by mayberry on September 3, 2008
Occasionally our neighbors gather for a summer potluck. There is an older man who always attends; he’s more than 90 and lives alone–and a bit lonely since his wife died several years ago. He’s always in good spirits at these events and basks in the attention of kids and adults alike.
At one such party, he started choking on a hunk of meat. Luckily for him, there were several doctors in attendance. One of them Heimliched the man and he was soon fine again, although those of us who witnessed all this were shaken.
As the party drew to a close another neighbor said goodbye to Mr. G., giggled, and noted “Glad you are OK! That would have been an awful way to go, after you’ve lived this long!”
Oh yes, she did.
Jen’s post inspired Magpie’s which inspired mine. Are you next?
by mayberry on August 13, 2008
Joanna Jessica Ginger Mae Brown
Just couldn’t make that medicine go down.
She tried it with cake and she tried it with jam
She tried it with cheeseburgers, turkey and ham.
And though her parents pleaded and cried,
She said “my throat closes up from the inside.”
And so they tried candy and ice cream too
And straight-up chocolate syrup, that magical goo.
Still nothing could get her to swallow that stuff
Not even a spoonful of marshmallow fluff.
Her parents, they threatened, punished and held
Her down while spooning in liquid that smelled.
She spit and she thrashed and she stuck her tongue out
‘Til the neighbors wondered what the fuss was about.
Her parents gave milk, both chocolate and white.
They gave apple juice, orange juice, try as they might
The girl couldn’t bear it, the stuff tasted so bad
They all felt they’d slowly go stark raving mad.
Then after two days of cajoling and crying
Little Jo relented; she said “I’m trying.”
And she did it! She sucked down every offending drop
Her parents rejoiced ’til their hearts almost popped.
Jo finally earned stickers and treats and a doll
And anything she wanted on a trip to the mall.
So sick children, remember Joanna Brown
And find a way for those meds to go down.
The two days following Jo’s second hospital visit were almost as bad as everything that led up to them. She categorically refused to take her antibiotics and it was miserable. We tried everything from reasoning and pleading to physical force and peer pressure (Tacy contributed a video demonstration to the effort). We tried punishments (which led to me locking doors and unplugging televisions) and rewards and threats. We tried every kind of masking agent and flavoring substance known to man. I seriously questioned my ability as a parent. I cried at the counter at Walgreen’s.
I don’t know what it was that flipped the switch. Either Jo got tired of fighting, or she realized she really didn’t want to go back to the hospital after all, or she realized we would continue to try to force the stuff down her throat for two solid weeks if we had to. And yesterday evening she took her last dose. I’ve never been so happy to toss an empty bottle in the trash.
by mayberry on August 6, 2008
It became painfully clear during recent events that my husband and I don’t work very well together in a crisis. Instead of giving each other the extra love and support we both deserve, we tend to argue and snap at each other. Teamwork is not our strong suit, at least in times of stress.
I know this is normal and it’s actually, to some degree, a reflection of the strength of our relationship (we lash out at the safest person, the one we run the least risk of permanently losing). Things blow over and we get along again.
But this experience did leave me less sure about my expressed wish for a third child. In the worst moments of Jo’s convalescence I thought, I cannot do this ever again. How could I want another child, when it would open me up to that much more possibility of fear and hurt and worry? When the frustrations mounted and turned everyday communication into bitter bickering, I thought again: This proves it. Another child could split us up. I can’t be responsible for wanting that.
And then, a week passes, and the memories start to mutate and muffle and pretty soon I’m back to: Well, that sucked. That sucked a lot, but it’s over now and we got through it and we’re fine. Good, even.
So does that prove that we can triumph over challenges? Or that I’m good at rationalization?
I wonder.
by mayberry on August 3, 2008
at community theater production of High School Musical*:
“I love Footloose! It’s, like, my favorite older movie.”
*One of several bribes rewards offered to a certain little patient in return for choking down 6 daily doses of nasty antibiotics.
by mayberry on August 2, 2008
When I saw the Learning Cents bank on Cool Mom Picks, I wanted it for my daughter immediately. The bank has three compartments, so kids can earmark their money for spending, saving, or giving (tzedakah in Hebrew). And at only $20, I thought it was a very good use of my own spending money.
Now, on those rare occasions when we remember to give Jo an allowance–and on the much more frequent occasions when she receives a gift of money–she cheerfully deposits it into all three parts of her bank. It’s such a simple, clear way to show her that we need to prioritize saving and giving just as highly as spending.
(Opie gets an E for effort for his suggestion, during a recent discussion about giving away gently used toys: “I don’t really like my piggy bank anymore. We can give that to children who don’t have one.”)
Typically Jo uses her giveaway stash for the fundraisers that she participates in at school and child care (and we match whatever she contributes). But after her recent hospital stay(s), I’m going to suggest that we make a donation to one of the charities that helped her, or a similar one that benefits sick kids. On her first night at our local children’s hospital, her bed was made up with a quilt from Project Linus and a teddy bear from the Starlight Children’s Foundation. These small touches really helped an institutional room feel more friendly, and she snuggled up with that quilt every single night.
You know I had to participate in this Blog Blast from Parent Bloggers Network: It benefits Generation Cures, an online community for tweens designed to teach them about altruism and about medicine and science. The site was created by Children’s Hospital Boston.
by mayberry on July 29, 2008
ITEM 1: Going home today–maybe, probably, we hope so? Fingers crossed.
ITEM 2: This hospital has been awesome. The next time I get a Zagat survey for children’s hospitals I will give it consistently high marks. The only missing from our room is a reading light, for those (admittedly rare) nights when the kid fell asleep before the parents.
ITEM 3: Suggestion for basement inventors: Please figure out a way to make easily removable adhesive tape for medical use. Oh the screaming.
ITEM 4: When I agreed to try out (well, have Jo try out) Hanes’ No Ride Up underwear for the Parent Bloggers Network, I had no idea that we’d be subjecting the “Comfort Fit Promise”–a money-back guarantee!–to such a rigorous test.
Check The Full Mommy to find out how the Hanes undies fared against a sore post-op tummy (and two ways to get freebies for yourself).
by mayberry on July 27, 2008
It’s now been two full weeks since that offending little piece of tissue was removed and my little girl is still in the hospital. She had to have another surgical procedure on Friday, round two of ridding her body of the infectious gunk that is so firmly lodged in her gut. So far, she seems to be responding well, and we’ll know more tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe she’ll even get to come home.
When we got home from San Francisco last Sunday night, I stayed up until 2 a.m. completing a freelance job that had to be in by 8:30 that Monday morning. After I mailed it off, I stared at my bedroom ceiling for another hour fretting about everything on my long to-do list, from unpacking to catching up on work to Full Mommy reviews to weeding my overgrown flower beds.
Needless to say, another week has evaporated and I’ve done almost none of those things that were so important they kept me up that night. In the hospital, I have wireless but I don’t have any ability to concentrate. If it isn’t the worry (are 5 CT scans too many for a 40-pound, 6-year-old child? How much longer can this possibly go on?), it’s the endless Disney Channel loop, or the nurse coming in or out, or the entreaties to take just one more sip of Gatorade.
These days, more than ever, I feel like every minute spent doing one critical task is a minute stolen from some other equally critical task. Time playing with Opie (an absolute trouper during this whole ordeal, I must note) is time away from Jo’s bedside. Fifteen minutes answering work e-mail is 15 minutes not finding something nutritious for us all to eat. A half-hour sleeping is a half-hour not blogging (aka taking time for myself).
This has been the longest and shortest month of my life. Wake me when it’s over.
by mayberry on July 24, 2008
The bad news is we’re back at the hospital.
The good news is that as setbacks go, this one isn’t awful. (Although hearing the words “If it was my child, I’d want her to have the cat scan tonight–I wouldn’t wait until tomorrow” wasn’t exactly reassuring.) Jo just needs to spend a little more time with an IV pump and a couple of syringes of antibiotics.
And as far as amenities go, our local children’s ward is kicking SF’s butt, what with the superspacious private room and bath. And the slippery vinyl sofa is way better for parental sleep than the slippery vinyl recliner. Oh and here, the cafeteria staff is not on strike, so I can actually eat. Yay for Mayberry.
mayberry mom … all appendectomy, all the time!
by mayberry on July 22, 2008
Well! So that was a fun trip. Jo was discharged on Friday. That’s five nights in the hospital, most of it hooked up to an IV and some other unpleasant tubing; five days without solid food; and at least five tantrums over medicine (taste thereof).
We have been so lucky up to this point with healthy kids. In 6 years we’d never been to the emergency room and the only medical procedure they’d had was one set of itty bitty ear tubes. Now I know it’s true that everything else just falls away when your child is sick and really, really needs you. Jeff and I almost fought over who’d be the one to sleep in her hospital room–we traded off staying there and taking care of Opie. I hated being away from her, even when Opie and I were off having little adventures around the city (taking the Muni to the beach: best $1.50 I spent).
She’s never been so sick, and she’s still not better–she’s achy and tired and sad. I’m afraid she’s lost any faith she had in doctors and medicine and possibly even the power of her parents to make things right. Not exactly the souvenir I’d hoped to bring home from San Francisco.
In the end, Jeff and the kids got one day of sightseeing and I got one day at BlogHer. I missed the keynotes and the parties and seeing many of you, but I’m grateful for those I did get to see, and for all the warm wishes and good thoughts for Jo.
