Affliction

I'm not allowed to write about my husband on the Internet. He has asked me repeatedly not to. Usually, I mention him only in passing, maybe something funny that happened, but mostly I try to respect his privacy.

But something happened, something that wasn't funny at all. And I have to write about it, to try to purge some of the awfulness out of my brain.

Sunday night was hard for me. I was thinking about Mom and had a good cry before going to bed, where I tossed and turned for a couple of hours until I finally gave in and got up. So I was awake at 4:00 when Mikey woke up. He didn't say anything so at first I didn't realize something was wrong, but soon he was moaning and groaning a bit and, by 6:00, he was vomiting repeatedly and then he was on the floor writhing in pain.

By 7:30, we were off to the emergency room, stopping along the way so he could lean out of the car and puke some more. Before long, I was sitting in a hospital with someone I love beyond measure, again. With something very wrong with their gallbladder. Again. And he sounded just like Mom did when she cried out in pain. Believe me, I was more than a little freaked out.

Blood was drawn, an IV was started, morphine was administered, and eventually there was an ultrasound done. The doctor told us that Mikey did have some small stones in his gallbladder and was apparently passing one, but he also had a very high white blood cell count that wasn't accounted for by what he saw on the ultrasound. He suspected that it was unrelated and wanted to admit Mikey to run more tests.

Leukemia. Oh, my God, leukemia.

The doctor left to arrange a CAT scan and Mikey was worried about the payroll checks he was supposed to be writing, so he sent me home to grab the checkbook. I didn't give a crap about payroll checks, somebody else could write them, but I was glad for an excuse to get out of there for a few minutes. I sobbed all the way home and prayed hard. Please, please, please, oh, please...

At home, I googled "high white count" and the Mayo Clinic's page listed 18 reasons for an elevated count; six of those were various forms of leukemia. All I could think was that I was going to lose my husband, and if that happened -- well, you might as well dig a hole big enough to bury both of us because there's not enough left of me to survive another loss of that magnitude.

Back at the hospital, the doctor told us the CAT scan didn't turn up anything out of the ordinary -- I suspect he was looking at Mikey's lymph nodes and spleen -- and that he could keep his gallbladder for now because the stones were so small. And so, after a dose of IV antibiotic, he released Mikey with prescriptions for pain pills and something that might dissolve the stones, as well as instructions for a low-fat, low-cholesteral, high-fiber diet to follow from now on because Mikey is a "stonemaker."

Kind of anti-climactic after all that, but I didn't argue. I was sleep-deprived and emotionally drained and so ready to go home after eight hours in the ER. There is a follow-up appointment scheduled and I presume the doctor will check the white cell count again and decide if there is any further cause for concern. And so we went home and slept off and on throughout the rest of the day and night.

This morning Mikey was still in some pain but eventually went off to work, promising he wouldn't stay very long. Meanwhile, I'm scouring the Internet for advice and recipes, trying to figure out what the heck I'm going to feed him now.

Just my luck, I went grocery shopping Friday and blew two hundred bucks on all the wrong foods. Gah.

Mama Bear

Last night I took Britt to a "Children Reading to Dogs" event at our local library. We got there a little early to pick out new books to bring home and then sat at a table where she worked on a craft while waiting for things to start. Another woman and her daughter, maybe 10 or so, sat at the table with us, the daughter's nose buried in a book.

It was all going so well until, eying our stack of easy readers, the other woman asked Britt how old she was. "Seven," she answered, and I instantly felt the waves of smug disapproval rolling off Mrs. Judgy McJudgerson over there. "Well, she just turned seven. She's only in first grade." I spoke nicely but inside -- oh, man, I was seething. She had just poked a stick at the Mama Bear in me. How dare she judge my cub? She has no idea what an amazing kid Britt is. Sure, maybe I could have worked with her and had her reading sooner, but her teacher says she's right on track and doing well, so where's the problem?



Once you become a mom, you do run up against these women occasionally -- the super-anal, uptight uber-moms with very rigid ideas about the right way to raise children. You and your kid(s) will inevitably fail to measure up. And I'm sure this particular woman homeschools her kid and that she was reading by age 3 and a McDonald's french fry has never passed her lips and they don't even own a TV set. Fine for them, but that's not us. Their ways are different, not necessarily better or worse. Just different.



Britt does not lack supervision or intellectual stimulation. I have always read to her. She has an insatiable curiosity and I try to answer all her questions and, if I don't know, then we look it up together. We go to museums and find other educational activities around town. We provide her with all the tools and resources and encouragement she needs to explore her interests. No, she isn't taking soccer and piano lessons and ballet and gymnastics, but I don't want her to be an over-scheduled neurotic mess. (I had planned to sign her up for soccer this term but it didn't feel like the right time and, as it turned out, it wasn't. I could not have coped with a soccer schedule dictating when I could make the two-hour trip to visit my dying mother.)



I've already raised two kids (as a single mom) who turned out to be independent, self-supporting adults. No prison records, no drug problems, no welfare checks. They are bright, delightful people following their own paths and I'm very proud of them. And I have faith in Britt's intelligence and creativity and initiative and have no doubt that she will turn out just as well. I won't raise her to be an over-achiever, because she doesn't need a Harvard MBA to be happy. If she lives a normal lifespan, God willing, she will have many, many years to be an adult, but childhood is so fleeting and I'm content to let her be a happy-go-lucky kid as long as she can. Maybe I baby her too much but -- so what?



Anyway, one of the library ladies came over and asked Judgy's daughter if she wanted to do the craft, which consisted of coloring a birthday cake and decorating a party hat because they were celebrating the 16th birthday of one of the dogs. The girl answered, "No thank you. We don't observe birthdays in our home." WHAT?! Now it was my turn to be Mrs. Judgy McJudgerson. What the hell, woman? You can't spare one day a year to celebrate the life of your child? No parties? No presents? No cake? WHAT KIND OF TWISTED CRAP IS THAT?

******

This morning I took Britt to the pediatrician for her 7-year checkup, which went pretty well -- except that she failed her vision test and failed to provide a urine sample even though I spent 15 minutes crouching next to her with my arm in the toilet holding the cup and she wouldn't get on the examining table so her exam took place on the bench and it took three of us to hold her down while she SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER as she got her flu shot. Before we left, the doctor put her hand on my shoulder and whispered to me, "You baby her too much, Grandma. Stop it!"

(***sigh***)

Mom's Dying

I have a wall of deniability up; that's what gets me through this. I can almost convince myself that Mom isn't really going to go; that visiting her in the hospital is what life is going to be now. Of course I know that's not true, but it's how I cope. The wall teeters occasionally, but I don't want to be a blubbering mess right now. I just want to be here. There will be all the time in the world to fall apart after. I'm not ready to be in that place yet.

It's 2:15 am and Mom is dying. It will be very soon, but when exactly no one can say. Her physical self lies here in this hospital room, struggling for every breath, fighting so hard against the pull of death. But the Mom we know is gone. We will never see her on this earth again.

The room is always crowded; there is a shortage of seats. We talk over her, around her. We think she can hear us -- our voices, if not our words. We share memories and catch up on family news and flip through family albums. Sometimes we whisper in her ear, those last things we need to say. We kiss her forehead, her cheek; we hold her hand, or her foot if that's all we can reach. There is nothing more we can do for her, but be here.

I'm baaaaack!

Two and a half years later, I have overcome my Facebook addiction and I'm wondering why the hell I ever quit blogging in the first place. There will be no retrospective of the missing years because nobody but my family reads this thing and you guys already know the highlights anyway. More or less.

So, Britt's two front teeth have been wiggly all summer and one of them is FINALLY hanging by a thread. Like it would totally pop right out if I could just get a good grip on it, which I can't because it's so small and slippery. She won't let me tie a string around it either. Papa also gave it a try last night but had no more success than I did, so we all subsided and headed off to bed. At which point Britt started hollering that IT WAS COMING OUT! RIGHT NOW!!! And so we convened in the bathroom:





Alas, it was a false alarm. But all was not lost, because Britt then treated us to a demonstration of how she talks in her sleep:

***snore***
picklepicklepicklepickle
***snore***
picklepicklepicklepickle...

I'm melting! Melting! Ohhhhh, what a world, what a world...

Walked into the bathroom last night and saw this:



It cracked me up.

Britt quote of the day: "Kids are not people. They're just kids and stuff."

Britt's Posse

Sorry I haven't been posting much lately. Facebook ate my life.

There are no little girls on our street, so Britt's only playmates are three little boys who live at the end of the cul-de-sac:



On a recent Saturday, she rode hard with her posse,



then she sat next to me to catch her breath.



She got mad at me for taking pictures,



so she tried to ignore me.



Then she stole my drink,



and then she burped really loud.



I laughed,



so she got embarrassed.



Then she got her own drink.



And then she shot some baskets.



Then she... well, her dribbling still needs work.

Easter Hunny

Easter proofs are in

The usual disclaimers apply: the finished prints will look much better, the color is off, and my scanner is an utterly beshitted pile o' crap. Orders have to be turned in Thursday so make your picks and let me know ASAP.

I love this one from the shoulders down:



I should've done something special with her hair.



Little cutie.



She gets one picture with the rabbit and she's got her hand clamped over it eyes:



Getting so big!

Expelled

After a long hiatus because it's frickin' cold in the winter, I signed Britt up for more classes at the zoo. Which thrilled Britt to no end, because the zoo is the most wonderful, fantastical, magical place in the whole wide world.

Our first class was February 28, except that, um, somebody forgot to set the alarm and woke up at the very moment Britt should have been stepping into the classroom. That somebody was very unhappy with herself, first for screwing up something that would have made Britt unbelievably, deliriously happy and, secondly, because that somebody had to break the tragic news to her.

And so, yesterday, somebody got a second chance to make Britt unbelievably, deliriously happy, because that certain somebody had signed her up for a day camp at the zoo. A day camp at which she would get to help mix treats for the animals. Britt had been looking forward to this event for weeks with almost unbearable anticipation.

This special day finally arrived and that certain somebody was up at the crack of dawn to make absolutely certain there would be no oversleeping on this most important of days. And, finally, Britt was safely delivered unto the day camp and that certain somebody was heading off on a rare shopping trip in an attempt to augment her sadly diminished wardrobe.

And then somebody's cell phone rang. But somebody did not recognize the number and so at first ignored it. Then it rang again. This time somebody answered it. And then somebody took the next exit off the highway in order to turn around and go pick up Britt from day camp at the zoo.

Because she had vomited in class and was waiting for me in the office.

I rushed back to the zoo, screeched to a halt in a 15-minute parking space and ran inside, where I found a very forlorn little girl waiting for me. I felt her head, trying to figure out what was wrong, when it suddenly occurred to me. I had taken her to the doctor the day before because she had some boils on her little booty and on her leg, and I had given her a dose of the prescribed antibiotic just before we left the house. On an empty stomach. Because they always serve snacks first thing at zoo classes, I hadn't bothered to give her so much as a piece of toast.

Fail!

As a consolation prize, since she wasn't actually sick sick, I decided to take her to see some animals. She chose to go to the Aquaticus first, so we went and looked at all the fishies and watched the seals for a while, and then we took off toward the playground and the carousel, looking at an anteater and some meercats along the way. Britt rode the carousel twice:



and we had just bought a token for the kiddie train when I suddenly realized I had parked in a 15-minute parking space.

Epic fail!

With visions of tow trucks and parking tickets whirling in my head, I grabbed Britt and made a lung-busting sprint for the parking lot, where I found the car sitting blissfully untowed and unticketed just as I had left it. I then drove a very sad little girl home.

Our next class is Saturday, March 28, aptly entitled "Going Batty." Pray for us.

How much of a homebody am I?

I'll tell you how much: I've had my new car for ten days and have put exactly 18.6 miles on it.

Guess what's sitting in my driveway

My Funny Valentine

Miss Lily (and her mom) came to visit us on Valentine's Day weekend. Unfortunately, I was a terrible hostess; I meant to take them out to lunch and do a little shopping, but pretty much stayed glued to the couch the whole time. Sorry, Jess! Hopefully I'll be feeling better next time.

Anyway, Lily is almost able to sit up now:



And she's fattening up nicely:



Brittany read her some Curious George:



She thought he was pretty funny:



Aunt Bridgie came over to see her:



There was a brief storm:



But it quickly blew over:



And we all lived happily ever after. Until it was time for them to leave, anyway.

Idiotic manufacturers of children's holiday items strike again

Remember the scandalous Halloween costume?

I was getting Britt's Littlest Pet Shop-themed Valentine cards ready for the party at school today when I saw this:



Uhhhh, no. No way.

I'm alive, barely...

I've been really, really sick the past two weeks. Of course, it wasn't until after I took Britt to see a doctor last weekend that it occurred to me that it wasn't just a bad cold or maybe the flu that I had, but a major sinus infection (which also led to an ear infection and a horrendous case of bronchitis) that could be quickly cleared up with some antibiotics and I could have easily (and should have) signed myself in to see the doctor too. But I was too muddle-headed that day and then I didn't feel like going back, so I toughed it out and it damn near killed me.

As a result, my house is looking pretty wrecktacular right now. I was looking around at the accumulated debris today, trying to figure out where to start while trying desperately not to cry, when I saw this, mocking me:



I took the hint, and went back to bed.

Yes, I've been totally slacking, blogwise

Sorry, but I've been busy. Also, sick. Like hacking, wheezing, passed out, gallons of mucus, sweating out a fever sick.

The busy part was scouring the internet for album cover art. Because if I don't have album cover art for a particular song, it shows an ugly blank page when it plays on my iPhone. And that just... bugs me. But I found almost all of them, and since most of the music I listen to is at least thirty years old, that was quite a feat!

BTW, I've discovered that a lot of music is fine to listen to as background noise on iTunes while I'm reading stuff online, but when it's being drilled directly into my head via earbuds... eh, not so much. So I've been ruthlessly deleting songs from my playlist. Over 400 gone out of about three thousand so far.

Yes, fascinating, I know. Moving on...

Britt hasn't been sick, but she does have a nasty paronychia on her index finger. I took her to the minor emergency center today to have it lanced and get some antibiotics, and she was very brave.

In other news, it was really cold and icy here last week. By the time the weather finally warmed up a little, Britt was suffering from cabin fever and itching to go outside and play. But first she tried to scrub some "pisgusting stuff" off her "gwubs."



And then she put them on all by herself first the first time ever! With her fingers in all the right spaces and everything!



So proud!



The other day I fixed her a hot dog for dinner while she danced around my feet singing something about "fishy dog, fishy dog." I told her nope, there's no fish in it. And then she stood stock still as a more disturbing possibility occurred to her. With big eyes, she asked, "Is it... from a dog?"

And then I died. The end.

Holiday Hangover

I'm still feeling depleted from all the stress of the holidays, but I figured I ought to let y'all know I'm still alive since NOT ONE OF YOU HAS BOTHERED TO CALL ME ON MY NEW iPHONE!

Gah.

Anyway, the very best present I got for Christmas this year was being able to spend a few all-too-short hours with this precious little nubbin:



Our marathon began on Christmas Eve at home,



and then we went over to Candy's where we had snacks and watched the kids open their gifts from her, and Britt made a new friend:



On Christmas Day we were off to the in-laws'. But not quickly enough to suit Miss B, who was saying, "Let's go. NOW."



Because she knew lots more presents awaited her there:



And then we had a couple of days off before heading to Tahlequah to see Baby Sister and Daddy and the rest of the family. And to open more presents!



And to help Baby Sister open hers:



Baby Sister was less than impressed.



She was adorable, though:



Britt spent most of her time outside



playing with her cousins,



while the rest of us stayed inside, soaking up baby sweetness:







Before we all went our separate ways I tried to take a group portrait of Daddy and his girls, but Britt wasn't being very cooperative. This was the best I could get:



Oh, well, they're still a bunch of cuties.