Bright Blue: Why Mommy Can't Sleep

The story, in third person.

Mommy's classes ended on Thursday and since that time she had really been enjoying time with her son, Cricket. They went to the park Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Cricket was pretty impressive with his mobility. Running everywhere, up and down hills, mastering the slide, impressing total strangers with his climbing ability. So Sunday when he was at his grandparents, Mommy hurried everyone along. "I think it's going to rain soon! Let's get moving!"

At the park, Cricket did all the park things and totally ignored the astro turf hill, the one kids slide down on cardboard boxes, or just their pants. Mommy knew she and Cricket had gone down the hill before, so when he headed toward the hill, she let him climb to the peak of the hill. Previously they only went down half the hill. Mommy remembers the sun glinting off the hair of a little girl, trying to go up the hill one more time, but instead this girl was nabbed by grandmother. The little girl said, "Sweet niblets!" and everyone laughed, the nabbing grandmother, the little girl, the Mommy, her parents and even the Cricket because everyone else was laughing. Mommy will always remember this little girl saying sweet niblets.

Once Mommy and Cricket reached the top of the hill, she watched the little girl and grandmother walk away, she scanned the bottom of the hill to make sure it was safe, she swooped her child up into her arms and kissed his bonny face. "Do you want to go down the hill?" she asked him. She smiled at her own parents at the bottom of the hill and put Cricket between her legs. They pushed off.

She still doesn't know what she heard first: the snap of her child's bone or her father yelling "Stop!" but she stopped. Instantly. Picked up her child and ran down the hill, hugging him to her chest and he cried, cried. "Did you hear a snap?" Mommy's own mother asked her. Mommy said I don't know, even though she knew she heard a snap. The child continued to wail. Mommy's father, the one who yelled stop, was an orthopedic surgeon. "Is it broken? Is it broken?" she asked over and over again.

"I don't know. I don't have x-ray eyes. It feels okay," he said.

Mommy sat on a park bench and prayed "OmyGod" over and over again, kissing her child's head. He stopped crying, and she believed his bone couldn't be broken if he stopped crying. They tried to see if he would stand. But he wouldn't. He started crying again. His leg was shaking. So everyone decided it would be best to get x-rays. And they did. But x-rays weren't conclusive, and Mommy laughed and laughed. But still Cricket would not stand, and Mommy's dad, the bone doctor, said it was best to treat the child, not the x-ray. And sometimes fractures don't always show up immediately, and maybe he did see something on the fibula. And so that's how Cricket ended up in a bright blue cast, from his toes to his hip.

And that's how it ended up that Mommy can't sleep at night for hearing the snap of her child's bone as he sat between her legs.

Green Snot, Great Trepidation

After an extended break at the holidays, we're back to day-care, which I, unbelievably, have no issues with whatsoever. However, today on my wee wee break, I went to see my Cricket and sat down on the floor with him. While down at baby level, it was clear to me how many crusties were in the noses of every baby there. Some babies have running snot, and these children get attended to promptly. Green snot is visible from above. Crusties in the noses are not.

I've made my peace with daycare related illness. It's just going to happen and I choose to look at it as good attempt to mature my kid's immune system early. I also let him eat Cheerios off our floor, so a total germophobe I am not. Plus there are some theories out there that maintain that auto-immune disorders are the result of a "bored" immune system. So, hey, let's not be boring! Let's get sick!

Not that I'm seeking out sickness, you know? And colds are nasty, etc. However, they've suddenly turned more insidious. Little viral triggers to asthma.

Asthma.

Say it again, a chronic illness, not the end of the world, but still overwhelming me at times: Asthma. Yes, Cricket has been officially diagnosed with asthma and not unsurprisingly, colds and viruses trigger attacks. *Sigh* Thus, every crusted booger filled nose today made me shiver thinking of how we'd probably be awake for the night, listening to our wee boy cough. And cough. And cough. I'd like to post more about my feelings here, and hopefully I'll be able to do that, because last night as I stood at the freezer in the garage, I was completely overwhelmed. So far, his asthma has only required a few albuterol treatments for wheeziness and daily nebulized steroids, but suddenly I started worrying about emergent attacks, the problems of vaccinations when on steroids, the possibility of ever feeling safe leaving him with a babysitter for any extended time, the scariness of the ER in the middle of the night. Nothing of course we've had to deal with, but I'm always so good at seeing the scary looming shapes in the deep dark future.

And I've gone totally opposite of my usual m.o. Unlike when we were dealing with (in)fertility, and I got my degree from Dr. Google U in reproductive endocrinology, I've so far not consulted Dr. Google at all. I've tried so hard, in fact, to be almost willfully ignorant. But now I'm in a pediatric nursing class and clinical, and asthma is undoubtedly going to rear its massively ugly head to me. I'm going to have to learn about it. And be tested. And help treat kids other than my own who are having emergent attacks. I know there's worse out there, but shit. My sweet Cricket, wheezing and coughing, smiling the whole time? It's heart breaking.

We'll get through it; we always do. But for now, the previously nonthreatening green snot has become enemy number one. I've got to come to some reckoning, otherwise we'll be hermits in Michigan, because, hey, where are you not going to find some super colored mucus around here in the deep winter? Oh well.

Long Day

I fell asleep, albeit momentarily, on my first day of nursing school. I was sitting in the second row. I could myself slipping away, almost like being sucked down a tunnel.

On a related note: why does croup get worse at night?

It's going to be a loooonng year.

Mysteries Abounding

When I was in Catholic school there was a fair amount of explanation along these lines: "It's a mystery!" This wasn't really an adequate answer for my little mind who liked explanations for everything. However, even that is a learning experience because, after all, there are somethings that just are, well, mysteries. Learning to accept that fact is probably helpful to one's sanity.

In the theological realm this seems more palpable than the medical realm. When I had pathophysiology last summer, my teacher (a nice man, but horrible instructor) would often explain away my questions by saying things like, "We don't know the answer to that. It just happens that way." He said this to many people, and more often than not someone in the class would know the real reason and explain to us why something happened the way it did. It was frustrating. Patho should be a fun, but hard class. Instead my patho class was boring and easy.

Unlike my time with Cricket lately. There is nothing fun, boring, or easy about his health right now. I have to say, he's still Cricket: very happy and outgoing, but clearly something is not right with him.

He has another outbreak on his hand, which is surprising after all the antibiotics he's on. His leg looks gross, but is crusting up and seems ready to heal. He has another outbreak forming on his cheek. At least he doesn't look like a lobster anymore from the sulfa drugs.

Our pediatrician is awesome. First of all she said to us that we had been through the wringer. She took time to tell us that it's usually not this hard for new parents and between the NICU, the RSV, and now this, we weren't having a typical experience. I love that she said this to us, because as much as I really want more kids, Cricket's first few months have been emotionally exhausting. It's a good thing he's such a great kid, smiling and talking to us all the time. I adore him. Then the good doctor admitted she had no idea what was going on and scheduled an appointment for us with a pediatric dermatologist at UM. It's not until Wednesday, but I'm relieved because I feel like people are on the case now. Everyone here wants to figure out what's going on. It's no longer sufficient to say, "Hm... It's a mystery." Thank God I live in this college town with people in search of answers.

The Kiddio Recovereth

When I wrote my essays for nursing school, I thought it might be helpful to indicate what type of nursing I'd like to do. I think this approach worked because when I was interviewed, I was asked about my essays and my intended speciality. What did I say? Pediatric nursing.

Cricket is making me doubt it this week. I can hardly stand to hear him cough. How exactly did I (do I?) think that I could work in a PICU? Or children's oncology? I'm not saying I'm totally off the idea, but it's really heartbreaking to see a kid sick, and I knew all along he was going to get better. Get my gist?

The big news? He's sleeping, upstairs, in his swing. I am downstairs, at the computer. For the past four nights he has slept alone, albeit in his car seat, which I have placed into the co-sleeper. We strap him in and off he goes. While some sleep people/parents might say not to do this, I can't help but note that is far far safer than sleeping on us in a chair. He can sleep with the fucking car seat until he's ten. I don't care. Just sleep. Without me.

The Cough Cometh

I don't type very well one handed. I'm slow and clumsy (yet still I think I am faster than my dad's two hands-- probably because I know where all the keys are.) In my senior year of college I tore a ligament in my right thumb (playing rugby) and wore a cast that came over my fingers. I mastered one handed typing then. I am wondering if I can get back some of my former dexterity. To really appreciate just how awful I am at this, I should leave my typos in. It's woeful. I can't tell you how many times I've typed a capital "O" for a capital "I." And it's taken me so long to type that, that I have started wondering why I am using the pronoun I so much. Me, me, me.

I'm blogging! while breastfeeding! But breastfeeding is a slight misnomer. It's more like light sucking which will need to be followed up by some serious pumping. Last night I couldn't get my breasts to shut off! After Cricket stopped eating, the breast just kept going, literally into the air. It was quite a sight to see.

But why isn't our Cricket eating so well? The previously ravenous Cricket is lackluster because he's sick. Sick, sick, sick. The poor pup has a nasty case of broncholitis most likely caused by the dreaded RSV. It started, sadly, on Saturday when we thought all he had was a modest cold. As you can see from the photos, we took him out anyway. Sunday he started feeling warm and axillary temps ranged from 99 too 100. Monday, a cough developed and a night call to the nurse line assured us that this probably meant he was getting better, but as dawn broke on Tuesday morning, it was obvious that getting better was the last thing he was doing. After eating, since he was still eating then, his cough was worse (probably because he was flat) and then the scary wheezing started. I called the vet, whoops, the pediatrician's office and discussed his wheezing with a nurse.

"I don't want to be a hysterical mother," I said to her. I was asked his temperature and admonished for not taking it rectally. (!!!) After imitating his wheeze, she told me to bring him in. How soon could I be there? "Well, I haven't taken a shower yet, but considering that are out of shampoo I could skip it and be there by 10:00."

"Come right over," she said. She told me to say "wheezing" to the receptionist and that would get a nurse right out there. She also told me to go to the "well child" waiting room. Previously I thought we were safe in that room, but apparently not...

Once at the doctor, I felt like he had stopped wheezing, but he brought it out just in time to show the doctor what I had heard. "You aren't being hysterical," he said to me. "He's sick alright." I asked if I was aggravating it by having him sleep on his chest on me, and assured the doctor that I was trying to get him to sleep on his own. The sweet doc, not my own, gently told me that no, I wasn't aggravating anything, and quite possibly I should abandon the sleep projects when he was sick. "Just let him sleep on you until he gets better." Like I wasn't doing that already.

Last night I set a two a.m. deadline: If he hadn't fallen asleep by then, a midnight call was in order because it was all kvetch-cry-wheeze-bark. He fell asleep at 1:45 and slept until about 8:00 am. And then he woke up, ate, and wow, did he ever wheeze hard core after that. His coughs were (are) quite spectacular-- resulting in a totally scary purple face. Accompanied by loud grunts, think female tennis player style, a la Monica Seles, it was really quite concerning. And there was some serious retraction happening, so I called the doc's office again, and again, they said, come right away. And since today he sounded 1000% worse than yesterday, I went even faster.

It's a virus and I know as well as anyone else that there's nothing to give a virus. Except, apparently, Albuterol. And a nebulizer. My sweet baboo did not like that mask over his face. Possibly it conjured up bad memories of the C-PAPP machine, but whatever the case, he coughed his way through his first treatment at the doctor office. It felt like I was gassing my own baby. And although he was still coughing when the doctor checked on us, she assured me he sounded better though the scope. I'm going to start insisting that I get to listen also. That, I'm sure, will really endear me to her.

The cricket is sleeping mostly, which is good because he doesn't wheeze as much in his sleep and coughs even less. I am concerned at the fact that he's not nursing as exuberantly, but hey, when I'm sick I don't really like to eat that exuberantly either.

Okay, that's it for now. I'm going to wrap him up and let him breath some of the moist spring air before the sun sets. And hope beyond hope that even though I had to BUY the damn nebulizer, I never ever have to use it at home.

Oh, and incidently, rectal temperature? Really my issue, not his because he could give a shit. Literally.