First grade is essentially over. The once stiff "Speed McQueen" backpack has seen better days and is now overflowing with the treasures and debris of a year of firsts. It is being dragged behind an exhausted but brightly smiling Jack. Clutched tightly in his other hand is a plastic grocery bag containing an indistinguishable lump carefully wrapped in many layers of paper. The lump is the clay turtle he made with his art teacher after winning a special prize. It is the most beautiful lopsided grinning (yes indeedy, that turtle has an inch long smile) turtle I have ever seen.
Before we head to the car we stop in to spend some time with his kindy teacher. He adores Mrs. G and we have stopped in at least once a month since first grade started. She seems to enjoy the updates as much as he adores prowling the room to see what new additions have been made to her toy stash each month. I love to watch them chat. Today's sharing was about Saturday's Crossover Ceremony and as I listened to them I took a good long look at this amazing child of mine.
Emotions crashed through me and as always the tears threaten to rain down. I could see the wee, worried boy entering the classroom for the first time. He acted so confident but would periodically look frantically for me or quietly run to me just to touch my skirt or hand and then run back to the other children. I remembered my first "Great American Teach-In" where he wanted me to teach them all to make bows, "like you do at our shop". How proudly he helped his friends follow the directions and told them all about how he, "has worked with Mommy for years!"
Kindergarten was challenging but first grade has been a long battle for us and in my opinion we have won it. The war will be long and hard and painful I have no doubt. Academically Jack sails through beautifully. His extensive vocabulary always a shock to everyone but me, his hunger for all things scientific, his flair for art and drama, his constant desire to help his friends all overshadowed by the SPD. His impulsivity, his fine motor deficits that make handwriting sheer agony for him, the stress of not writing as much or as quickly as his friends reduces him to despair. I have been heartbroken to hear him sob how much he hates himself because he can't write like his friends. Heard his frustration because he works so hard and thinks his teacher doesn't see it, and held him as he wept when his "body makes him get in trouble". The list goes on and on.
I try to be optimistic and grateful that it isn't terminal. Lots of days though it's an act. Deep down I am bitter and angry. I feel like somehow I have cheated my child out of a normal life. Something I did, something I didn't do, was it the toxemia, was it the drama at delivery...WHAT caused this and why oh why did Jack have to be given this challenge? Didn't I pay enough dues with the treatments and miscarriages for my child to have a peaceful life? I know, counter-productive, won't change anything, there is a bigger plan, blah blah blah...
I know all this and I honestly believe it. Some days are just harder than others and today was one of them.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Boys are simply noise covered in dirt....
or catsup or chocolate milkshakes as the case may be. Ever wanted take your revenge on the fast food place that always screws up you order?? Take 20 6-7 year old Cub Scouts to visit them! (insert evil laugh here) You'll feel great, have a reason to break your eternal diet (just this once, it's a special occasion), and aside from the unholy din as they run in and out of the playground you will be able to enjoy the company of the other brave (crazy also fits in our pack) adults who attend.
We are so lucky, we have the absolute BEST group of kids and parents. Everyone genuinely enjoys everyone else's company, kids and adults alike and we always have fun....always. The other neat thing about our crew is that we have a really diverse bunch, vision impaired, hearing impaired, SPD and more for spice. As we have grown as a group the kids have all accepted each other for who they are and always stand up for each other and try their best to protect them - even when tattling on each other. A gorgeous example occurred around the holidays last year. Mrs P was trying to help them settle in to make a huge holiday card to take to the VA Hospital she only had one direction which was not to draw or write in a certain area.
The boys get busily to work and after a time Mrs P checks the progress. The first thing you see is a beautifully executed Christmas Tree drawn in the no fly zone....
Mrs P: "What happened to 'Don't draw there'?"
S: (the artist) "What happened to no one helped me and I did it myself?"
C: "What happened to S is vision impaired and he didn't know where not to draw and how awesome is that tree!?!?!?!"
It goes that way though, they know their friends have challenges and they back them up, even when they are the inadvertent targets. I cannot tell you how many times Jack's impulsive darting about has caused collisions with most of the boys. They tattle and then tell Jack it's ok, he just has to work on slowing down. They hug and life goes on. I wish that every environment in Jack's life was that nurturing and understanding.
We were at a birthday party last week at a bouncy place. Jack loves the one particular item that is mainly for littles. He loves it because it is flat with waist-high inflated walls and he can jump and roll and throw himself into the walls and not get hurt or be hurried like on the slides and obstacle courses. I let him go on it because it gives him freedom for a little while to be his wild man self. I am always right there by the entrance monitoring and if littles come in I bring it to Jack's attention and he plays on something else until the toy is free again. All of a sudden this father walks up and puts his barely able to stand maybe 2 year old OVER the side wall (not through the entrance as requested by management) as Jack was in mid-air headed directly for his child's location. (Let's not even go there but any moron would have seen Jack flying that direction)
D R A M A ensues....
There was nothing Jack could do. He saw her but he was in the air.... they collide. Hard. The father LOOSES his mind, screaming at Jack. Loudly. The whole place was staring at him. Jack was mortified and was very obviously hanging by a thread and telling the man (VERY politely I might add) that he was so so sorry. I was also apologizing when this guy spins on me and starts screaming at me for not watching my kid and how I have raised this aggressive little jerk.
Yes, yes he did. In front of my son.
Before I could even say a word three of the other party attendees, all between the ages of 4 and 7 mind you, went OFF on this guy in unison...
J: "You can't talk to people like that. Screaming is very bad, you are a BAD, BAD man!!!"
A: "Mrs. Jack is always right by him to help him. She was right there. She helps all of us, you are mean, you should go home (now bursting into tears) you said bad words to Mrs. Jack....." (flung herself into my arms sobbing)
D: "You didn't use the entrance. The sign says to use the entrance. Don't you read? I can read. I can read that sign. You have to follow directions, that's what my teacher says..."
and so on. I am not sure what Jack's final straw was, this man screaming at him, insulting me or the show of compassion and solidarity from his wee buddies but he just laid down on the carpet and wept. That man then had the absolute b$#ls to announce loudly that Jack was having a tantrum because he knew he was wrong.
Oh no he didn't!
Oh yeah, heck yeah.... you KNOW I did.
I can't repeat it here, they have rules about language and all. He has a crystal clear understanding of exactly how I feel about him and his opinion. So much so that he actually apologized to Jack. Jack like the amazing, gorgeous soul he is stood up, shook his hand and told he accepted his apology.
Then I whisked him up and to a quiet corner where we cuddled and cried for a few minutes.
Sometimes I really hate people over 4 feet tall. Maybe some of the problems in this world could be solved if we treated each other the way first graders and kindergardeners treat each other. Without (too much) judgement, with caring and with open minds and with compassion.
That being said, please be forewarned, you will not be treated with any of the above if you mess with my kid.
We are so lucky, we have the absolute BEST group of kids and parents. Everyone genuinely enjoys everyone else's company, kids and adults alike and we always have fun....always. The other neat thing about our crew is that we have a really diverse bunch, vision impaired, hearing impaired, SPD and more for spice. As we have grown as a group the kids have all accepted each other for who they are and always stand up for each other and try their best to protect them - even when tattling on each other. A gorgeous example occurred around the holidays last year. Mrs P was trying to help them settle in to make a huge holiday card to take to the VA Hospital she only had one direction which was not to draw or write in a certain area.
The boys get busily to work and after a time Mrs P checks the progress. The first thing you see is a beautifully executed Christmas Tree drawn in the no fly zone....
Mrs P: "What happened to 'Don't draw there'?"
S: (the artist) "What happened to no one helped me and I did it myself?"
C: "What happened to S is vision impaired and he didn't know where not to draw and how awesome is that tree!?!?!?!"
It goes that way though, they know their friends have challenges and they back them up, even when they are the inadvertent targets. I cannot tell you how many times Jack's impulsive darting about has caused collisions with most of the boys. They tattle and then tell Jack it's ok, he just has to work on slowing down. They hug and life goes on. I wish that every environment in Jack's life was that nurturing and understanding.
We were at a birthday party last week at a bouncy place. Jack loves the one particular item that is mainly for littles. He loves it because it is flat with waist-high inflated walls and he can jump and roll and throw himself into the walls and not get hurt or be hurried like on the slides and obstacle courses. I let him go on it because it gives him freedom for a little while to be his wild man self. I am always right there by the entrance monitoring and if littles come in I bring it to Jack's attention and he plays on something else until the toy is free again. All of a sudden this father walks up and puts his barely able to stand maybe 2 year old OVER the side wall (not through the entrance as requested by management) as Jack was in mid-air headed directly for his child's location. (Let's not even go there but any moron would have seen Jack flying that direction)
D R A M A ensues....
There was nothing Jack could do. He saw her but he was in the air.... they collide. Hard. The father LOOSES his mind, screaming at Jack. Loudly. The whole place was staring at him. Jack was mortified and was very obviously hanging by a thread and telling the man (VERY politely I might add) that he was so so sorry. I was also apologizing when this guy spins on me and starts screaming at me for not watching my kid and how I have raised this aggressive little jerk.
Yes, yes he did. In front of my son.
Before I could even say a word three of the other party attendees, all between the ages of 4 and 7 mind you, went OFF on this guy in unison...
J: "You can't talk to people like that. Screaming is very bad, you are a BAD, BAD man!!!"
A: "Mrs. Jack is always right by him to help him. She was right there. She helps all of us, you are mean, you should go home (now bursting into tears) you said bad words to Mrs. Jack....." (flung herself into my arms sobbing)
D: "You didn't use the entrance. The sign says to use the entrance. Don't you read? I can read. I can read that sign. You have to follow directions, that's what my teacher says..."
and so on. I am not sure what Jack's final straw was, this man screaming at him, insulting me or the show of compassion and solidarity from his wee buddies but he just laid down on the carpet and wept. That man then had the absolute b$#ls to announce loudly that Jack was having a tantrum because he knew he was wrong.
Oh no he didn't!
Oh yeah, heck yeah.... you KNOW I did.
I can't repeat it here, they have rules about language and all. He has a crystal clear understanding of exactly how I feel about him and his opinion. So much so that he actually apologized to Jack. Jack like the amazing, gorgeous soul he is stood up, shook his hand and told he accepted his apology.
Then I whisked him up and to a quiet corner where we cuddled and cried for a few minutes.
Sometimes I really hate people over 4 feet tall. Maybe some of the problems in this world could be solved if we treated each other the way first graders and kindergardeners treat each other. Without (too much) judgement, with caring and with open minds and with compassion.
That being said, please be forewarned, you will not be treated with any of the above if you mess with my kid.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
You are here...
Looking back I realize that we brought our child home to a Sensory Seeker's paradise. At the time Jack came home the 118th Ave extension was being built and all day long they were tamping with those big pile drivers. The entire house jumped everytime they hit the ground. He spent the last months of the pregnancy and the first several months of his life at home bouncing from dawn til dusk. When the pounding ceased he was only happy being bounced by us or happily ensconced in his swing.
He loved to be swaddled, the tighter the better. R was a rockstar swaddler, actually still is. Occasionally he still wraps Jack up tight as he can in Blanket. It is funny to see him with those long, strong legs sticking out at the bottom and only his cowlick visible on top with plaid wool and fringe between. He loves that blanket... but I am getting ahead of myself.
He would lose is mind if he had to be still.... ok now I realize it was the stillness, then I thought how sweet it was that my little angel couldn't stand to be without us. Some part of his anatomy was always moving, usually his fingers. He would do this wiggle thing with them. The alternative to the finger-wiggle was the foot waggle, which I also do (insert nut not falling too far from tree joke here). The wiggle and waggle would eventually evolve into what we affectionately called "flapping and tapping"... more on that later.
Hindsight is so enlightening. Knowing what I know now red lights are going off in my head. As I recount the story I want to scream at the past me to have him evaluated IMMEDIATELY, to save her the pain and tears and battles and ...oh crap, right.... yeah. She knows.
We are "here".
He loved to be swaddled, the tighter the better. R was a rockstar swaddler, actually still is. Occasionally he still wraps Jack up tight as he can in Blanket. It is funny to see him with those long, strong legs sticking out at the bottom and only his cowlick visible on top with plaid wool and fringe between. He loves that blanket... but I am getting ahead of myself.
He would lose is mind if he had to be still.... ok now I realize it was the stillness, then I thought how sweet it was that my little angel couldn't stand to be without us. Some part of his anatomy was always moving, usually his fingers. He would do this wiggle thing with them. The alternative to the finger-wiggle was the foot waggle, which I also do (insert nut not falling too far from tree joke here). The wiggle and waggle would eventually evolve into what we affectionately called "flapping and tapping"... more on that later.
Hindsight is so enlightening. Knowing what I know now red lights are going off in my head. As I recount the story I want to scream at the past me to have him evaluated IMMEDIATELY, to save her the pain and tears and battles and ...oh crap, right.... yeah. She knows.
We are "here".
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Home at last...
Home with the wee man, life was deceptively simple. Adore baby, change baby, feed baby, lather, rise, repeat. For 48 hours life was bliss then things started to change, subtly at first but change nonetheless.
Jack began to fight feeding. He didn't like to eat. Ever. I did the best I could and assumed he was getting enough. He slept a lot and was always happy when he was awake. We (again) thought we had it made. Until the morning of his one week well baby visit when he opened his eyes and they were yellow... great, the baby is turning into a werewolf.
Race to the doctor, wait forever, doc takes one look at Jack and one look at me and tells R to get Jack to All Kids and me to my doc ASAP. R definitely was pulling his load and more in those early days. Arrive at All Kids, wait for an eternity only to witness the beautiful feet of my wee man mercilessly peppered with pin pricks as they attempted to get enough blood for testing. The enormous, intimidating and unfriendly tech looks at us accusingly and announces that my child is dehydrated. I had just fed him. She didn't believe us, acted like we were child abusers. I told her exactly how it went: he cried, I nursed, he fussed then slept. We thought that meant he had eaten and was full. That's what the books all said, that's all we had to go on. She told us to go home and wait for the results. By the end of that day we would decide not to think again - ever.
We went to my doc as directed. When he walked into the room and looked at me I knew I was in for something. I guess I haven't mentioned yet that I had been crying non-stop (yes, even in my sleep) and not really feeling like eating since we came home from the hospital. I was so unbelieveably sad and tired and couldn't bear to leave Jack for more than a few minutes at a time. I just thought (see, there we go thinking again) it was normal after all we had been through to be emotional. Yeah.... no, that isn't normal.
I had PPD and had to wean immediately to be medicated (Tom Cruise need not leave me any comments) before I drowned myself or anyone else in tears. The PPD was a back-handed blessing as we discovered that I wasn't making enough milk to feed Jack and had been starving him. Mother of the Year nominee here. I was devastated that I had inadvertently deprived my child but relieved to see that he inherited his eating skills from my side of the gene pool. My relief would be short lived as a couple of hours later R came to me and told me to pick up the phone.
It was the on-call doc with the results of the blood tests. Jack possibly needed a complete blood transfusion because his bilirubin levels were so high and we needed to go back to All Kids. NOW. Immediately. Do Not Pass Go, do not collect your Mother of the Year trophy just yet.
After trying every combination of nurse and needle in the ER they finally got what they needed and we were left to wait. And wait. And wait some more. After many hours and many gut wrenching blood draws we were allowed to leave. I essentially ran out of there, terrified that any minute someone would snatch my precious boy away from me. Could I honestly blame them??
Over the next days Jack grew plumper and less yellow as he ate for real and we laid in the sun. I cried less and less as the meds worked their magic and actually felt like eating again. Nona (my grandma) came to stay for a couple of weeks. It was so awesome to have her here to see her hold my child. The oldest member of the family holding the youngest, the circle of life illustrated beautifully and lovingly just for me. I have a photo on a cd somewhere of Jack's chubby little hand in her older, thinner hand... I need to find that.
As the summer began, we seemed to have a much better grasp on things. I would be going back to work soon - a devastating concept to me - and Jack was thriving. We thought our lives had changed all they would for awhile. Yes, you guessed it, dead wrong again!
Jack began to fight feeding. He didn't like to eat. Ever. I did the best I could and assumed he was getting enough. He slept a lot and was always happy when he was awake. We (again) thought we had it made. Until the morning of his one week well baby visit when he opened his eyes and they were yellow... great, the baby is turning into a werewolf.
Race to the doctor, wait forever, doc takes one look at Jack and one look at me and tells R to get Jack to All Kids and me to my doc ASAP. R definitely was pulling his load and more in those early days. Arrive at All Kids, wait for an eternity only to witness the beautiful feet of my wee man mercilessly peppered with pin pricks as they attempted to get enough blood for testing. The enormous, intimidating and unfriendly tech looks at us accusingly and announces that my child is dehydrated. I had just fed him. She didn't believe us, acted like we were child abusers. I told her exactly how it went: he cried, I nursed, he fussed then slept. We thought that meant he had eaten and was full. That's what the books all said, that's all we had to go on. She told us to go home and wait for the results. By the end of that day we would decide not to think again - ever.
We went to my doc as directed. When he walked into the room and looked at me I knew I was in for something. I guess I haven't mentioned yet that I had been crying non-stop (yes, even in my sleep) and not really feeling like eating since we came home from the hospital. I was so unbelieveably sad and tired and couldn't bear to leave Jack for more than a few minutes at a time. I just thought (see, there we go thinking again) it was normal after all we had been through to be emotional. Yeah.... no, that isn't normal.
I had PPD and had to wean immediately to be medicated (Tom Cruise need not leave me any comments) before I drowned myself or anyone else in tears. The PPD was a back-handed blessing as we discovered that I wasn't making enough milk to feed Jack and had been starving him. Mother of the Year nominee here. I was devastated that I had inadvertently deprived my child but relieved to see that he inherited his eating skills from my side of the gene pool. My relief would be short lived as a couple of hours later R came to me and told me to pick up the phone.
It was the on-call doc with the results of the blood tests. Jack possibly needed a complete blood transfusion because his bilirubin levels were so high and we needed to go back to All Kids. NOW. Immediately. Do Not Pass Go, do not collect your Mother of the Year trophy just yet.
After trying every combination of nurse and needle in the ER they finally got what they needed and we were left to wait. And wait. And wait some more. After many hours and many gut wrenching blood draws we were allowed to leave. I essentially ran out of there, terrified that any minute someone would snatch my precious boy away from me. Could I honestly blame them??
Over the next days Jack grew plumper and less yellow as he ate for real and we laid in the sun. I cried less and less as the meds worked their magic and actually felt like eating again. Nona (my grandma) came to stay for a couple of weeks. It was so awesome to have her here to see her hold my child. The oldest member of the family holding the youngest, the circle of life illustrated beautifully and lovingly just for me. I have a photo on a cd somewhere of Jack's chubby little hand in her older, thinner hand... I need to find that.
As the summer began, we seemed to have a much better grasp on things. I would be going back to work soon - a devastating concept to me - and Jack was thriving. We thought our lives had changed all they would for awhile. Yes, you guessed it, dead wrong again!
The home stretch
As the wheelchair hurtled down the corridor threatening to explode from the ponderous weight of its cargo (and the breakneck speed of its driver) I finished a barely legible to-do list for R. Once checked into ante-partum, I sent him off reassured with smiles and jokes to take care of the list and hurry his behind back. The minute he was out of sight they hooked me up to as many monitors, IVs and catheters as they could find, leaving me with the uneasy feeling of being a very large fly in a very strange web.
Most of that day is a hazy blur with a few moments that I remember with complete clarity: Dr. M. popping in to tell me he had an opening and he would deliver Jack BEFORE R returned. The ensuing panic to get R back in time and then ending up having to wait anyway. The nurse slipping me ice chips when no one was looking - bless her, she was my hero that day. Suddenly realizing I was in the OR and scared to death and Dr. P. holding my hand just as it all went to hell...
From the start I had a weird feeling and it was validated when there was a disagreement between Dr. P. and the head anasthesiologist about the type of block I should have. Dr. P and the attending gas man felt I needed a lesser dosage but Mr. Ego came down and said he would dose me himself. They tried five times to get that spinal to take... Mr. Ego accused me of faking...how the hell do you fake doing high kicks (to the horror of those on the other side of the room)??? He finally gave me a shot of something and I was numb...it was the strangest feeling.
R finally was allowed in.
Me: "Did he start yet?"
He: "Oh yeah, he's up to his elbows!"
Laughter then panic. I couldn't breathe. AT ALL. When they start they tell you if you have issues to snap your fingers so I did. (Later that night I had blisters from the amount of violent snapping I had apparently been doing.) Drama ensued, R is asked to leave and ended up being physically removed, I took a lovely nap and as far as we know the delivery went off without a hitch and Jack was delivered at 8:01pm 4/23/2001. I really wish though I could have heard his first scream and seen the look on the NICU stand-by teams faces when the low birth weight baby they were expecting was almost 10 pounds!! I am told I came to life in recovery long enough to sit straight up in bed and demand someone to "bring me my son!" much in the manner the Queen of Hearts demanded "Off with their heads". I was appeased with video and passed back out. It would be hours before I would finally hold my son.
Finally, I was sent to my room and after an eternity R went to the nursery and brought me our son. He was sleeping when he was handed to me and I fought the urge to poke him to wakefulness. Instead I devoured every inch of him, coal black hair, that crazy cowlick he still has, skin as soft as a peach, long graceful fingers and that new baby smell!! Just when I could no longer contain myself , I was rewarded with the opening of two very serious midnight blue eyes.
From the minute we met, Jack has always had a very definite sense of purpose. As if he has been given an assignment and is merely biding his time until it is to be handed in. He seemed an old soul and a disgusted old soul that night looking at me as if to ask, "What took you so long?".
What took *me* so long????
The remainder of the hospital was fairly uneventful.... well except for the time the nurse caught me trying to trim his hair with the manicure scissors when R fell asleep (*I* knew what I was doing, his hair was too long, they weren't sharp at all and I was off the morphine by then...) and the time I was on the phone with a friend and was hallucinating about singing bananas. Scared her so badly that she hung up on me and called the nurse's station LMAO! Suffice it to say, Morphine and I do not enjoy each other's company.
A few days later we went home and as we walked through the door our feet had been firmly, inextricably set on the path towards "here".
Most of that day is a hazy blur with a few moments that I remember with complete clarity: Dr. M. popping in to tell me he had an opening and he would deliver Jack BEFORE R returned. The ensuing panic to get R back in time and then ending up having to wait anyway. The nurse slipping me ice chips when no one was looking - bless her, she was my hero that day. Suddenly realizing I was in the OR and scared to death and Dr. P. holding my hand just as it all went to hell...
From the start I had a weird feeling and it was validated when there was a disagreement between Dr. P. and the head anasthesiologist about the type of block I should have. Dr. P and the attending gas man felt I needed a lesser dosage but Mr. Ego came down and said he would dose me himself. They tried five times to get that spinal to take... Mr. Ego accused me of faking...how the hell do you fake doing high kicks (to the horror of those on the other side of the room)??? He finally gave me a shot of something and I was numb...it was the strangest feeling.
R finally was allowed in.
Me: "Did he start yet?"
He: "Oh yeah, he's up to his elbows!"
Laughter then panic. I couldn't breathe. AT ALL. When they start they tell you if you have issues to snap your fingers so I did. (Later that night I had blisters from the amount of violent snapping I had apparently been doing.) Drama ensued, R is asked to leave and ended up being physically removed, I took a lovely nap and as far as we know the delivery went off without a hitch and Jack was delivered at 8:01pm 4/23/2001. I really wish though I could have heard his first scream and seen the look on the NICU stand-by teams faces when the low birth weight baby they were expecting was almost 10 pounds!! I am told I came to life in recovery long enough to sit straight up in bed and demand someone to "bring me my son!" much in the manner the Queen of Hearts demanded "Off with their heads". I was appeased with video and passed back out. It would be hours before I would finally hold my son.
Finally, I was sent to my room and after an eternity R went to the nursery and brought me our son. He was sleeping when he was handed to me and I fought the urge to poke him to wakefulness. Instead I devoured every inch of him, coal black hair, that crazy cowlick he still has, skin as soft as a peach, long graceful fingers and that new baby smell!! Just when I could no longer contain myself , I was rewarded with the opening of two very serious midnight blue eyes.
From the minute we met, Jack has always had a very definite sense of purpose. As if he has been given an assignment and is merely biding his time until it is to be handed in. He seemed an old soul and a disgusted old soul that night looking at me as if to ask, "What took you so long?".
What took *me* so long????
The remainder of the hospital was fairly uneventful.... well except for the time the nurse caught me trying to trim his hair with the manicure scissors when R fell asleep (*I* knew what I was doing, his hair was too long, they weren't sharp at all and I was off the morphine by then...) and the time I was on the phone with a friend and was hallucinating about singing bananas. Scared her so badly that she hung up on me and called the nurse's station LMAO! Suffice it to say, Morphine and I do not enjoy each other's company.
A few days later we went home and as we walked through the door our feet had been firmly, inextricably set on the path towards "here".
They're off...
After recovering from the shock of the news our little world rejoiced. R and I were over the moon as my belly swelled (for reasons other than my ice cream addiction), I wore horizontally striped shirts with reckless abandon while sneaking into the bathroom a billion times a day with my rented BabyBeat to listen to his heartbeat never completely trusting that everything would be ok.
Moments stick out in my mind like snapshots in an album some funny, some bittersweet and some that meant the world to me: The first time I felt Jack move, really move - pushing the limits of his world. A trend that continues even now. The awe and realization in the eyes of my husband as he felt his son kick for the first time. The hysterical looks on R and G's faces the first time they saw a 35 week Jack push his hands and feet against my belly as if to escape. The night I kept trying to lay on my side and Jack kept pushing me over onto my back and the day that R drove me across the state for dinner so that I could see my Aunt and Uncle that were visiting my Grandmother. It was the only time that anyone in my family saw me while I was pregnant and I treasure that trip.
Life was good, my health was good, work sucked but that was the norm so no big shock there. My monthly appointments with the amazing perinatologists went swimmingly.... until my 32 week visit. Danger Will Robinson! Other shoe dropping..... Better duck...NOW!
Dr. M. looks at me....
He: "How long have your eyes been doing that?!"
Me: "Doing what?"
He: "That!
I felt like I was trapped in an Abbott and Costello movie!
Moments stick out in my mind like snapshots in an album some funny, some bittersweet and some that meant the world to me: The first time I felt Jack move, really move - pushing the limits of his world. A trend that continues even now. The awe and realization in the eyes of my husband as he felt his son kick for the first time. The hysterical looks on R and G's faces the first time they saw a 35 week Jack push his hands and feet against my belly as if to escape. The night I kept trying to lay on my side and Jack kept pushing me over onto my back and the day that R drove me across the state for dinner so that I could see my Aunt and Uncle that were visiting my Grandmother. It was the only time that anyone in my family saw me while I was pregnant and I treasure that trip.
Life was good, my health was good, work sucked but that was the norm so no big shock there. My monthly appointments with the amazing perinatologists went swimmingly.... until my 32 week visit. Danger Will Robinson! Other shoe dropping..... Better duck...NOW!
Dr. M. looks at me....
He: "How long have your eyes been doing that?!"
Me: "Doing what?"
He: "That!
I felt like I was trapped in an Abbott and Costello movie!
Apparently my eyes were bouncing and apparently this is not a good thing. Combined with elevated (even for me) blood pressure and the fact that work had completely ignored the constant notes from my doctors limiting me to a 40 hour work week bought me a weekend at the Bayfront (Hospital) Hilton. Sunday afternoon rolls around and one of my Docs comes by to give me the verdict and release me. Gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia!
Me: "Ok. Am I going home today?"
She: "Yes, of course!"
Me: " Can you please give me a note for work?"
Me: " Can you please give me a note for work?"
She: (convulses with laughter and takes a few minutes to regain her composure.) "YOU, my friend are on bedrest until Jack arrives."
Bedrest?? Bedrest. I can't say I didn't expect it but I was still stunned when it happened. I started watching way too much TLC particularly "A Baby Story". When the theme music would come on Jack would bounce and roll, it was too funny.
Along about 35 weeks I was weeping along with ABS when I realized I couldn't imagine hearing Jack's first cry. It started really stressing me out as usually if I can visualize it, it happens. Then my blood pressure began trying to set a new world's record despite meds. No amount of insulin was keeping my sugars down, Jack was rapidly gaining weight and so was I thanks to the edema. An amnio was scheduled and the tentative delivery date was 4/12/01. I reminded Dr. P. that I had told him in December when this baby was coming, he laughed and readied the needle.
The amnio showed immature lungs so meds were upped and 4/25/01 (R's birthday) was set as THE DAY no matter what. They looked so pleased with themselves I almost couldn't bear to tell them that they were wrong.... yeah, I did. They all laughed and patronized me. Laugh all you want, Mamma knows, Mamma knows.
The next Monday I drag my almost 300 pound (so I was a little bloated - what's your point?) self out of bed to get ready for my every other day appointment. While in the shower it for some reason became a moral imperative for me to shave my legs. Yes, the legs I had not seen in months, the legs that hurt like hell, the legs I knew HAD to be under that enormous belly. I gave it the best I had, hoped it was an improvement and headed to the appointment.
We arrive and sit in the dim, quiet and cozy waiting room. Once called back I give my donation and assume the position in the bp chair. R is by now sitting directly across from me, to the far left Nurse C. is checking the UA and next to me Nurse A. is checking my bp. Suddenly I realize all hell is breaking loose and it appears to have something to do with lil' ole me - God how I wish this has been caught on film...
Nurse C. is waving an almost neon dipstick in the air shouting something incoherent, Nurse A. is smacking the gauge on the sphygmomanometer (yeah, I can spell it but don't even try to make me say it!) and muttering to herself, R is pointing at my legs and loudly repeating, "She shaved them OMG, OMG, she shaved her legs", Dr. P. & Co. come on the run and I point to the calendar and calmly announce,
"I told you he was coming on April 23!"
Bedrest?? Bedrest. I can't say I didn't expect it but I was still stunned when it happened. I started watching way too much TLC particularly "A Baby Story". When the theme music would come on Jack would bounce and roll, it was too funny.
Along about 35 weeks I was weeping along with ABS when I realized I couldn't imagine hearing Jack's first cry. It started really stressing me out as usually if I can visualize it, it happens. Then my blood pressure began trying to set a new world's record despite meds. No amount of insulin was keeping my sugars down, Jack was rapidly gaining weight and so was I thanks to the edema. An amnio was scheduled and the tentative delivery date was 4/12/01. I reminded Dr. P. that I had told him in December when this baby was coming, he laughed and readied the needle.
The amnio showed immature lungs so meds were upped and 4/25/01 (R's birthday) was set as THE DAY no matter what. They looked so pleased with themselves I almost couldn't bear to tell them that they were wrong.... yeah, I did. They all laughed and patronized me. Laugh all you want, Mamma knows, Mamma knows.
The next Monday I drag my almost 300 pound (so I was a little bloated - what's your point?) self out of bed to get ready for my every other day appointment. While in the shower it for some reason became a moral imperative for me to shave my legs. Yes, the legs I had not seen in months, the legs that hurt like hell, the legs I knew HAD to be under that enormous belly. I gave it the best I had, hoped it was an improvement and headed to the appointment.
We arrive and sit in the dim, quiet and cozy waiting room. Once called back I give my donation and assume the position in the bp chair. R is by now sitting directly across from me, to the far left Nurse C. is checking the UA and next to me Nurse A. is checking my bp. Suddenly I realize all hell is breaking loose and it appears to have something to do with lil' ole me - God how I wish this has been caught on film...
Nurse C. is waving an almost neon dipstick in the air shouting something incoherent, Nurse A. is smacking the gauge on the sphygmomanometer (yeah, I can spell it but don't even try to make me say it!) and muttering to herself, R is pointing at my legs and loudly repeating, "She shaved them OMG, OMG, she shaved her legs", Dr. P. & Co. come on the run and I point to the calendar and calmly announce,
"I told you he was coming on April 23!"
How did we get here....
It all started normally enough. Boy meets girl, boy and girl marry, boy and girl decide to start a family. I will never as long as I live be able to erase the picture in my mind of my husband and I staring confusedly at he first of way too many negative pregnancy tests.
He: "Did you do it right?"
Me: "It isn't exactly rocket science you know - yeah I did it right!"
Everyone else we knew just slept in the same bed and *poof!* babies galore!
Everyone else we knew didn't have PCOS .
Thus began the journey to "here". Tests, daily ultrasounds, hours at the library researching and printing and demanding new treatments. Injections, inseminations, medications, diets, suppositories, surgery, tears and miscarriages. Yeah, that was almost as mind blowing as not getting pregnant on the first try. Until that Thanksgiving morning we thought we were home free. We finally got pregnant!! Start the countdown til baby arrives. We were so naive.
Three miscarriages later I have ovarian drilling done, the next day we lost my beloved Grandmother and our infertility coverage. A banner day to be sure.
We decide after much soul searching to adopt from Ukraine. I went on birth control as an attempt to control the rapidly evolving and worsening effects of the PCOS and began working on paperwork. I kept busy with INS forms, homestudies, learning to speak Ukranian (very badly) and finally decorating a nursery after five long years.
The same day we received our travel date I began having horrendous abdominal pain. I tried to ignore it and kept going with travel plans, locating a translator, faxing dossiers from Florida to Warsaw and making our plane reservations. No stomach pain was going to keep me from bringing home my children.
Determination is a wonderful thing. It became quite evident though that my doctor was as determined as I was and SHE wasn't letting me go anywhere without an ultrasound to see what was going on. Fine, whatever it takes to get on that plane.
I hated going for ultrasounds. You arrive hopeful and leave deflated like the immature follicles on your stupid ovaries that refuse to give you a decent egg.
Bitter Much?
Even though I knew I was headed to bring my children home, the wounds were raw and Bitter Infertile Woman Syndrome was at it's zenith. They asked like a billion times on the intake if I could be pregnant - ok maybe just like five times but still. By the time they called me back I was not in the best frame of mind.
The tech was adorable, fresh out of ultrasound school and so eager to please. We talked a bit and filled her in on Ukraine and the pains. She said not to worry, this would be quick and everything would be fine. She placed the wand on my belly, made a couple of adjustments and promptly burst into hysterics. Lovely.
Me: "Are you ok?"
She: Unable to speak nods wildly
Me: "Am I ok?"
She: Sobbing uncontrollably turns screen to face me.
I see what appears to be a very large mass in my uterus. Big, solid, white and apparently bad. I must have cancer - CRAP!
Me: "you need to call my husband!"
She: (slowly regaining composure) "Are you ok?"
Me: "How long do I have?"
She: (studying screen) "oh, I don't know for sure maybe 7 months or so."
Me: (trying not to screech and failing miserably) "Call my husband!!!"
She: (confused as all get out) "But I thought you WANTED a baby!"
Me: "I am infertile, remember?"
She flips a switch and the sweetest sound I had ever heard to that point fills the room, my ears, my soul. It was Jack's strong, reassuring heartbeat coming from INSIDE ME!
After everything, after all the time, tears, money and procedures one little package of birth control pills had succeeded where all else had failed. The pill is 99.9% effective and *I* was the .1%!!
Infertile girl gets pregnant on birth control. I was more than 8 weeks pregnant and headed unknowingly on the path to "here".
He: "Did you do it right?"
Me: "It isn't exactly rocket science you know - yeah I did it right!"
Everyone else we knew just slept in the same bed and *poof!* babies galore!
Everyone else we knew didn't have PCOS .
Thus began the journey to "here". Tests, daily ultrasounds, hours at the library researching and printing and demanding new treatments. Injections, inseminations, medications, diets, suppositories, surgery, tears and miscarriages. Yeah, that was almost as mind blowing as not getting pregnant on the first try. Until that Thanksgiving morning we thought we were home free. We finally got pregnant!! Start the countdown til baby arrives. We were so naive.
Three miscarriages later I have ovarian drilling done, the next day we lost my beloved Grandmother and our infertility coverage. A banner day to be sure.
We decide after much soul searching to adopt from Ukraine. I went on birth control as an attempt to control the rapidly evolving and worsening effects of the PCOS and began working on paperwork. I kept busy with INS forms, homestudies, learning to speak Ukranian (very badly) and finally decorating a nursery after five long years.
The same day we received our travel date I began having horrendous abdominal pain. I tried to ignore it and kept going with travel plans, locating a translator, faxing dossiers from Florida to Warsaw and making our plane reservations. No stomach pain was going to keep me from bringing home my children.
Determination is a wonderful thing. It became quite evident though that my doctor was as determined as I was and SHE wasn't letting me go anywhere without an ultrasound to see what was going on. Fine, whatever it takes to get on that plane.
I hated going for ultrasounds. You arrive hopeful and leave deflated like the immature follicles on your stupid ovaries that refuse to give you a decent egg.
Bitter Much?
Even though I knew I was headed to bring my children home, the wounds were raw and Bitter Infertile Woman Syndrome was at it's zenith. They asked like a billion times on the intake if I could be pregnant - ok maybe just like five times but still. By the time they called me back I was not in the best frame of mind.
The tech was adorable, fresh out of ultrasound school and so eager to please. We talked a bit and filled her in on Ukraine and the pains. She said not to worry, this would be quick and everything would be fine. She placed the wand on my belly, made a couple of adjustments and promptly burst into hysterics. Lovely.
Me: "Are you ok?"
She: Unable to speak nods wildly
Me: "Am I ok?"
She: Sobbing uncontrollably turns screen to face me.
I see what appears to be a very large mass in my uterus. Big, solid, white and apparently bad. I must have cancer - CRAP!
Me: "you need to call my husband!"
She: (slowly regaining composure) "Are you ok?"
Me: "How long do I have?"
She: (studying screen) "oh, I don't know for sure maybe 7 months or so."
Me: (trying not to screech and failing miserably) "Call my husband!!!"
She: (confused as all get out) "But I thought you WANTED a baby!"
Me: "I am infertile, remember?"
She flips a switch and the sweetest sound I had ever heard to that point fills the room, my ears, my soul. It was Jack's strong, reassuring heartbeat coming from INSIDE ME!
After everything, after all the time, tears, money and procedures one little package of birth control pills had succeeded where all else had failed. The pill is 99.9% effective and *I* was the .1%!!
Infertile girl gets pregnant on birth control. I was more than 8 weeks pregnant and headed unknowingly on the path to "here".
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
So here we are...
and I am still a bit confused on where "here" is. Some days "here" is the end of my rope and others it is the most amazing place in the universe. The two most consistent elements of "here" is that (blessedly) I am always Jack's Mom and Jack has Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). It all started innocently enough, quirky mom has quirky baby. Lots of nut not falling far from tree jokes, delight at my wee man's eccentricities, amazement as he uttered his first word (elephant) and concern as he began spinning in tight circles for no apparent reason.
As he grew different concerns emerged and were presented to the pediatrician. "He's perfectly normal, eating well and meeting all milestones on time. So he throws himself into walls occasionally and spins like a cheap top, he'll grow out of it." Uhhhhhh, ok.
The road to "here" has been long, frustrating and at times very, very scary and sad. I am not sure where we go from "here" but hopefully you'll come along for the ride and more hopefully our adventures -or mis-adventures as the case may be- will help someone else and their sensational kid find their place in this ordinary world.
As he grew different concerns emerged and were presented to the pediatrician. "He's perfectly normal, eating well and meeting all milestones on time. So he throws himself into walls occasionally and spins like a cheap top, he'll grow out of it." Uhhhhhh, ok.
The road to "here" has been long, frustrating and at times very, very scary and sad. I am not sure where we go from "here" but hopefully you'll come along for the ride and more hopefully our adventures -or mis-adventures as the case may be- will help someone else and their sensational kid find their place in this ordinary world.
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