go over to play, but we have to wait for them to get up the hill now. So James and I hang out on the front porch and talk about school. They round the bend and head next door. So James tells me very solemnly, "5 o'clock Momma, 5 o'clock," and wanders over to join them. To be sure, I watch him get over to the kids as they're milling about. Just before I'm about to head in I hear Ms. Kaitlyn call out, "Excuse me! Excuse me! HE wasn't INVITED." And as I watch pretty much helplessly, he's ejected from the group and shooed back home. So I keep a smile on my face and he comes to me when I call him ... but as I go to take him to the house he realizes he can't go play and becomes horribly upset, crying and sobbing and begging me to let him go play with his "friends." He just can't understand why he can't go play. That they don't want him there.

We get back to the house and he goes to the end of the deck and sits there, forlornly sobbing as he watches them play in the yard and jump on the trampoline, shrieking and laughing. My heart was breaking, I swear -- I just couldn't explain to him why or make it hurt less. So I put on my sneakers and we ended up playing together on our swings and sitting out back reading together for awhile until he felt better. I didn't let him see me cry. He's over it now I'm sure, but how do I tell him that it's just the first in a long line of equally painful episodes at the hands of other children (and adults)?

Because of his speech and his hearing aids, my son is just different enough that I know he will unfortunately end up taking a measure of abuse as a result -- it's human nature, especially with kids who have no filters yet. I can do my best to assuage the sting and help him bear it, to move past it and have his own dignity and self-confidence.

But it still hurts.

As an aside, the minister's car was home today. I've noticed that whenever he's home they haven't come out to play, I'm sure I'll read too much into that but just the same ...

One small step for Skye-baby ...

One giant leap into the future!

The Divine Ms. M actually took her first two steps today. Today the living room, tomorrow the world!!!

That is all. :)

October

Since I appear to have little else to do at the moment, I guess I can work on a bevy of updates on the roller coaster that's been our lives of the last few weeks. Pick a topic, any topic ...

The formerly dead Father-In-Law:
Well let's see. About two days after my last mention here of him, Jim was extubated (removed from the breathing machine). He's made steady progress every day. My husband stayed by his side every single day and was exhausted on all levels. Any physical deficits eventually resolved themselves, he kept all his fine motor abilities. He's able to read, write, feed himself, take care of his own needs, etc. (This was a HUGE relief for him and for us.) Due to the time that his brain went without oxygen, he has what's called cognitive impairment. His long term memory is fine, but basically he has gaps in the memories of the last ten years or so -- details and people he's forgotten, or confuses. His short term memory was roughly that of a goldfish at first as well, but improves pretty steadily as we go. He can remember details from day to day now. He manages to have a sense of humor about it, but overall he's quite aware that he has an impairment and it does make him frustrated and angry at times. Plus he tries to compensate hard for it. On the whole though, his personality's intact and he knows his family -- so in that we're blessed.

I do feel bad about him having to reprocess so much information, it's got to be overwhelming. He knew Chris & I were together, but he didn't remember our wedding (he was Chris's best man). He didn't remember his mother passing away, or one of his cats dying a few years ago. It's funny what the brain will and won't retain. He doesn't remember his messy divorce, but he was able to tell the cardiologist various ways that he'd be able to create a high energy RF field that could interfere with his new defibrillator.

Considering the circumstances, I decided that the family needed to circle the wagons. Not to mention the fact that my sister-in-law informed me (after spending a week with him), that my husband was becoming an unmanageable ogre without his wife and kids. So in a totally covert mission, I got permission from the ex to grab the older two and packed all four of the monsters into the minivan for a cross-state outing. Oh my, what an adventure that was. Plus my needy husband calls me frequently and I had to keep coming up with reasons that I'd still be in the car with the kids (the younger two anyway). Obviously I hadn't rehearsed enough, because at one point I know that I told him I was going to Target to look at some baby clothes for a holiday family picture sitting. Now this means little to most, save for Dennis, who is probably giggling. Why? Because I've never seen the inside of a Target. I am the least shoppingest person out there. I hate people, I hate crowds and Walmart is only tolerable at midnight. While I recognize their emblem, that's as far as it goes. Thankfully Chris was so distracted that it never occurred to him to question it, other than to be bitchy about me not being home yet.

Six hours in the car later I've managed to get the miniature horde checked into the hotel and camped out in the room, one floor up from Chris's sister. She arranges for him to stop by for a drink and we answer the door. Happy surprises all around, and honestly it was all worth it -- the kids missed him so much it was painfully obvious. The next day we made it to see Jim and they got to see their grandfather sitting up and smiling. He knew them instantly and was thrilled to see them. Meredith sat with him on his hospital bed, completely unafraid in this strange environment. Every time he looked at her he'd start crooning, "You are so beautiful ... to me!" Eventually she curled up next to his leg, wrapped a little hand in his hospital blanket and feel asleep. This little tableau was so poignant for me, and drove home that I may bitch about my job -- but the fact is that every once in awhile, I may manage to be in the right place at the right time. That because of what I do, someone else is affected. I want my children to know their grandfather, and thanks to complete strangers now they may be able to.



Of course the road is long and bumpy. Now that the worst was over, they had to figure out the extent of what had happened. They did a cardiac catheterization following our visit and surprise surprise, the major blood vessel that feeds the heart (and I mean THE one) was 100% occluded. Not one teeny tiny corpuscle was making it down there. They have NO idea how he hasn't had a massive heart attack yet, because the blockage has been there for awhile and was hardened. Apparently all the moderate exercise he'd been working on to lose his weight had built up what we call collateral circulation, extra blood vessels, homemade bypass routes if you will. Anyway that became the next priority, but they were afraid to do the bypass due to his brain injury. Then there's the internal defibrillator, I loved this part. Because of what happens, he qualifies to have an internal defibrillator implanted in his chest to prevent the lethal arrythmia from ever happening again, or at least to intervene should it happen. This is an expensive proposition, procedure plus device goes for around $100K. Medicare's stance is that since he was getting the bypass done, that that should resolve his problem and therefore the AICD would not be necessary. So ... in order to get it put in, they have to prove that he will at some point go into another lethal rhythm. Apparently DYING once wasn't good enough, so they had to do a test where they induce the rhythm (then correct it hopefully), in order to prove he's susceptible. Then they can ok the defibrillator. So I said to the cardiologist that this was just like trying to get a restraining order taken out, you have to get killed before someone believes there's a problem.

Fast forward and the bypass gets done, the AICD gets put in and he's on the road to physical recovery. This past weekend he was moved to a rehab facility for cognitive therapy. We spoke to the caseworker yesterday and apparently physically he's doing fantastic. His insurance can only keep him till the 4th because he's doing great. The bad news? They are certain that at this stage he canNOT live independently. He cannot drive and just needs someone around to make sure he takes his meds and watches him for memory-induced problems. So option 1) Go home to live with his elderly sister, who runs a daycare in her home 5 days a week ... not so good. Option 2) an assisted living facility, most of which are expensive and have waiting lists. Then there's yep, option 3) he comes to stay with us (which my husband wanted all along). Now all of his extended family is in Pittsburgh, he's a Steelers cult member and doesn't really have anything outside of his family. He's also completely bullheaded (imagine that). So yesterday they ask him if perhaps he'd consider coming to live with his son and he immediately agrees and says yes, it's probably the best thing. Well now, color me surprised.

So let's see, Chris and I, au pair, four kids including baby ... now grandfather. Add three dogs, three cats and a fish on the fritz and I'm beginning to feel a bit overloaded. Can we do it? Of course we'll manage, we always do. But it would be an absolute lie if I wasn't terrified and dreading the additional stress and change this is going to result in. I love Jim, I do. I'm going to have to put the kids in one room, sleeping dorm-style and heaven help us if we have company. The plus sides is that we'll be good for his recovery, the kids will get to see him all the time and hey, we'll get an extra car out of the deal. But if you're the praying type, please keep us in there because I'm honestly scared that I won't be able to handle it all.

On the work front:
Turns out that all my angst over whether or not to take the Chief's job turned out to be moot. After successfully going through three seperate interviews, the final
 phase was them turning their selection over to the hospital for final approval. Well turns out that approximately 4 hours before this was to happen, the hospital froze and then eradicated all unfilled positions across the board in response to a financial crisis. This included the training supervisor's job. So turns out that my decision was made for me and for now I'm back on the box, so to speak -- stomping out disease and pestilence whereever it may be and fighting the forces of evil in my spare time. Ok perhaps it's not that dramatic, but it did mean I had to go out and buy some winter gear for another year, dammit!

Kids et al:
Meredith is rapidly approaching ten months of age and it is just amazing to see the differences between her and James as they grow.  Some I can attribute to his hearing loss, for example Meredith is WAY more vocal than James was.  She sings, does a half dozen syllables, and is a great mimic.  She can blow kisses and clap hands and has a horrid temper which manifests in random shrieks that sound suspiciously like a pterodactyl and grating everyone's nerves.  She's teething currently which makes her such a joy to deal with. ;)  Her hair's growing in, she has baby ringlets and we're heading for strawberry blonde.  Eyes are starting to look more like James's, as in more grey than blue, difference is that hers have a dark rim. 

James is in kindergarten and I actually had a seperate post planned for that, the heartbreak of his first steps away.  He adores school and his teacher is awesome.  He loves the schoolbus with an absolute passion, funny - I don't remember riding to school as an amusement park ride, but that's how he acts.  His language is doing great, he gets speech and hearing therapy each week.  Only problem is that both tubes have come out of his ears, and he's increasingly complaining of being unable to hear me.  Looks like we may end up back in the hospital to fix it.

We finally found a new au pair for the family.  Her name is Sabrina, she's from Meersburg, Germany and lives on the coast of Lake Constance.  This was after two months of searching and interviews and speaking with Serbians, Chezc, Turks, oh my!  She has a lot of parallels to Rina, though I won't kid myself that I will be able to find another au pair like her.  

Curses, foiled again!

Last night I was feeling a little restless.  It was late and the house was quiet, so I figured I would take the opportunity to invest in a little "just for mommy time."  Nothing complicated, but perhaps in light of the last several weeks just catching up on mommy maintenance to make myself feel a little better about life in general.  For all of you who are mommies, or who know a mommy, or who have 25 hour days constantly you know that of which I speak.  It usually involves immersion in some manner in hot water (for as long as you damn well please), then an assortment of product applications that you maybe you save for just such an occasion.  Ambience can be candles, incense, anything that does NOT smell like diaper cream or mildly used formula.  Add perhaps a glass of wine, a good book and music or dvd of your choice and you have maybe the best hour or so of your life thus far.  Yes yes yes, don't laugh.  Just because I wear combat boots for half my life does not mean that I cannot appreciate a little femininity now and then!

So go check on the kids, including the loaner kid sleeping downstairs while his mom works, everyone's asleep.  Slip upstairs to the bedroom with a bottle of white russian and something for a Hugh Jackman fix and close the door.  All my treasures lay before me, including the Aveda moisturizers, the "Buffy" bar from LUSH, and my "save for when you need a boost" batch of new hair color (black with red highlights).  All will shortly be right with the world, it's roughly 2am.

Now when I do decide to color my own hair, and especially if I'm changing the color -- it's not an easy task.  My hair is somewhat long, but very thick.  For me to change the color I need to saturate the ends and I can't do the whole thing in one shot.  So two boxes and ALOT of mess later I've accomlished the task.  I've piled the darkening mass atop my head and am rigorously scrubbing the purplish residue from my skin ... the floor ... the sink ... the walls, etc.  I'm about to go on with my regime when I can  hear it, faint at first but undeniable -- The Skootch is rousing.

I hurry into her room and do the usual things that can counteract the Awakening.  I sing my silly tuneless song, I rub her back, play with hair, cover her up, the works.  And nothing is working, she's still all over the place and the little cries are getting a bit stronger.  Oh lord now we have eye fluttering, "Please please please honey, don't do this to Mommy."  No such luck.  The little diva begins to holler and will not be soothed.  Keep in mind that I'm covered in hair dye and totally unable to give her the attention she's counting on.  But if I let her holler she will eventually wake the entire house up.  So I swing her under my arm and lug her into the bedroom.  I figure laying on the featherbed in a dark room will help.  Nothing, no good -- she's up and that's that.  Meanwhile time is ticking and the dye is now starting to dry on my scalp -- visions of eggplants now dance in my head.

Eventually I end up waking up the poor au pair at 3am just to have her hold the Divine Ms. M so that mommy can go do a quick rinse in the shower.  With a tiny sob I put away my exfoliating / moisturizing / good smelling treasures.  Ahh perhaps next time my dear Buffy bar and Philosophy body souffle, until then fare thee well.  I will say that she is teething right now and is utterly miserable as a result, so I will cut her some slack -- this time.  She did proceed to stay awake and cling for four full hours, and succumbed to sleep only after the first grey light appeared at the window.

And despite all of that the hair color came out great.  I still have dry skin and could use a scrub, but then again I knew what I was getting into when I signed on for the tour of duty.  Besides ... they all have to sleep sometime, I'm sure I can find another hour to myself, someday.

72 Hours

So for the last few weeks I've been kicking myself to compile a couple of decent updates one everything that's been going on, when catastrophe struck, as catastrophes are wont to do ...

Tuesday evening we were down by Philadelphia picking up a new bed for Heidi when both our cell phones went off at about the same time -- rarely a good sign.  Chris's dad, who lives in Pittsburgh had gone into cardiac arrest and there was very little information about his condition.

Jim and his sister go for a walk each day at a nearby park.  After Tuesday's walk they get back in the car, as they're leaving the park he suddenly slows the car and slumps over the wheel, unresponsive.  His sister got the car stopped and bystanders pulled him from the car and called 911. A nurse happened to be in the park and walking nearby. She initiated CPR until the park police arrived. They had an AED (defibrillator) which shocked him twice and got a pulse back on him. Once the ambulance arrived they were only 5 minutes away from the closest hospital.

When we got the call at 8pm Jim was unresponsive and on the vent in the ED. Fast forward about 8 hours and we made it to Pittsburgh around 4:30am on Wednesday. By this time he was still unresponsive, but in the ICU and still alive.  On the plus side he was physically fine otherwise -- his heart, lungs, kidneys, all his major systems were functioning very well.  He'd been working hard in the last year to improve his health.  He'd lost a hundred pounds, got a hip replacement, his diabetes and pressure were well under control.  Unfortunately in almost any cardiac arrest the brain suffers damage as a result of oxygen deprivation, it's just a matter of how long and how much.  There is no test that can predict the results or even determine what the damage or chance of recovery is.  And 24 hours in things were looking very bad for him.

Wednesday and Thursday there wasn't much change, an improvement in responsiveness to stimulus -- but no purposeful movement. Eye opening but no focusing, posturing but nothing in response to voice, no following commands. Thursday afternoon the neurologist said the words "hypoxic ischemic injury to both hemispheres of the brain." He said he did not believe Jim would be lucid again, but that with these cases you needed to wait the full 72 hours to get a good picture on recovery.  We broached the topics of "Do Not Resuscitate" orders and other unpleasant decisions that may arise.  Our realm of experience told us that the chances of anything more at this point were slim at best, so we were prepared for some very difficult times.  But we readily agreed to give him the full 72 hours before making any decisions at all.

When we got to the hospital on Friday morning we walked in expecting little change. Instead Jim heard Chris's voice and turned his head and looked directly at him. He was able to indicate yes and no, blink his eyes, and squeeze my hand on command. When the neurologist checked him tonight, he passed all the early tests. The overly serious neurologist actually smiled and said, "Some people just get lucky."

Yesterday he was even clearer, though he does appear to favor his left side.  He was able to form words with his mouth, primarily "Take it out!" (Meaning the endotracheal tube)  Today he could hold up two fingers with each hand, an indication of fine motor control and very good sign.  He has no memories yet of the last week, both the arrest and the medications contribute to short term memory loss.

It's still a really long road ahead and we won't get a clearer picture of deficits and care needs until next week when he's extubated. But it looks like he may pull through intact and the kids will still have their grandfather.  Chris's sister got me a flight home yesterday afternoon so that I could be with my kids and he wouldn't have to drive 12 hours round trip.  I have to go back to work tomorrow night as it is.  Because ya know ... there's no rest for weary, unless you're dead and even then you can't sleep. ;)

Well, the humor's intact ...

They took him off the ventilator this morning.  So now he's not only moving, but he can speak again.  He remembers walking in the park that day and nothing since.  He definitely recognizes family though this morning he did not use a single name.  It's required patiences as he forgets what happened and you have to often retell the story.  Chris showed him a picture of one of the grandkids and said that he didn't really grasp who it was, which was troubling.

A couple of hours later Chris calls me to tell me that he almost "punched the old man."  I of course asked why.  Chris was talking to him about all the people who've been visiting.  He remembered that I'd been there and asked where I was.  Chris told him that I'd had to fly home to be with the kids.  He looked at Chris in surprise and said, "What kids?!?"

Then my husband was nice and worked up about it he just smiled and said, "Just joking."

So yes, things are looking better.  Except that I have to go back to work tonight, blech.

People, as a species, suck.

I've been so disappointed by people lately.  I use that word as a deliberate and gross understatement.  We always joke about how much people on the whole, as a species, suck -- but the reality is that it's just true.  Countless times every day we get blatant reminders of what a rude, self-centered and generally noxious group of people comprises the large majority of society. I will be the first Pollyanna to mention that that is a total generalization but when you get pummeled a bit it gets a bit difficult to see breaks of light in between the punches. 

Are the concepts of things like courtesy, professionalism, responsibility and accountability so alien that they must be enforced rather than expected?  Is it that today those are obsolete terms and the bar can only be stepped over with effort, raising it off the floor causing everyone to just quit?

Someone who works with me on a side project and has been for the last seven years just stopped showing up about six weeks ago.  I do not know the circumstances which brought this about, life happens.  But two plus weeks of trying to contact him has been met with silence -- phone calls, emails, voice mail and not even the courtesy of a response.  I don't know what his intentions are, but it leaves me and a few others holding the bag on a few unfinished projects.  If he fails to return these issues will resonate for months if not years (without exaggeration).  How do you walk away like that without even a word of explanation?  Especially if there are others left behind who will have to take the brunt of the fallout for your disappearance?

My husband has a very close friend who he's known forever and loves like a brother.  We had a falling out with some mutual friends several months ago.  Knowing that it's awkward we've never placed him in a position of having to "choose" one over the other.  We don't involve him in the dispute or pump him for information, what's done is done.  Then inadvertantly we find out that he was out here just a couple of weeks ago, visiting with them.  He lives on the other side of the state, so any opportunity we get to see him is good.  Yet when he was only 90 minutes away instead of six hours, he didn't even call.  I know that it's probably uncomfortable, but if you're going to be geographically available couldn't you at least call or consider maybe a side meeting for a cup of coffee?  Something, anything?

A week ago my father became very ill and was hospitalized.  My mother's response has been to climb directly into her bottle and stay there, with my brother close behind.  She only went to see him the first day (half in the bag) and has been incoherent since then.  Calling there in the evening is like dialing into an episode of "Cops" with her screaming "Where's my beer?!?" and throwing things at my stoner brother who's just as messed up.  They couldn't even stay functional for 48 hours in case something worse happened.  My father's been cleaning up after them for over a decade and they couldn't even give him two days.  He came home tonight, but he's worn out and they sent him home with alot of meds and oxygen that he has to be on for the next four weeks.  When I called he was hungry, cold, tired and basically alone -- sitting at the dining room table on his oxygen while they were passed out cold in the other rooms.  They didn't even go to pick him up at the hospital.

While doing some random surfing I came across one of the sites we visit on occasion and interestingly enough I find that the folks we had the falling out with decided to do some mudslinging in black & white on one of their profiles.  It's not horrendous I suppose, but it was hurtful and unfair.  We'd already decided back when this came down that we weren't going to respond to them, but it just came out of left field and I was unprepared to see it. 

Compound that by a trip today to WalMart where we had to deal with the teeming unwashed masses -- where finding a parking spot and just maneuvering your cart and getting your family from one end of the store to the other is a lesson in teeth-gritting frustration.

We like to say that if you have no expectations then you can never be disappointed.  Well that sucks.  I want to have expectations.  I want to not have to prepare for battle rather than just expect actual customer service.  I want people to say "excuse me" and "please" and "thank you."  I want messages replied to, regardless of format.  I want to expect my mother not to abandon her family when times get rough.  I want the spirit of a friendship upheld even if it's rocky at times.  I want people to have standards and stick to them, not treat everything like it's a joke and act like their actions have no impact on anyone else (personally or professionally).

Then again, doesn't matter what I want.  If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.  Course if more folks were riding horses maybe I'd be able to find an actual parking spot at $*&#)*$&*@ Walmart.

Enough ranting, time to regain some zen and pretend like none of it gets to me. 

Morning Randomness

In re-reading my last post, it occurs to me that it may sound like I'm more depressed over James's issues than is probably the case. I don't think that's true, I know that I'm over the worst of it really. He really likes his hearing aids and wears them all day without complaint. His language is improving by leaps and bounds and I look forward to his attempts at spontaneous conversation. He even sings and "reads" to his sister all the time, which just completely melts me every time -- see if you can resist ...

Helena was actually out here for a visit last week, it was so wonderful to see her. She brought a guest with her from Holland, he said he was looking forward to meeting a "typical" American family. (chokes) Needless to say I think we had a very good time and he left here with his team winning their World Cup match at the time and enjoying triple cheeseburgers from Wendy's, WalMart and learning what a Jack & Coke was. We also got to visit Columcille (www.columcille.org). It's pretty awesome when you have something as cool as a megalith park and meditation center right near your house.

One of things Helena said to me afterwards was really nice. She said that while she's very aware of our personal challenges, that it was very obvious that we had a loving family and that you could feel that love and general happiness in the house. I think that may have been a small epiphany for me, it reminded me of "Under The Tuscan Sun." At the end, the fresh water flowing from the old faucet as she realizes she had created the full life she'd been searching for.

So why am I taking my son to see "Cars" if I have to use rolled change to do it? Because with his hearing aids a movie all about cars is just the ticket to a really happy kid.

In other news, Child Services called ...

"Yes ma'am we realize this is a serious matter, but you see -- her father thinks he's a comedian."

Enjoy the day. :)

Belated Father's Day

I wrote this for my husband, who was kindof bummed that we didn't get to see his older children on Father's Day or just get more time together. I like it, and offer it up to all the Daddies out there, especially my friend Dennis.
 
Feel free to pass it on to any Dads who you think may be feeling taken for granted.

Father’s Day

A small hand tucks itself into yours.
The lightest touch and your soul soars.
Your eyes within a tiny face,
Each smile bringing a state of grace.

The work is hard, the hours so long.
The whispers of fear in a world so wrong.
Must protect and love them well,
How they will fare you cannot tell.

I wonder do they notice when you don’t sleep?
Small sacrifice for a promise to keep.
Do they know that you’re not mad?
Exhaustion is what makes your world so bad.

Yes they notice and yes they care.
They’ll tuck you in and stroke your hair.
They know that Daddy works so hard,
And sometimes only needs a card.

A reminder that the seeds you planted,
Never take your love for granted.
That as time passes and how well they grow,
They remember the love and strength you show.

Family is as family does,
They do know how their Father loves.
When your day is long and spirit beat,
Allow yourself this small retreat.

That when those eyes close at night,
They know love and they know right.
When each smiles at you in their own way,
Then every day is Father’s Day.




(A Skye-baby smile, just for her Dad.)

Lieutenant Dan! Magic Ears!

June always seems so busy. The midpoint of the year, things start / stop -- school ends, camps begin and the weather eventually settles down. The beginning of this June saw James at his first graduation. He graduated from Pre-K successfully. ;) They did a really cute recital of a bunch of songs and dances and the school director gave her teary-eyed farewell to another class. James was the first one to come out and actually participated in about half the songs before giving up and sitting in his seat. I'm sure it was chaotic and overwhelming for him. Unfortunately I can't seem to get him to understand that there's no more "Yellow School," as he asks to go just about every day.

Graduation!



The school offers a summer reading program, designed to really give him a boost for Kindergarten. He loves writing and can read some sight words already, his teacher feels that even with the hearing issues he should be able to keep up. So he'll be back in school for July.

Magic Ears!


On Flag Day James finally got his hearing aids! In true James style he took them completely in stride, no adjustment period necessary. We put them in, turned them on and voila! He realized immediately that they were helping him hear and takes great care with them (for a 4 and a half year old anyway). Which is good because at $3500 for the pair, we can't afford it to be otherwise. The ear molds are dalmation-spotted at his request -- 102 Dalmations was the movie of the month when we ordered the ear molds. (g)

We started taking him to Special Ed twice a week back in March, so he was in school four days a week between that and his Pre-K. He goes for speech and hearing therapy, along with repeat evaluations and social exercises. They're on break now, he'll resume in July for one more month and then be done with it -- he integrates into normal Kindergarten in the fall.

His teachers are absolutely wonderful and they adore him. He likes going and has definitely benefited from the experience. However, all that being said I will be glad when it's over. I cry every single time I drop him off. I can't help it, it's just a hard adjustment. He's in a small group and is the (very obviously) highest functioning child in the class. The ladies tell me he's very good with the disabled children and is very helpful to them at playtime, but you can see his confusion sometimes. That he knows that something is different with the children when he tries to interact with them. The other parents are actually nicer than most of the ones at Pre-K and the children are great. But when the teachers come out to collect/herd them in at drop-off, he kisses me good-bye and trustingly puts his hand in Ms. Cheryl's and I watch him walk in. Then I get back in my van and cry as I drive home.

I try to figure out why this is and I think it's just frustration. This is my perfect little boy, he's not supposed to have anything permanent "wrong" with him. He's not supposed to rely on devices or be limited in any way, restricted for reasons not of his own making. I dread the day that the other children decide to focus on his small difference, I would spare him the pain and confusion that will come from mean small-minded people. His differences should be of his choosing, his unique personality, not forced upon him for whatever reason this happened. Yet his road begins with a little more burden than I think is fair and all I can do is help him carry it, I can't take it away. That's why Mommy cries on the ride home.

Though I will share this story, from when the process first began. In our first "IEP" meeting, when we were deciding what his therapy and educational needs would be, we met with his Special Ed teachers, speech therapist and the school board person, etc. As they laid out his evaluation and plans, they were very painfully, obviously trying NOT to use the actual term "Special Ed" in any form. Granted we had come from work and were in uniform, and my husband can be scary-looking but I mean they were really pussyfooting around the term. I think they were just worried that we'd be upset or feel that James was being labeled, I don't know. Finally we said to them, "Look ladies it's ok. We know he has additional needs and we want to get him whatever he needs to be successful, so it's really alright." Anyway the meeting went fine and we went home with all the paperwork and folder full of welcome packet, etc. So we go home and I open the folder to read the class information and what do I see? What's the first thing in the folder, right on top, glaring out at me?

An application for the Special Olympics. Go figure. ;)

If you can't hear the bell tolling ... does it count?

Meredith failed her newborn screening exam (deja vu) and had to go for a repeat test with an audiologist.  Since we were supposed to be getting another one for James post-op as it was we scheduled both together.  Fortunately the baby passed the screening with flying colors.  I had very high hopes for James as far as improvement went, since the tubes were put in he's been doing so much better.  However we're apparently not that lucky.

The exact quote from the audiologist was, "This is permanent kiddos."  It's really interesting just how profound and far reaching a single word like "permanent" can be.  Even now as I try to objectively sort through the information, it's hard to wrap my mind around the concept that my son has a level of disability that will never improve.  She told me he will need external hearing aids in both ears in order to hear at a normal level.  Before committing to this we decided to take him for a second opinion -- I want to be 100% certain of what we're dealing with before approaching the problem.  So today we went back to the audiologist who originally tested him in October.  He was a little more thorough in his testing and while his results were unfortunately similar, I do feel more comfortable with his methods and explanations.  I also have a little more direction in where to go from here.

He has a moderate level of conductive hearing loss in both ears, which means his issues are neurologic in origin.  He should be hearing conversation at approximately 10 - 20 decibels, in both tests so far he only appears to be hearing conversation once you get to 40 or 50 decibels.  This means that "normal" conversational speech levels sound very soft to him.  It's something that we have to address before he enters school full time, otherwise he'll be severely limited once he gets to the grades where classwork is lecture intensive.  He just won't be able to hear the material as well if at all -- depending on the speaker or where he's sitting.  It also explains why he loses interest in school sometimes, especially during story time.

He's so good during all of this testing, it breaks my heart sometimes.  He was sitting with his dad in the soundproof booth today, big headphones on, watching the audiologist through the window with his huge eyes.  He wanted so much to do well, to do what the audiologist was asking him to do.  And there's mommy, sitting in the corner making her lip bleed by biting into it to keep quiet.  All we can do is keep the experiences as positive as possible, especially if we're going to have to stick devices in his ears and convince him to wear them. :(

So the next step now is to re-schedule him for a BAER test, which has to be done under sedation.  It's like an EEG, they stick a bunch of electrodes to his head and measure actual neural impulses and stuff.  It will give us a more precise range in regards to his loss, which will be helpful when it comes to adjusting his amplification.  He hears more of the higher frequencies, the loss appears to be in the lower ranges.  This is the lesser of many evils and one of the few positives.  It means he can hear diction more clearly than say, environmental noises -- since speech is in the higher ranges. 

The other audiologist already made molds of his ears for the hearing aids, in anticipation and since he was being cooperative at the time.  Once all the testing is done, then we have to come up with the funds.  I haven't heard back from the insurance company yet, but most private insurances do not pay for the actual devices -- just the appointments for adjustments and monitoring.  My options are limited at the moment, but we're still looking at a few different things.  Otherwise we'll have to come up with approximately $3500 out of pocket for a pair of hearing aids for him.  Which with me just finishing my stint on disability is truly getting blood from a stone.  But this too shall pass of course.

Chris is being the optimistic one again, which is a stunner for anyone who knows him. ;)  He already calls James "Daddy's little Cyborg" and is generally unconcerned.  He feels that 1) he's not deaf and 2) it's correctable, so he's focused on the positives.  He's right of course, but it doesn't stop Mommy from having mini-panic attacks at stop lights or whenever she allows herself to really think about it ...

"This is permanent kiddos."

The Queen of the Sea

Warning!  The following post may contain graphic descriptions or information on what is typically a woman-only domain -- labor & childbirth.  If you are squeamish and don't want to hear discussions on anything below the waist that might be "gross" or "icky," or want to live the rest of your life without knowing what "lochia" is -- then I suggest you skip this post and wait for me to talk about something else.

Since I know Danie has this fascination and long-running history with all things childbirth, I will humor her request and talk about my ordeal.  And yes, I consider it an ordeal -- I am not one of those shiny happy people who loved being pregnant.  While the concept of the miracle of life growing inside of you really is amazing and worth the trip, I could really do without the side effects. ;)

With this pregnancy I had gestational diabetes and pregnancy-induced hypertension, just like with the last one.  The diabetes was never really an issue, diet-controlled.  The blood pressure however, was getting dangerously high towards the end (again just like last time).  While this caused a bunch of hassles, luckily it never got to the point where I actually had seizures or any of the worst case scenarios.  However even though I was totally without the physical symptoms that would indicate danger, every time I got my blood pressure taken it caused a panic -- especially if it was done by someone who did not know my history.  Which then resulted in scurrying around, anxiety on their end, and me being ordered back to the hospital AGAIN for monitoring.  This usually included more bloodwork, tests, etc ... only to be sent home 4 to 6 hours later after I'd convinced them that honest, I knew my body and what I was talking about.  Along with the usual I PROMISE I WILL TELL YOU GUYS THE MILLISECOND THAT I HAVE A SINGLE SYMPTOM OF PREECLAMPSIA!  After about 4 to 6 weeks of this, eventually they got it and we were able to work together.  Anyway after another "emergent" monitoring session, the OB told me that she felt we should just induce and get it over with, then we wouldn't have to keep going through this.  I was full term by that point so it was fine.  They decided to induce me at 38 weeks to the day, interestingly enough that's the same time I got induced with James -- 38 weeks to the day.  However unlike last time, which was an ambush, this was being scheduled in advance.

There are some good and bad points to having the birth of your child scheduled in advance like that.  One is obviously you can be better prepared, have your ducks in a row and things like a bag packed and arrangements made.  I didn't have that chance with James, causing a bit of running around on the part of Chris and Dennis.  This time I actually was packed and knew what to bring that I would use, etc.  You sort of know when the birthday will be, within a 2 day range or so.  The downside?  OMG just TRY to sleep the night before.  Considering the 38 hour ordeal I had with James, I was really dreading going through this again.  I had NO idea if this would go better or worse.  Plus there was the actual happy part, the anticipation of finally meeting the baby when it was over.  Needless to say, I think Chris and I slept maybe 45 minutes before having to get up and head for our 7am appointment at the hospital.

Apparently it was a very boring Easter out here in PA during 2005, because we hit the L&D ward during rush hour.  So after they tucked us in a room and did some preliminary stuff, we basically didn't get started for another 3 or 4 hours, because the staff was running from room to room on deliveries.  They knew us pretty well by now, including the fact that Chris and I are medics.  The advantage there was that we weren't terribly high maintenance and they knew we'd understand things going on.  The other advantage was that Chris was able to start my IV when the nurse blew the first one and I was short on veins from all the blood drawing.  They finally gave me the Cytotec to see if they could dilate me and we were off.  I had had a few sincere contractions early that morning so I don't know that I would've gone much past that day on my own as it is.  As a result, it only took two doses of the Cytotec to get me in labor and I never had to have the Pitocin, which is basically a stranglehold on one's uterus. 

They started me on another IV a short time later, this was Magnesium Sulfate -- to control my blood pressure.  I also had to have a couple of IV doses of prophylactic doses of antibiotics, due to coming up positive for Strep B.  Both of these were very caustic on my veins, so I spent a lot of time icing my left hand.  Another thing they did not have to do this time was break my water.  They did that with James, so I did not have the unique pleasure of large amounts of very warm water gushing from my insides every time I moved.  That started sometime after lunch, if you can call chicken broth and jello "lunch" that is.  I do not think I can relay adequately how equally amusing and gross the next hour was, because that's pretty much how long it took for me to stop draining.  Colleen (my nurse at the time) and I would get done mopping up and getting dry linens and things, I would sit back down or have a contraction and WHOOSH another wave would come.  After the fourth time I just started laughing and said, "Screw it Col.  Leave it, I'll let ya know when I'm cold."  My poor socks were sacrificed to the amniotic gods as unrecoverable.  I didn't think it would end.  In retrospect, there's a subtle irony to the fact that one of the meanings of Meredith is "Queen of the Sea."  (waits for the quasi-disgusted groans to subside)

Things progressed along and by evening I was the only patient on the floor.  So I got moved to a nicer room closer to the nurse's station and Chris left briefly to get something decent to eat and a change of clothes.  A part of us was hoping we might go under 12 hours this time, but alas why should my children do anything the easy way?  I did manage to negotiate my way out of being catheterized, and by that I mean Foley not IV.  I had a catheter in my urethra for the last one and when the epidural initially failed, I had to deal with the contractions squeezing around it ... which translates to that unique burning sensation you get when you REALLY have to pee, but of course you don't go through the motions when you're catheterized.  It was an interesting experience that I plan never to repeat unless absolutely necessary.  I am so adamant about that, that I was actually up on my feet within a half hour of having James ... just so I could go pee on my own. 

So when they told me they were going to catheterize me I requested my doc for a treaty negotiation.  See, the Magnesium has a number of side effects, several of which tend to prohibit a lot of time out of bed.  It causes precipitous drops in blood pressure when you stand up or change position and effects the smooth muscles all over your body, all of which add up to them NOT wanting you to walk around.  Thus you get confined to your bed generally and along with that comes the catheter (and a bedpan if you need it).  We've covered my feelings on this a bit already, if you think I abhor the concept of being catheterized again you can just imagine how I would feel about the indignity of a bedpan.  Luckily I was able to convince my OB that I would be totally honest and let her know if I was unable to stay upright, until then I could use the bathroom with assistance.  This fascinating tangent does have some bearing later on, I promise.

Last time, my mother kept calling the hospital during the course of things and frankly you just don't want to chat when you're in that position.  So as predicted, once again she ignored our requests and started calling the floor around supper time.  Not only did she not get dismissed gracefully, she actually tried to pump the nurses for information on me!  She didn't want to come up for the actual event, in fact she still hasn't even seen the baby but that's another story.

Fast forward a few hours and now I'm in the real deal.  Those in the know, know what I mean.  Three to four minutes apart, can't help but twisting a bit between the bed rails as you're convincing yourself that you can put up with anything for 40 seconds at a time.  They move me to a delivery room and ask for the epidural.  Things speed up at this point and it took the doctor almost an hour to get to me.  I was petrified that by the time he got there, I'd be too dilated and have to go through all of it without pain relief again.  Luckily that wasn't the case.  Now I'm in the less than graceful position of being slumped on the side of the bed, draped over Christopher while my hero the anesthesiologist works on my back.  Small problem -- takes him SEVERAL tries to get it.  Meanwhile I'm getting twisted in knots every 3 minutes like clockwork and they're telling me to try not to move at all during them.  I was hurting to care that much about the multiple sticks, but apparently Christopher was starting to have some issues with my back being turned into swiss cheese.  All I can say is that when it kicked in, hallelujah.

Unfortunately it got a teeny bit overdone, not that I'm complaining.  I was blissfully numb, too much so apparently.  Things got foggy and my ears were ringing, though I was "feeling" pretty damn good and able to rest at this point.  My blood pressure dropped, very quickly.  The baby did not care for that so her heart rate slowed significantly for a time, insert some scurrying and adjusting my meds here.  Now they had to give me some stuff to get my pressure back up (my lowest was 60/20) and watch the baby, had it continued we would've gone C section.  Eventually I leveled off and the baby got used to it, so things continued to move along. 

Around 3am the epidural started wearing off, which coincided with my sudden need to push.  And the sadists that are my caregivers will not turn it back on for the final phase.  So now the real fun begins.  Another side effect of Magnesium is vasodilation, this gives you a delightful flush and basically turns you into a walking inferno.  Welp, mine kicked in sometime after midnight.  Chris was wiping me down with cool cloths in between the contractions and pushing and I was basically baking them dry.  We had to wait for the last of my cervix to clear as well, but my need to push was stronger than my need to wait.  So now they're telling me NOT to do anything while they work on clearing the last of the cervix.  Michelle, my nurse by now, was so awesome.  She was totally unflappable and on top of what was going on.  She was responsible for the majority of my care, up until the very end.  I wasn't having the greatest time of it, I can remember her saying, "You need to turn that anger toward actually pushing now." (g)

The time finally came and with a final primal, "Get it out now!"  I was able to deliver her, well we finally knew it was a her.  We got a lot of hassle this time around for not knowing the sex in advance, especially since we'd had an amniocentesis done and everything.  I'm sorry, I agree with my husband -- it's one of Life's few good surprises, why ruin it?  She was pink and beautiful and didn't even have a funny shaped head.  I can attest to why, considering that I tore in three locations on top of having an episiotomy.  Yes ladies, let me throw some cringe worthy terms at you like ... urethra, labia AND to add insult to injury, even the hood.  So suturing took a few minutes, joy of joys.

This officially brings the Loscar bratling head count to four -- two step and two natural, I'm happy to announce they're healthy, beautiful and the factory is now CLOSED.  If there were any doubts that this was a joint decision, just ask Chris.  As soon as it was over, while she was being put in the warmer, he turned and was asking for directions to Urology -- so that he could stop on his way out. ;)

Eventually the drama is over.  Meredith is whisked away to the nursery for her check up and I'm moved to a maternity room.  I get a room to myself and in the true spirit of evil they park me in the bed right next to the bathroom.  A bathroom in which one quarter of the room is dedicated to a fully functioning, industrial strength shower that I am NOT allowed to use.  I'm on full bedrest for as long as I remain on the Magnesium, which is going to be a full 24 hours post delivery, thanks to my evil doctor.  My exhausted husband goes home for a few hours sleep once I'm settled in.  I ask the nurses if it's alright if I just sit on the edge of the bed for a bit, I was so tired of having to lie down on my side for hours on end.  They said sure and left me sitting there, watching the morning news on my little TV while they went off for morning shift change.

About a half hour goes by and I decide that I'll be good and lay down ... right after I use the bathroom.  Because it's shift change nobody's been in to see me yet and in my usual manner I feel no overwhelming need to bother them just yet, after all I feel ok, right?  I mean hell, I walked to my room after having James and it's not like it's more than 4 feet away, I can push my IV poles.  So up I go! 

Well, I'd forgotten about the whole "pooling" effect.  Soon as I stood up, a whole lot of blood just fell right out of my body onto the floor.  I push a chuck pad over the mess and decide to press onward.  Remember, this is a trip of maybe 3 steps.  Well the bleeding continues, and I'm tracking it as I go, pushing it around the tile floor in a glorious miasma of body fluids that would've made for a killer episode of CSI.  Every attempt I'm making to control the issue is just making it worse and I have yet to call for help.  Now I've made it to the bathroom, IV pole and machine in tow.  There's that red emergency call button in there but do I pull the cord?  NOOOOOO of course not, I didn't want to panic anyone, this is just a bleeding issue.  This probably would've been a shorter incident if I had any panic genes left in my DNA, but I appear to have run out.  As for the standard call button, some brain surgeon tied it to the far bed rail.  So now I have to make my way back through the scene of the crime to get to the bed, to stretch and get to the button ... with the IV machine in tow.  I am laughing by now, I flop onto the bed and hit the call bell and then what?  I get back up of course!  I mean c'mon, the bed was still clean!  I wanted some sanctuary for when we're done.  I was making my way back to the bathroom and contemplating just how much trouble I could get into if I tried to take a quick hot shower (without electrocuting myself via my IV android) when my day nurse came in.  By this time I have officially made my side of the room look like the worst scene from a Stephen King novel, Carrie comes to mind.  The very competent, very chipper Carol comes briskly in, and I quote (imagine a very cheerful voice) --

"Good morning, how can I hel ... OH MY GOD!"

This puts me right into the giggles, which I'm sure didn't look very right.  She then proceeds to very efficiently dress me down, verbally and physically.  I get the full lecture that she doesn't give a damn if I am a paramedic, I just had a baby and I WILL learn how to be a proper patient and ask for help or she WILL see that I get catheterized for the duration of my stay, etc etc.  I adored her, I really did.  Duly cleaned and chastised I was finally back in bed, and got my first sleep in two days, even if it was only a couple of hours.  When she ratted me out to Chris later that day his only response was to nod and say, "I see you've met my wife."

They kept me from Wednesday until Saturday.  I'd like to say that I got some well needed rest, like you're supposed to when you're being fully cared for, but all attempts were thwarted by the evil that is Magnesium.  Remember that I had to be on it for another full day, and with every bolus the fire in my skin got worse.  Plus due to the medications and my condition they had to check my reflexes every hour, and my blood pressure via machine every 15 minutes.  I had my AC cranked and the kept bringing me ice packs, but I'd just melt through them in no time.  I had them on my IVs, my eyes, my pulse points.  And the longer I was on it the more lethargic I felt, no energy at all.  Couldn't sleep and couldn't stay awake, it really was one of the rings of Hell.  They could only bring me Meredith for short periods of time, because I couldn't really stay awake or upright for longer than 45 minutes or so.  But damned if I didn't use the bathroom on my own, every two hours like clockwork.  The nurses were taking bets for when the Mag would win, but it didn't.  And I stayed awake until 5am the next day, when they came to finally disconnect me.  Within a half hour of them disconnecting me Friday morning, I was blissfully unconscious for the first time since Monday really.  When I woke up I took a glorious Silkwood shower and was able to finally start to recover for real.

There were/are some residual recovery issues, but nothing that's not improving with time and the end result was my beautiful little girl.  It all feels unusually final in a way, since we do not plan to have any more.  Still, as far as the motherhood adventure that is still just beginning.

So that Danie, is "how it all went." :)

Welcome to the World

	Princess Meredith Skye It's exhausting being this beautiful.
	The newest addition. Meredith Skye joined us on 1/05/06 at 05:06am. She weighed 7lbs 12oz and was 19" long. Everyone is happy and healthy.
	James and Meredith And I quote, "Hewwo Melediff."

The Year in Review (2005)

In perusing my LJ, it's obvious that I haven't posted very much of substance for 2005 -- a few key commentaries early on, followed by the occasional meme or interview that I found amusing.  I suppose in some ways I have to feel this inconsiderate of me, as I look forward to checking my LJ Friends' page every day.  It helps me feel like I'm keeping in some sort of touch with those I do not get to see often.  A gentle support system that is just ... there.  So is it fair to be a voyeur in others lives without at least contributing a piece or two of myself in return?  I don't know. 

The turn of the calendar year is guaranteed to make even the hardest person even the smallest bit introspective.  Another year gone by for better or for worse, but gone nonetheless.  This has been a rough year for so many, myself included.  Yet I find myself grateful for so many things, even something as simple as my Friends page here on LJ.  I cannot tell you how honored I am to have been afforded the glimpses into these lives, they make me feel connected and give me a boost every day.

Back in April I was involved in a fatal motorcycle accident.  More specifically, a gentleman on a stolen motorcycle got angry with someone who had cut him off on a side street and decided that in order to prove a point he should go up in a wheelie and blow by said vehicle at approximately 70 mph.  Unfortunately this choice cost him his life, as it caused him to go through a red light and slam directly into the passenger side of the cab of the ambulance I was driving.  I was very lucky in that I did not sustain any serious physical injury, but I do retain some anger over having this forced upon me ... not guilt, but rather dragging me and my family into this dramatic cycle which will surely revisit us in future.  The only other positive to this was that my passenger was not killed or more seriously injured and because of helpful witnesses I did not have to face a grand jury for investigation.  The week following the accident was a private emotional rollercoaster for me, and it brought me to terms (in a good way) with a few things.

According to our calculations, approximately ten days later (coinciding with Beltane actually) I became pregnant.  The timing is significant for me, and I am grateful for it.  We'd been trying for some time without success.  Despite my happiness with it, this pregnancy has been much harder on me than the last one.  Starting with the 17th week I developed excruciating hip pain that nobody could relieve.  Considering the nature of my job, the subsequent two and a half months were a nightmare.  They finally relieved me of duty in October.  Now even though I'm glad to be out of work, this time around I'm forced to deal with qualifying for state disability.  I'm discovering that this must be a punitive process, in order to prevent people from going out of their way to apply.  Even when I manage to get through the paperwork, it's effectively halved my income.  This is pretty crippling to us, but we'll muddle through -- it's not much longer now.

I'm also blessed with all the high risk fun again.  Let's see, I'm "AMA" (advanced maternal age, OUCH) and now in the last trimester I've also developed gestational diabetes and gestational hypertension again.  All of which means little more than the fact that I spend half of each week either in the hospital or with my OB.  I get tests, blood work, urine tests, ultrasounds, amniocentesis, the works.  Between that and my hips, I'm really at the end of my rope -- however they tell me every time how well the baby's doing and how good it looks.  Great, terrific, too bad mommy's getting the life sucked out of her.  Luckily I'm past 37 weeks now, so I'm full-term.  In fact they're planning to induce me in a couple of days if Mother Nature doesn't kick in first, my blood pressures haven't been good and they don't feel the need to play Russian Roulette with them anymore.

I joke about my labor last time, but the fact is that I'm scared.  I got induced at 38 weeks last time and it took 38 hours from start to finish.  Over a full day and a half of labor, no food, little meds, etc.  I got my first pain med at hour 24, didn't help.  Got my epidural at hour 28, it got messed up at hour 30 ... so I had active labor on the left side of my body for two hours until they could fix it.  Got it fixed, then it wore off completely by hour 36, leaving me to go through the final two hours of the REAL deal exhausted and without an ounce of relief.  The end result was two black eyes and a beautiful baby boy, but it doesn't mean that I'm in a hurry to go through that again.  Though I suppose we're at the point of no return and everyone promises me it won't be AS bad.  We'll see.

My son is very happy about the baby.  He kisses my stomach and wishes it good night, or says "see you soon."  He does understand the concept of pregnancy and that it's an actual baby in there, last week he indicated that I should push it out so he can see it.  We'll see if he stays that way once he realizes the new baby isn't leaving and he's got some competition.

He started school this year, just Pre-K but still ... I am proud to say that I survived the first day without too much trauma.  He absolutely loves going to school, and it's really helped him socially.  It also brought forward what we've suspected for awhile, that he's having trouble hearing and it's causing him to have speech delay.  That's put us on a whole other path.  He failed his hearing tests due to fluid in both ears, so we've spent the better part of three months between audiologists, the ENT specialist and his pediatricians.  After treating another tenacious infection, he had the tubes put in his eardrums and is now waiting for his repeat tests.  He's also in the Early Intervention program now, being evaluated for speech therapy and his cognitive development. 

It was SO hard to sit quietly while the speech therapist put him through his paces in the initial testing phases, I thought I would crack my teeth from clenching.  Even though he's four years old, back in September he tested at 2 years, 9 months as far as his ability to express.  He couldn't understand why mommy couldn't stop crying when we got back in the car.  This coming Thursday he goes for the full cognitive battery, to determine what level of assistance he needs to get him caught up before Kindergarten. 

His ear tubes were his second surgery, yet even more stress for poor mommy.  However he breezed through it and I will honestly say that we're noticing improvement.  He actually sang a song this Christmas, "Jingle Bells."  It's the first actual song with lyrics he's ever sung.  It's obvious that he can hear better -- between that and the exercises we've been doing he appears to be improving steadily, I'm just afraid to be overly optimistic and say the entire problem is "cured."  Not when the audiologist initially said he was an "amplification candidate." 

After some mild optimism that moving to VA would improve my parents lives, I find they have sunk right back down into the same enabling co-dependent hell that they had in NJ.  My brother lasted only a couple of months without them and of course they let him move in with them down there.  He has since returned to drinking, my mother right along with him.  My father sounds just as stressed as he was back in NJ, following my mother around and trying to keep her from drinking and driving my brother back and forth to work since he has no license thanks to his DUI.  My mother dumped the car in a ditch again, after a drunk driving spree though town -- but my father got to her before the VA State Police got to the scene, so they cut him a break.  It is what it is.  I do not expect to see them, even after the new baby comes.

While that is sad to an extent, I have my own family now and all I can do is my best to prevent the same cycle from repeating.  In 2005 I celebrated my fifth anniversary, married to the love of my life.  And as was pointed out to me recently -- it's not perfect and it shouldn't be.  But I will not for a minute not be aware of what I have and appreciate that with the depths of my being.  I can only pray that everyone has the opportunity to love that well, even if just once in their life.

Happy New Year.