Monday, October 26, 2009

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

(October 27, 2001)

For my 22nd birthday, he bought me a Sarah McLachlan CD and the DVD of The Secret of Nimh. He wasn't my official boyfriend at this time, but I knew he would come around. ;)

We could talk for hours when we first met about anything (and still can).

He told me he loved me first, but only beat me to it by about half a second.

I knew I would marry him when he told me a story about a ball and his baby brother who was only a year old.

He proposed on Christmas Eve 2000, handing me a card that I read by the lights of our tiny Christmas tree in our first apartment in Ann Arbor. He got down on one knee, and we both cried when he pulled out the small gray, velvet box.

His laughter stirs something deep in me, and when he holds me, it's like coming home.

I will never forget how beautifully proud he looked when he was holding Ronan, and how it was the exact same way he held on to Radha for the first time.

For Better. For Worse. Good Times and Bad....

I love you Peyton.....

Thursday, October 15, 2009

And We Remember....

Jacob and Joshua
The Twins

And the others who went before in hopes no more will come after.....

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Turning a Deaf Ear

I know I don't post much about Radha, and that is a little deliberate, but I gotta rant about the asshat pediatrician that WAS her doctor. As of 8am this morning, another, much more nicer, competent doctor is now Radha's pediatrician.

So, to premise, we have had some issues with Radha since birth about gaining weight and pooping regularly. In short, her stomach has always given her some issues. And since I breastfed her, I have had to deal with MANY, MANY, MANY people (including up to the end, her fucking retarded pediatrician) blaming me for it.

I have been saying FOR A LONG TIME now that I think she has acid reflux. I could hear her constantly swallowing and burping and she would make that face like 'Jesus, that burned something fierce'. We could not feed her more than 4oz. at a time in a bottle, because she would spit up the excess. Every. time.

When I told him for the gazillionth time, he said "all babies spit up"--even as she was dropping from the 25th percentile to the 5th. I decided that I had enough and booked her with another pediatrician.

This morning my little elfin princess got on the scale, I was very pleased that she gained almost a pound since last month (and that is with some serious effort on Peyton feeding that poor child every 2-3 hours during the week and me nursing every 2-3 hours during the weekend). She is 14lbs and 11 oz. She should be around 16-17lbs. The new doctor asked "has she always been small?" and I say yes and proceed to tell him the drinking no more than 4oz at a time, and all the other things that the asshat Pedi dismissed.

"I don't agree with him at all. She has classic reflux, and it is most likely the reason she has not put on the weight she should"

I looked at Peyton and shook my head.

The good news is that she is healthy otherwise, but just small. She is a few weeks behind in milestones, and you can argue that is because she was three weeks early, but MY GOD! With a small dose of a PPI, the acid churning in her stomach, burning her poor, tiny esophagus could be kept under control and she could nurse to her heart's content. I am so freakin' livid about this.

I think there are too many damn instances where we try like hell to tell a doctor there is something wrong, and they turn a deaf ear, annoyed that the internet has interrupted their golf game and they now have to, you KNOW, work for a damn living. Even with my OB, I had to push, and I swear the only reason he listened to me was because I had a PhD and made it a point to show him scientific literature to show he was wrong.

Why do we have to do this? What makes me cringe is how many people sit there and listen to doctors because they are 'experts' and 'doctors' and know everything. How many women have sat there and listened to this asshat tell them that their milk is no good and they should probably switch to all formula? Damn him, and damn all those other 'professionals' who honestly don't give a shit. that I said my peace, I will end by saying this....

Ain't she cute?

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Slivers of Hope

On Monday one of my Sgts softly told our Program Director that her son, who was visiting his father, had not been returned on the scheduled date. Her 3 year old sees his father once or twice a year for a week, usually in the same city as them. For some reason the father wanted to take the boy on a Disney cruise this visit. She agreed and he was supposed to return the boy Saturday.

By Monday, the father was talking weirdness. He had just lost his job and was lashing out, rightfully scaring the Bejesus out of my friend. He could not commit to a date when the boy would be returned. The boy told his mom he was having a good time and he 'just saw his new school'. All hell was breaking loose.

We all tried, in vain, to offer help, support, suggestions. The police would not get involved because it was a civil matter. But, since there was no real custody agreement, as they were never married, so some law enforcement officers and lawyers thought it could be kidnapping. What made matters worse, the father had dual citizenship in the US and in Ghana, adding a cherry on top of an already shit situation.

I went home on Monday fucking sick to my stomach. The bile was in my throat, and I could not concentrate. I had restless sleep, and Tuesday I fumbled through work as I kept an eagle's eye on my friend. She was on the phone, calling anyone who would listen to her story. She didn't know where her son was, and the father was not answering his cell phone.

By the afternoon, she was determined to get on a plane to go find her boy, and reluctantly, the father finally called back and said he was bringing the boy (who was sad now, because he missed his mommy) that evening. He was returned early Wednesday morning and the asshole was served with custody papers, so that he could not visit again without sorting out this limbo mess that my friend inadvertently placed herself and her son in.

When the good news came, we were all relieved, but I nearly cried. I was surprised by my guttural reaction and I really had to take some time to evaluate why I felt this way. I was talking to my friend Gina about my reaction over dinner and she said "You are a mom, it is scary when you see a mom potentially losing her baby"

But that was not quite it.

What got me the most about all of this was watching R's face throughout the course of the day. She had that look.

You know the look.

It was the look we all had on our faces when we discovered that something was not quite right with our babies. When we were laying quiet and we saw the ultrasound tech's expression when witnessing something on the hidden screen, or the look in the eye of the nurse when she placed a wand on a belly and heard silence, or saw the alarm of the ER doctor's face when he slid a finger to check the cervix.

The blood pressure rises, the adrenaline kicks in, and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. As more information is gathered, the fear is all over the face. And until you know the final answer, you grasp at that sliver of hope. That--I am scared out of my fucking mind, but I am not going to believe the worst until I hear it/see it/live it--hope.

She had that look on her face all day Monday. By Tuesday she was nearing hysteria. I felt so helpless and useless, and my prayer was that this did not turn out badly. I prayed that her slivers of hope would be enough for the universe to make it right, and that her boy come home to her safely.

The slivers were enough this time. Sometimes they are. I have to remind myself of this sometimes.