Antibiotics, Steroids, and Asthma! Oh, My!

I really, really hate asthma. I know I've mentioned it before, but nothing is worse than taking your child to the doctor thinking he's getting better and the doctor says, "This is bad."

Today was our follow-up appointment for Youngest Boy's double ear infection (including perforated ear drum) of one month ago. That was awful, but at least I knew going in that it was going to be bad. I mean, typically you don't have goop draining out of your ear for two days! But today I was not prepared. I honestly thought his "virally-induced" asthma episodes were getting better. Last Thursday evening he woke up coughing, choking, having trouble breathing and pretty much freaked both me and Mr. MOTH out. We administered his rescue med (Albuterol Sulfate) via nebulizer and prepared for the worse - an ER visit. Thankfully, it calmed him down and he slept in bed next to me until the wee hours so that I could constantly monitor his breathing/breaths per minute/pulse. Following typical protocol, I gave him his breathing treatment every four hours while he was awake and also in the middle of the night if he seemed in distress when he woke up - which happened twice. I didn't call the doctor because I knew we would be seeing her on Tuesday and it was unlikely that she would have seen us any sooner.

When she first listened to him she immediately noticed the wheezing (which, apparently, you need a stethescope to hear - anybody looking for a good birthday present for me?) and then she poked around some more. Apparently, he sounded like pneumonia but when he changed positions whatever the sound was went away. Good, but scary! So, because he is not responding to the Albuterol alone, we have to add an inhaled steroid - Pulmicort - which we've not used before (shh! Don't tell! I think we were supposed to use it last time but I felt he was getting better without so I axed it.).

And, of course, his right ear is still infected so we have another round of antibiotics - this time Biaxin instead of Augmentin. I hate using two new medications that we haven't tried before at the same time. If there's some kind of reaction, I'm screwed because I'll have no way of knowing what's causing it.

On a more positive note (at least for him), Youngest Boy has finally graduated to a "big boy" car seat! He is absolutely ecstatic because now he gets to sit next to his big brother! Woohoo!

Oldest Boy's L&D: The Conclusion

Once they got my epidural started, I was able to sleep off and on through some of the night. Mr. MOTH camped out in the chair next to the bed – occasionally getting me ice chips or a cool cloth. I’m pretty sure my parents were there, but I don’t actually remember seeing them until after the delivery. My MIL and SIL stayed for a little while, but they cut out before delivery (and came back shortly after).

I should also mention at this point that the head of the department was one of the doctors who came and checked on me periodically. I honestly believe if not for him, this story would end differently. It’s also important to note Mr. MOTH’s stance on this whole delivery situation. He was pretty adamant that he wouldn’t really be “involved” in the whole thing…just kind of a by-stander. You know, hold my hand, get me ice chips, but absolutely no viewing of the actual birth. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

I was finally allowed to start pushing around 5AM. And I pushed. And pushed. And pushed. At one point the nurse put my foot in Mr. MOTH’s hand (as they were the only two in the room) and he got a front row seat. Needless to say he was a trooper. At 7AM, it was shift change. Apparently, being in the middle of delivery doesn’t qualify someone to stay and I had a whole host of new folks make an appearance. The “new” doctor was, in fact, new. He hadn’t been at this facility very long and, as I mentioned, the head of the department had been monitoring me (he apparently doesn’t follow shifts). This means that my new doc had something to prove. I literally could have killed him, had I had the strength or the means. At one point he told me that I obviously wasn’t trying hard enough. WTF?!?! Who says that to a laboring woman unless they have a serious death wish?!?! He also had two (female) residents assisting who really should have given him some advice after that one. I was pretty good about watching my language but at one point I looked down and said, “Right now, I don’t like ANY OF YOU!!” Finally, they decided they needed to use a vacuum. Not what I wanted, but really there was no choice. He told me I got three pushes with the vacuum assistance and then we would have to do an emergency C-section. At one point I looked up at Mr. MOTH and realized he was crying. THIS was enough to scare the sh*t out of me. I have never before (or since) seen him cry. He later told me that was after he had seen the doc put the vacuum on the baby’s head and then put his foot up on the bed to get better leverage while he pulled on it. Nice. Finally Oldest Boy was born on the second push over three hours after the pushing started and 31 hours after labor had begun. But, about 15 minutes after his birth, Mr. MOTH asked if I was ready to do it again and I answered, without hesitation, “Yes. In a heartbeat.” We found out that the reason for the difficult delivery was because instead of being face-down, he was face-up which caused him to get more or less stuck. There was a lot of tearing (4th degree lacerations, if you know what that means) and while they were doing the, uh, repair I told the doctors that I liked them a lot better now!

Oldest Boy was pretty marked up from the delivery and he ended up with moderate to severe jaundice. We brought him home, in a blizzard of course, on a wallaby blanket (which is a UV blanket used to cure the jaundice). A visiting nurse was supposed to come to take his blood and monitor his bilirubin levels to let us know when we could stop using the blanket. She called the day after we brought him home and told us she couldn’t get out because of the storm. Nice. So, instead, we packed him into my SIL’s SUV (because of the 4WD) and headed up to the local hospital. Thank goodness we live in Hicksville, USA because at the hospital they gave my SIL all of the necessary supplies and she was able to draw his blood at home the next day (something she did daily at work) and then drive it up to the hospital lab for testing instead of us having to drag a NEWBORN BABY out AGAIN! He recovered nicely and is now my incredible, funny, sensitive, sweet, wild, inquisitive, adorable 6-year-old! And our lives were never the same again…

Oldest Boy's L&D Story

**Warning! This post is long, somewhat boring, and being written simply for my own personal satisfaction. So, unless you have a morbid curiosity about pain, childbirth, and the like, feel free to skip the next few!**

Because I didn’t start this blog until well after my third child, I’ve never really recorded what labor and delivery was like with the first three. I don’t want to forget and I’d like to refresh my own memory before this baby makes its entry. Be forewarned, though, if you are currently pregnant with your first child or you’re considering a vaginal delivery for the first time, skip this one!

Oldest Boy (who was of unknown gender until – nearly – the very end) had his foot stuck up under my ribs beginning around Christmas-time. I was still working as an analytical chemist at the same company where Mr. MOTH still works. We had been living here – about an hour commute from the Big City where our company AND our hospital are – for about 3 months. My SIL – Mr. MOTH’s youngest sister – had just arrived a few days (maybe a week) before. She was staying with us until she got re-established back in the area. She had been a traveling NICU nurse and was most recently in the Denver area. Don’t even get me started on the coincidence involved in having her with us during this time…

On February 12th, I went to bed at my normal (early) bedtime. At 1AM I woke up for some reason, although right then I couldn’t put my finger on it. I woke up every half hour – like clockwork – for the remainder of the night. I got up for work, showered and prepared for the day. When I went down to the kitchen I noticed some homemade contraption set up, presumably to catch some sort of vermin. Yep. The night my labor started a mouse took up residence in our kitchen (I found out MONTHS after we caught it that it had been living in my muffin tins!). DH came downstairs and naturally explained his better mousetrap to me. I proceeded to calmly announce that I had been having contractions since 1AM. We decided to bring the hospital bag with us (the hospital is less than 2 miles from work) but to NOT wake my SIL or MIL (they’re both late sleepers).

I get to work still not totally convinced that this was labor. After all, my due date wasn’t until March 2nd! For the first hour I timed the contractions without mentioning the situation to anyone. HOWEVER, I worked side-by-side with a woman who had four children of her own and she busted me. I don’t know how she knew, she just did. No preamble, just, “How far apart are they?” Things happened pretty quickly after that. My boss – a guy about my age – was more than a little panicked but Chris (my coworker) kept him out of it as much as possible by letting him know she was glued to my side. She convinced me to call the doc and they said, “GO.” So, we did.

At the hospital – and this is the part that, looking back, really ticks me off – they did an ultrasound. The doc doing it was pretty appalled that we didn’t want to know the sex. She just kept saying, “Well, if it was me, I would want to know!” The tech doing the u/s kept quiet, but at one point the doc said, “I saw it! Did you see it (to the tech)?” Well, girls don’t have an “IT”, dammit! Needless to say, they sent me home (which, remember, is an hour away) due to “false labor”. Uh, wrong!

Around 6PM I am in absolute agony. The contractions hadn’t subsided and my SIL insisted that we call the hospital back (she deals with babies, but I don’t think she had any desire to deliver one!). When we had left, they told DH that it had to be me to do the talking. Yeah, right! I could barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak! They told us to come back – which we did – pronto! On the way down, Mr. MOTH said, “Um, I was planning to pick up a Valentine’s card tonight…” He was off the hook because that was my plan, too! We arrive at the hospital parking garage, Mr. MOTH found a wheelchair for me, and this time, we stayed. The conclusion to follow…

If you look under 30 years of age...

we will card you. That's the statement on the door of our local Wine & Spirits Shop. We live in a college town so the local liquor store is a happening place on Saturday night. When I'm NOT pregnant (which, really, seems like, um, NEVER) Mr. MOTH and I like to enjoy a glass or two of red wine during the weekend. Preferably something French or Italian (Bardolino is our current favorite). So, Saturday evening often finds me in line with the typical round-up of alcoholics and college kids planning a night of drinking games. Because I'm a regular (and I do pick up a bottle for my DH, even when I can't imbibe, because that's the kind of wife I am. And before you jump on him for it, he does wait until I'm asleep before he partakes - which is usually sometime after 9:30PM ;) I know most of the employees. Last night was no different except that there was a new cashier - some elderly gentleman who I was unfamiliar with. I walked up with my bottle of Bolla Valpolicella and he said, "Can I see your ID, please?" To which I responded, "God Bless you, you sure can!!" There were peals of laughter from the line of college boys behind me. See? I still got it - even if I am the size of a whale!

Pee In The Tub?

Potty-training is still in the futre for Baby Girl - the not-too-distant future, but the future, nonetheless. So when I put her in the bathtub and then turned to load her brother in and I heard, "OH NO! Where'd the PEE go?!?!" I panicked. Repeatedly - "Where'd it go, mommy? OH NO! Where's the pee, mommy?" So, I proceeded to take both of them out, drain the tub, and refill it at which point I heard, "OOOOOHHHH. THERE it is!!" Durn kids.

Confession 101

I'm trying very hard to keep religion and politics out of my blog. After all, the point was for it to be about my kids. BUT, this is indirectly related to them (and it is still MY blog), so I'm going to post about it anyways.

Last night I made my first confession. I am married to a cradle Catholic and have since given birth to three more. We have baptized all of the kids as Catholics and I agreed to raise them in the faith even before we said "I do." Originally, I wanted to become Catholic (by going through the RCIA program) for them, the kids. I have always been a Christian and as such, I have A LOT of questions about the Catholic religion. Luckily for me, we have a priest who is willing to put up with all of my inquiries. Sometimes it's really not fair that people who were born into the faith don't necessarily have to "believe" everything that they put forth but those of us who come into it as adults have to at least reconcile what we already believe with what they teach. I'm really grateful that I have a bunch of great "classmates" in RCIA who are going through the process with me. They've made a big difference! And they seem to appreciate the fact that I'm not afraid to ask questions. At all.

My mom grew up Catholic and all of her siblings still are. My dad's family on his mom's side are also all Catholic. BUT I grew up following my dad's dad's religion. We attended a Swedish church and it was enough for me. And what I'm learning is that really, truly, it is enough. Even Catholics have learned to believe - or at least accept - that. I'm glad, because that helped me to make peace with this whole process. It will be a little bit odd when we baptize our next baby because I'll be able to be a somewhat more active participant - or at least I'll understand a little bit more of the how's and why's of it all. I no longer question whether this is the right decision for me (it is) and I no longer question if my motives are pure (they are). The fact of the matter is, my relationship with God IS changing, but it's not getting more "Catholic", just deeper. And for those of you who aren't Christian, I just want to make it clear that being one? doesn't make you somehow superior or less likely to screw up. So cut us some slack. We're only human.

As for my kids, now I feel more qualified to answer their questions (although, "Who's stronger, God or Jesus?" still stumps me).

**Note: I realize this is my 100th post and I'm supposed to do something - like 100 things about me - so I'll get to it. Also, I enjoyed my ice cream yesterday! It helped to keep the good memories in the front of my brain!

March 16th

When I started this blog I wondered how I would handle certain special days. The kids’ birthdays, our anniversary, Christmas, etc. Today was never very far from my mind. It never really is.

On this day in 1993, I lost my grandma and best friend (same person) very unexpectedly. On this day, I remember. On this day, I also try to forget.

I try to forget seeing her hooked up to a hundred different machines which were keeping her alive. I try to forget what it was like to sit in that room with my grandfather and my dad and his siblings and listen to that doctor say that they couldn’t detect any brain activity. I try to forget my Uncle Ralphie handing me the trinket he had placed in her hand, saying I needed it more than him (I still have it). I try to forget one nurse saying to another, “Get the smelling salts” when I fell to my knees as they turned those damn machines off. I try to forget that not only were we all sobbing, but so were those wonderful nurses. I try to forget watching my parents tell my siblings the sad news. I try to forget that the florist knew what flowers we should get for the coffin…because she had ordered them so many times for others – always bright spring colors. I try to forget.

So, instead, today I will try to remember. I will tell my children all about her. I will quote her on a regular basis. I will remember that she loved all of her grandchildren and children 100% equally – differently, yes, but always, always equally. Not one of us ever felt that another was more special. I will remember that she sent me a letter nearly every week while I was away at college (I still have all of them from that last year – tear-stained and ragged). I will remember that she was so tickled by the newest babies in the family – my cousins who are now 16(!). I will remember that she gave me more than I deserved and certainly more than I ever gave her.

I have always tried desperately to do something on this day that both honors her in some way and also causes me to remember some of the happy memories. One year we had a barbecue; one year we went through all of her old photographs (she’s the reason, I’m sure, that I take thousands of pictures of my kids); one year we just came together as a big family. So, today, I ask that you join me in what I will now call Family Ice Cream for Dinner Day. Why? Memories. Every Thursday night I had a piano lesson. She drove me there, paid for it, and also took me out for ice cream. Thursday is still my favorite day of the week. So tonight I’m taking my kids to Dairy Queen or maybe I’ll have a make-your-own-sundae bar. I will have a peanut buster parfait (her favorite). And I will tell my kids all about her. All you need to do is remember…

When I come to the end of the day,

And the sun has set for me.

I want no rites in a gloom-filled room.

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not too long,A

nd not with you head bowed low.

Remember the love we once shared---

Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take,

And each must go alone.

It's all part of the Master's plan,

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go to the friends we know.

And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds---

Miss me, but let me go.

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