We started our day in the clinic yesterday, as Big-A woke up complaining of a sore left ear, and, well, since he never complains of being sick or feeling crummy, my mommy-radar screamed "ear infection!" and I packed both kids off to the clinic to get his ear looked at, and maybe try and cage an early H1N1 vaccine. (Incidentally, it was no-go for the H1N1: those ladies are guarding that stuff like gold until our designated time!!!)
While waiting for two hours to see the doctor for three minutes, (forty-five minute wait, my eye!) I ran into an old co-worker and his lovely wife. I knew the co-worker from my days at the large online gambling outfit that shall remain nameless and met the wife that day, who it turns out worked as a Nurse in Children's Hospital.
Irony of opposites attracting aside, I got chatting with the lovely Nurse, and when I found out where she worked, immediately thanked her for being a daily part of what continues to be an unbelievable, caring, professional and super-fantastic care facility. You see, in my time with Big-A in his first week of life and then as an outpatient to the neo-natal clinic over the next few years, I have come to learn something. Children's Hospital is AMAZING. Anyone who endeavours to take on health care for children, and then decides to specialize in really serious, this-should-only-ever-happen-to-adults-stuff, deserves their feet kissed, a bottle of wine, a giant hug, whatever they may be needing at that moment. I don't know how they do it. If either of my kids has so much as a scratch I worry: I really think it takes a very very special kind of person to deal with life-threatening issues for children on a daily basis. These people come to work day after day, usually always with a smile on their faces, and I am left speechless with gratitude.
My hat's off to you!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Oh, the groceries!
I am seriously worried.
Big-A is awfully good at consuming the milk, as referenced previously, but now he is starting to really snarf down the food too! He is three, and clearly on a growth spurt, but I have seen him eat a whole can of alphagetti, (yes, I feed him canned pasta with sauce on the odd occasion!)and last night he had a salad and four whole perogies!
Now I start looking ahead to the pre-teen and teenaged years, heck, even the sports-filled junior years, and I just know this child is going to grow to beat heck, with an appetite to match. I made him poached eggs the other day, and he ate three! Three poached eggs! Granted, that is all he at, but still....
I am beginning to seriously understand those Superstore shoppers who purchase milk by the six-pack and eggs by the four-dozen.
Yikes.
Big-A is awfully good at consuming the milk, as referenced previously, but now he is starting to really snarf down the food too! He is three, and clearly on a growth spurt, but I have seen him eat a whole can of alphagetti, (yes, I feed him canned pasta with sauce on the odd occasion!)and last night he had a salad and four whole perogies!
Now I start looking ahead to the pre-teen and teenaged years, heck, even the sports-filled junior years, and I just know this child is going to grow to beat heck, with an appetite to match. I made him poached eggs the other day, and he ate three! Three poached eggs! Granted, that is all he at, but still....
I am beginning to seriously understand those Superstore shoppers who purchase milk by the six-pack and eggs by the four-dozen.
Yikes.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Never Say Never
There are three things I said I would never do, and they are all coming to fruition.
1. I will never drive a minivan. We will be hip, cool parents who drive hip, cool cars, and not dorky, mommy-mini-vans.
(Now, all I can dream of is a minivan, and covet all.that.space)
2. I will never be like those families in Superstore who buy 4-L milk jugs by the six-pack.
(Now, I go through two of those a week, and if I had the space, would happily buy a six pack.) (And no, not that kind of six-pack.)
3. I will never need a second fridge.
(see #2)
1. I will never drive a minivan. We will be hip, cool parents who drive hip, cool cars, and not dorky, mommy-mini-vans.
(Now, all I can dream of is a minivan, and covet all.that.space)
2. I will never be like those families in Superstore who buy 4-L milk jugs by the six-pack.
(Now, I go through two of those a week, and if I had the space, would happily buy a six pack.) (And no, not that kind of six-pack.)
3. I will never need a second fridge.
(see #2)
Monday, October 19, 2009
Feeling the Love
I celebrated a birthday today, and it made me think of what it was that was truly important. I looked and saw family, friends, good food, a bit of wine and a slice of cake. What else does a girl need?
This has been an unparalleled busy year fraught with all sorts of new challenges and hurdles, but between all the ups and downs and big highs and big lows, I have started to carve out a sort of calm, and a deep appreciation for my family (however crazy and ridiculous) and my friends, who may not be strong in number are really, really big in heart.
It could be the full belly and the glass of wine at the keyboard, but I am deeply, deeply thankful for all the love around me.
Happy birthday, me!
This has been an unparalleled busy year fraught with all sorts of new challenges and hurdles, but between all the ups and downs and big highs and big lows, I have started to carve out a sort of calm, and a deep appreciation for my family (however crazy and ridiculous) and my friends, who may not be strong in number are really, really big in heart.
It could be the full belly and the glass of wine at the keyboard, but I am deeply, deeply thankful for all the love around me.
Happy birthday, me!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Did Jon hack Kate's emails? Do I care?
Reality TV passed the point of redonkulous a long time ago, but I think it was brought to light today when the top ten searches on October 15th for Google completely encompassed the Balloon Boy hoax, and Kate Gosselin topped the Top Five Most Interesting People because her soon-to-be-ex-husband was supposedly using his latent IT skills to hack her emails. Google reports it is the first time a single topic has taken over its' top ten, and the Balloon Boy surpassed even the untimely death of the King of Pop. Really, people? Do you truly crave your fifteen minutes of fame that much?
The Balloon Boy said it all when he quipped it was "for a show". Now, granted he said it live on Larry King, which speaks to the American cult of celebrity right there, (how the heck did they get on Larry King so fast? And how slow a news day was it!?)
Jon and Kate have hopefully put enough money aside (in between the hair plugs and tummy tucks) to put each of their eight through college, psychoanalysis and the no-doubt inevitable round of rehab that will follow their eighteenth birthdays. (Can you say Lindsay Lohan?)
In the meantime, I must shake my head and try to continue to focus on the important things in life: my husband, my kids and my family.
(makes for good reading though, doesn't it?!)
The Balloon Boy said it all when he quipped it was "for a show". Now, granted he said it live on Larry King, which speaks to the American cult of celebrity right there, (how the heck did they get on Larry King so fast? And how slow a news day was it!?)
Jon and Kate have hopefully put enough money aside (in between the hair plugs and tummy tucks) to put each of their eight through college, psychoanalysis and the no-doubt inevitable round of rehab that will follow their eighteenth birthdays. (Can you say Lindsay Lohan?)
In the meantime, I must shake my head and try to continue to focus on the important things in life: my husband, my kids and my family.
(makes for good reading though, doesn't it?!)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Turning a Corner
Today was uneventful. Blissfully, quietly, crisis-free, anxiety-free and uneventful. I did laundry. The kids and I went food shopping. We all three of us had a nap in the big bed all together under the covers, and cuddled feet to tummy to arm to head. And my heart started to heal.
It's been a rough Fall, but I can feel Aaron and I turning a corner and starting the rally. We are seeing a chiropractic/homeopath tomorrow for Big-A, and I am interested to hear another angle on the stroke. We are reaching out to the family and they are reaching back, embracing us with wide, open arms and incredible generosity.
Soon, we will start to execute a plan. It will most likely take the shape of in-house physio with a once-a-month check-in with our expert. It will also include lots more skating, swimming and gymnastics. Our schedules will be nuts, but it will work.
We are still scaling back on the planned activities, but trying to temper that with a little fun too, all in the name of balance. This is an ever-evolving lessen I am learning. The juggling still needs practice, but we are getting there.
I think I will go to bed and enjoy just hunkering down under the covers again.
It's been a rough Fall, but I can feel Aaron and I turning a corner and starting the rally. We are seeing a chiropractic/homeopath tomorrow for Big-A, and I am interested to hear another angle on the stroke. We are reaching out to the family and they are reaching back, embracing us with wide, open arms and incredible generosity.
Soon, we will start to execute a plan. It will most likely take the shape of in-house physio with a once-a-month check-in with our expert. It will also include lots more skating, swimming and gymnastics. Our schedules will be nuts, but it will work.
We are still scaling back on the planned activities, but trying to temper that with a little fun too, all in the name of balance. This is an ever-evolving lessen I am learning. The juggling still needs practice, but we are getting there.
I think I will go to bed and enjoy just hunkering down under the covers again.
Monday, October 12, 2009
And then the rug got pulled out from under me...
This past week has made me realize just how tenuous a hold I have on all these balls.
The Fall is our busy time: as previously posted, it is a time of multiple birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Halloween and Thanksgiving. This is also the first Fall I have been stretched to learn how to juggle two children under three, a preschool schedule, skating lessons across town, and the usual complement of family and friends.
We lead a good life. We lead a full life. But sometimes, something comes around when you're least expecting it, and punches you square in the gut.
I am winded and reeling.
Big-A had a stroke at birth. We went through two neo-natal wards and for the first three months of his life he was on anti-seizure medication, with visits to specialists once a week. We became fast friends with the Burnaby IDP and the Children's Hospital stroke unit, both of these organizations I take my hat off to. We were surrounded by a "team" of pediatric physiotherapists, speech and language pathologists, pediatricians, audiologists and others. All of which to say that Big-A did very well out of the process, made a lot of friends, and for all intents and purposes, looks and behaves perfectly normal today. When I tell others of his birth story, the usual reaction is to fall of the chair and exclaim "THAT child!? No way!!!".
The Burnaby Infant Development Program shepherds children until they are three years old. Between three and five, they are either picked up by the Centre For Abilities or left in a no-man's land of private funding and giant cracks. Once they reach school-age, the system can then recapture them and provide care workers, physiotherapists or others on an as-needed, funding available basis.
As part of turning three, Big-A was subjected to two major tests recently: the 36-month standardized test by the Burnaby IDP and a private, 1.5 hour assessment by our pediatric physiotherapist, Brenda.
The news we received not only pushed me off my unicycle, but snatched all the balls out of the air and kicked me in the gut.
According to the 36-month assessment, Big-A is hitting all of his 'target' marks and doing swimmingly. According to Brenda, he is still exhibiting a 20-25% tonal difference from his left to his right side, (stroke was on the left side of his brain, ergo his function is affected on the right side), and no longer a 2-3 degree head tilt but now a 5-7 degree head tilt. She has seen patients like him before, and in her expert opinion believes that we must work as hard and as fast as we can with him in order to re-route his neural pathways around his addled stroke-y ones and provide him with stronger, new ones before he gets too old. The brain is ever-developing at his age, you see, and the sooner you can re-establish new routes and habits, the better. Thus, he may not be exhibiting any issues with physical/mental/intellectual challenges now, but he may in the future, if we do not seize the opportunity as often and as intensely as possible right now.
(insert kick in the gut here)
I thought we were doing really well with Big-A. I thought we had vastly improved his physio to the point where his stroke was invisible, receding, even to the background, and just a hazy infant memory.
Nope.
It looks like we are going to be faced with this for life. This is not going to be something, (according to expert opinion), we are ever going to be rid of. We could be going along, thank you very much just fine and normal, when one day, when Big-A is called upon to do something new, he is not able to do it, and we are reminded that oh yeah, we almost lost you when you were born, and you and your mom almost died, and there is an ever-present, ever tangible reminder of that always.
And now, we need to craft a physio schedule of at least once a week, in between just being a kid, and having a little brother, and maybe taking in a friend for daycare, and possibly a couple of students to help with the bills, and right now, I need to just dive in under the covers and just hide. I need to take a minute to feel that kick, to feel all that blossoming black and blue bruising to my solar plexus, and I need to mourn just being normal.
And then I can get up, regroup, plan all sorts of awesome (yet fun) physio tasks for you and your friends and your little brother to do, and enroll you in all sorts of classes that will equalize your strength and find your balance, and do it in a kid-friendly way so you don't even know you are doing the work that is being asked of you, and we can try and just be normal again.
But for now, I need to just take a minute.
The Fall is our busy time: as previously posted, it is a time of multiple birthdays, wedding anniversaries, Halloween and Thanksgiving. This is also the first Fall I have been stretched to learn how to juggle two children under three, a preschool schedule, skating lessons across town, and the usual complement of family and friends.
We lead a good life. We lead a full life. But sometimes, something comes around when you're least expecting it, and punches you square in the gut.
I am winded and reeling.
Big-A had a stroke at birth. We went through two neo-natal wards and for the first three months of his life he was on anti-seizure medication, with visits to specialists once a week. We became fast friends with the Burnaby IDP and the Children's Hospital stroke unit, both of these organizations I take my hat off to. We were surrounded by a "team" of pediatric physiotherapists, speech and language pathologists, pediatricians, audiologists and others. All of which to say that Big-A did very well out of the process, made a lot of friends, and for all intents and purposes, looks and behaves perfectly normal today. When I tell others of his birth story, the usual reaction is to fall of the chair and exclaim "THAT child!? No way!!!".
The Burnaby Infant Development Program shepherds children until they are three years old. Between three and five, they are either picked up by the Centre For Abilities or left in a no-man's land of private funding and giant cracks. Once they reach school-age, the system can then recapture them and provide care workers, physiotherapists or others on an as-needed, funding available basis.
As part of turning three, Big-A was subjected to two major tests recently: the 36-month standardized test by the Burnaby IDP and a private, 1.5 hour assessment by our pediatric physiotherapist, Brenda.
The news we received not only pushed me off my unicycle, but snatched all the balls out of the air and kicked me in the gut.
According to the 36-month assessment, Big-A is hitting all of his 'target' marks and doing swimmingly. According to Brenda, he is still exhibiting a 20-25% tonal difference from his left to his right side, (stroke was on the left side of his brain, ergo his function is affected on the right side), and no longer a 2-3 degree head tilt but now a 5-7 degree head tilt. She has seen patients like him before, and in her expert opinion believes that we must work as hard and as fast as we can with him in order to re-route his neural pathways around his addled stroke-y ones and provide him with stronger, new ones before he gets too old. The brain is ever-developing at his age, you see, and the sooner you can re-establish new routes and habits, the better. Thus, he may not be exhibiting any issues with physical/mental/intellectual challenges now, but he may in the future, if we do not seize the opportunity as often and as intensely as possible right now.
(insert kick in the gut here)
I thought we were doing really well with Big-A. I thought we had vastly improved his physio to the point where his stroke was invisible, receding, even to the background, and just a hazy infant memory.
Nope.
It looks like we are going to be faced with this for life. This is not going to be something, (according to expert opinion), we are ever going to be rid of. We could be going along, thank you very much just fine and normal, when one day, when Big-A is called upon to do something new, he is not able to do it, and we are reminded that oh yeah, we almost lost you when you were born, and you and your mom almost died, and there is an ever-present, ever tangible reminder of that always.
And now, we need to craft a physio schedule of at least once a week, in between just being a kid, and having a little brother, and maybe taking in a friend for daycare, and possibly a couple of students to help with the bills, and right now, I need to just dive in under the covers and just hide. I need to take a minute to feel that kick, to feel all that blossoming black and blue bruising to my solar plexus, and I need to mourn just being normal.
And then I can get up, regroup, plan all sorts of awesome (yet fun) physio tasks for you and your friends and your little brother to do, and enroll you in all sorts of classes that will equalize your strength and find your balance, and do it in a kid-friendly way so you don't even know you are doing the work that is being asked of you, and we can try and just be normal again.
But for now, I need to just take a minute.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Happy Birthday, my darling!
Three years ago, you entered my world and changed my life.
Three years ago today marked the end of five days of labour, two days of oxytocin, one broken water in Ikea, nixed forceps and an emergency cesarean.
Three years ago I was introduced to you, cone-headed, (you) groggy from all the drugs, (both of us) and nearly dead from the experience (again, both of us) yet still totally in awe of this little tiny bundle of fight and energy and sheer force of will.
I watched you in your incubator, and pushed myself to get down the hall to the ICU, to just sit beside you and marvel over it all. I moved aside your IV and monitors to stroke your tummy and cradle your sunglass-wrapped head. I pushed through the scary words, like infarction and stroke, and watched the incredible NICU teams at St. Paul's and Children's take over with their vast knowledge and intense competency.
I have watched you grow into a tenacious, fearless little boy, and you amaze me every day. You show no hesitation to jump into life and run with it, and you are gentle, kind and thoughtful. You are loving to your little brother, and somehow understand the fragility of a baby.
Through the sleepless nights, constant worry and all-consuming act that comes being a parent, the best part of all of it is still feeling your little arms creep around the back of my neck, stroke my hair, and hear you whisper "I love you, Mommy".
I love you too, darling. Happy Birthday.
Three years ago today marked the end of five days of labour, two days of oxytocin, one broken water in Ikea, nixed forceps and an emergency cesarean.
Three years ago I was introduced to you, cone-headed, (you) groggy from all the drugs, (both of us) and nearly dead from the experience (again, both of us) yet still totally in awe of this little tiny bundle of fight and energy and sheer force of will.
I watched you in your incubator, and pushed myself to get down the hall to the ICU, to just sit beside you and marvel over it all. I moved aside your IV and monitors to stroke your tummy and cradle your sunglass-wrapped head. I pushed through the scary words, like infarction and stroke, and watched the incredible NICU teams at St. Paul's and Children's take over with their vast knowledge and intense competency.
I have watched you grow into a tenacious, fearless little boy, and you amaze me every day. You show no hesitation to jump into life and run with it, and you are gentle, kind and thoughtful. You are loving to your little brother, and somehow understand the fragility of a baby.
Through the sleepless nights, constant worry and all-consuming act that comes being a parent, the best part of all of it is still feeling your little arms creep around the back of my neck, stroke my hair, and hear you whisper "I love you, Mommy".
I love you too, darling. Happy Birthday.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Thomas and Bob
Thomas and Bob are my constant companion, as we near Big-A's 3rd Birthday.
Thomas is a sleek metal guy, decked out in blue, with a lot of hot air, pert whistle and an animated face.
Bob is a slightly portly and rather short comical looking dude with a yellow hard hat and a cell phone.
We "go to work downtown with Daddy" and "use a bang-bang to fix things". Screwdrivers and train tracks dominate our days, and flashlights become train lanterns. Toys are tested for their 'bashability', and only pass if they can survive great falls off of tall heights.
I love my almost-three-year-old.
Thomas is a sleek metal guy, decked out in blue, with a lot of hot air, pert whistle and an animated face.
Bob is a slightly portly and rather short comical looking dude with a yellow hard hat and a cell phone.
We "go to work downtown with Daddy" and "use a bang-bang to fix things". Screwdrivers and train tracks dominate our days, and flashlights become train lanterns. Toys are tested for their 'bashability', and only pass if they can survive great falls off of tall heights.
I love my almost-three-year-old.
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