A Bleh Day

Between dealing with a grumpy soon-to-be dental patient and the dreary winter weather, yesterday was not my best day. I woke up early (no surprises) and, unable to go back to sleep, finally surrendered to the insomnia and ventured out to the living room. I had a roaring fire going by the time he early news started streaming school cancellations and delays.

Despite the icy conditions, I was surprised that neither Scott nor Robby had a delayed opening.  Fully expecting a cancellation or delay, Scott was less than personable when he ventured out for work. I felt a twinge of guilt when I realized that part of me was happy to have him out of the house for the day. He has been solemn, depressed and difficult to converse with since realizing that a dental procedure is imminent. I was at my wits end with his phobia and was glad to be free of the issue and drama for a few hours. 

Looking out the window before taking Robby to school, I made a calculated decision and declared a Momom imposed school delay. The driveway and stairs were icy and slick.  I don't feel save walking on ice with my prosthesis, and I feel even more vulnerable trying to traverse the slippery conditions while pregnant. Robby, of course, was overjoyed with the decision. After jumping on the couch while singing a tune of celebration, he scampered away to play games on the computer while the ice melted.

90 minutes later the ice was melting and we headed to school. Apparently I was not the only parent to have made the delayed opening decision because his class was sparse. (There were only four students in his class.) I saw a line of students and parents driving into the parking lot as I was leaving. I felt slightly vindicated that I was not the only ice-fearing parent.

The dreary and steady cold rain combined with the constant flow of foreboding text messages lamenting the dental appointment made it difficult for me to remain upbeat. After spending two hours researching dental phobias searching for a way to help him cope, I came to the realization that there is nothing that I can do to fix the situation. Accepting that I cannot fix something is difficult for me, but I recognize that I out of my element. I can offer no other solutions other than support. For my own sanity, avoidance is probably the best option.

Hopefully the rain will stop and the sun will peak out and say hello today. I could use a little sunshine right now! If the sun doesn't come out, I suppose I'll have to settle for a cupcake.

Teaching Flop

Yesterday was busy. Between work meetings, writing an appeal and running to the grocery store in preparation for the predicted ice storm, I had to carve out time for the most important appointment of the day.  This wasn't an ordinary appointment, and my attendance was my top priority. I was invited to talk with Robby's class about Braille.

Robby peppered me with reminders and questions all morning about the presentation. Before we left for school he gave me a huge bear hug and smothered me with kisses. "Momom, thank you for coming to talk with my class. I feel really proud when you come and teach us. It would be super duper fun if you brought a treat too. Maybe cupcakes?"  Let there be no doubt that he is my son!

Although his request for cupcakes made me smile, his sentiments made my heart melt. I love that he enjoys and looks forward to my involvement with his class. In a few years, I'm sure he won't be nearly as excited to see my smiling face walk through his classroom door.  For now, I am thoroughly enjoying the smiles that I receive even though I know that they will soon turn into eye rolls. 

With the suggested cupcakes in hand, I walked into Robby's class at the requested time. His eyes, along with those of his classmates, lit up when they saw me enter. I would like to think that they were happy to see me, but I'm fairly certain that their reaction could be traced directly to the cupcakes I was holding.

Sitting in a circle on the floor, I began to talk to the class about Braille. I was a bit taken aback by their lack of exposure to this form of reading. I have known Braille for almost 20 years and for me, it is second nature. Robby grew up with a variety of print-to-braille books. Although he can't read Braille, he understands its purpose and use. His classmates couldn't identify any places where they have ever seen Braille, much less comprehend that people can read with their fingertips. 

More than the lack of exposure, I suppose I was more disturbed the fact that none of them seemed to have any interest in what I was teaching. With the exception of Robby, the students consistently voiced their boredom with the topic. After a few minutes of floundering, I was able to regain my bearings and retooled my approach. While I didn't accomplish everything that I had planned, at least his classmates understood that Braille existed and had a basic understanding as to its purpose. They seemed to enjoy seeing their names in Braille but consistently complained (some would say whined) that the dots did not resemble the print alphabet.

When I was Robby's age, a speaker came into my class and taught us about Braille.  I credit this early exposure to my pursuing the teaching of blind and visually impaired children as a career.  I was hoping to have made a similar impression on a younger generation today. This was not the case. Although the lesson did not go as well as I had planned,  I'll settle for broadening the horizons of the students. Thankfully I was able to redeem myself with the cupcakes and, by the time I left the class, all of the Braille aggravations seemed to have been forgotten. 

Medical Phobia

It is immensely difficult to help somebody whom you care about navigate through their phobias. Recognizing that their reaction is extreme does nothing to allay their fears. Trying to employ logic is futile. I wish I knew the proper approach, but regardless of the tactic I employed, the result was the same.

Scott and I have been together for nearly 14 years. During that time we have overcome numerous obstacles including my cancer diagnosis and amputation. Although both were difficult tests, there was a common denominator which I have overlooked.  The health crises were mine; Scott's role was that of companion and cheerleader. He has never been the patient. It turns out that he is a great cheerleader but an abysmal patient.

Scott suffers from what I can only describe as a medical phobia. Avoidance has worked for him until this past weekend when he cracked a tooth. Shaking, sweating and pale, he could barely vocalize his need to go to the dentist without breaking down. The remainder of the weekend was spent trying to calm down a scared patient whose fears were real yet irrational.

Looking at him, I knew that his emotions were legitimate. There was no doubt that he was petrified, almost paralyzed by his fears of visiting the dentist. To no avail I tried to rationalize with him, pointing out that in the scheme of life visiting the dentist ranked low on the trauma scale. I think he heard what I was saying, but he was not accepting the truth. In his mind, visiting the dentist was akin to walking the Green Mile before execution. 

My emotions vacillated between compassion, frustration, anger, irritability and confusion as I watched him become increasingly anxious and terrified before his appointment. Robby, recognizing the fears, tried to console his Daddy by reminding him that he was scared before his ear surgery but that he had to "man up" and just do it. Despite our efforts, we made no headway. He simply dissolved as the appointment approached.

Scott was clammy, pale, shaking and sweating when he walked into the dentist office (which he consistently referred to as his torture chamber.) The dentist and her receptionist could not have been kinder, but I think that they were even taken aback by his extreme reaction. Despite his fears, he finally assumed his position in the examination chair. The look on his face when I walked out of the room reminded me of Robby's demeanor on his first day of Kindergarten. Both personified fear and confusion.

Two hours later Scott finally emerged from the little room and, although his shaking had calmed down, he remained visibly upset. I'm hoping that exposure will help to minimize his very real phobia because he will be returning to the office numerous times in the coming months. I'm fairly confident I can't help or handle his phobia.

Ominous Click

I have been an amputee for more than a decade, yet I am surprised by how much I am still learning. Last week I wrote about a clicking sound from my prosthesis. What began as a slight annoyance at the beginning of the week turned into a source of embarrassment and frustration by Friday. The sound grew louder as the week progressed, and I realized that unlike many prosthetic noises, it wasn't going to go away. 

Friday morning I went to visit Elliot, my prosthetist, for a diagnosis and tune up. I sure am glad I didn't wait through the weekend to get rid of the clicking! Almost as soon as I walked into his office and he heard the sound I was directed to immediately sit down. He took my leg and, without hesitation or much effort, pulled the foot completely off the socket.

Apparently the clicking sound was the result of the bolts loosening. As I continued to walk through the week, the bolts were progressively losing their grip to the socket. If I had planted my foot and twisted, the entire prosthesis would have disassembled. I had no idea that I was flirting with a prosthetic catastrophe!

Thankfully injury was averted and my leg was quickly fixed. From now on I am going to heed the sounds being communicated through my prosthesis. If I ever hear the clicking sound again, I won't put it off for a week and hope it goes away.

White Flag Weekend

I am officially waving the white flag and surrendering to the overwhelming fatigue, mild forgetfulness and overall ickyness that I have been experiencing as the result of increase in my medication. I realize that these side effects are temporary, so I am left with no choice but to try to ride it out. Thankfully the weekend has arrived, and I plan on carving out ample opportunities for rest. As far as I can tell, the only thing on tap for this weekend is the Superbowl and, other than the snacks and halftime show, I could care less about the game. Based upon the cupcake selection at the grocery store, I think both teams wear blue; my factoids are expended with that little tidbit. 

My medication was increased on Wednesday, but Thursday morning I was already feeling the impact. I felt like the roadrunner who had been hit with the Coyote's anvil. After taking Mr. Bill to the doctor in the morning and trying to get some work done, I finally gave up and laid down. I woke up two hours later, startled by the sound of my own snoring. 

Today my schedule is light, something for which I am grateful! I have to go see Elliot in the morning for a combination of work and patient issues. My new socket fits great, but now my foot is clicking with each step. I find it annoying when I'm at home and mildly embarrassing when I am in public. I'm hoping that it is an easy fix because I'm tired of announcing myself each time I walk into a room. Talk about drawing undo attention!

Once the clicking has been addressed and Robby has been picked up from school, I plan on promptly changing into my pajamas. At this point, I have no intention of changing into real clothes until Monday morning when I drop Robby back off at school. I'm hoping that time and plenty of rest will both work to help my body adjust to this new medication.

Another Snow Day...

It would certainly be an understatement to say that I was shocked to receive the 5 AM "school is cancelled" telephone call yesterday morning. I watched the news on Tuesday night and fully bought into the confidence exuded by our local weather team. They promised that we had no snow forecast for our region. I believed them.  It turns out that we were both wrong.

We didn't have a lot of snow, but apparently the flurries took everybody by surprise. None of the roads were pre-treated allowing every flake to firmly stick to the roads. By the time the sun rose, the snow event was over leaving a half inch of pretty flakes and scores of happy school children (and teachers) in its wake. 

Both boys were elated with the cancellation of school. Robby quickly dubbed it, "It's a miracle no school have fun and play Xbox in your jammies snow day." After devouring a plate of bacon and pancakes, he set out on his mission of achieving XBox bliss. He was a happy little koopa!

Both Robby and Scott spent the day lounging around the house, basking in the delight of an unexpected day off. I was frequently chastised for being on the computer and not enjoying the snow day. The fact that I work from home and that my obligations were not voided because of snow seemed to be irrelevant.  After all, they had a fun day and expected that I would follow suit.  I'm hopeful that they will eventually come to realize that I am working even though I am home, but I'm not overly optimistic that the revelation will occur anytime soon.

Both boys will return to school today, and I am going to try (again) to get back on schedule. I know that they both love snow days, but this Mom (and wife) desperately needs a break.  If the weatherman leads me astray again and there is another snow day soon, I fear that somebody is going to end up sleeping in the tree house.  I can guarantee it won't be me!

Adventures at the OB/GYN

After a difficult weekend, Monday morning I finally went to my much anticipated OB/GYN appointment. Before I proceed, I must say that going to this doctor ranks only slightly higher than getting a root canal without Novocaine or a colonoscopy without anesthesia on my list of preferred activities. Although I despise going, I realize that the visits are a necessary part of being pregnant.  Of course, that doesn't stop me from complaining.

Sitting in the waiting room, it became obvious that I am not the only woman who dreads the "lady exam." The chairs were full of women of all ages, shuffling in their seats and absent-mindedly paging through antiquated copies of People and  US. Nobody made eye contact and the only sounds in the room were the ringing telephone and the turning of pages.  Finally, after waiting 30 minutes past my appointment time, my lucky number was called, and I was invited into the coveted examination room.

Being called into the exam room, especially after a lengthy wait, always provides me with a misguided sense of relief as if I had hit the lottery. I eagerly anticipate the opening of the door.  I should know better. The exam room typically only equates to another wait, just with fewer (and older) magazines and limited opportunities for people watching.

Although I couldn't see anybody, I inadvertently realized that the thin walls allowed ample opportunity for eavesdropping. Waiting for my appointment, I overheard the following conversation which occurred in the examination room adjoining mine. 

Doctor:  "Do you have any questions for me?"

Patient:  "Um. Just one. Is there anyway you can change this due date?"

Doctor: "Well, based upon your examination and the information you provided, that is our best guess of when the baby will be born. We'll be able to adjust as the baby grows."

Patient:  "You don't understand. My boyfriend has been away for six months. If I tell him I'm three months pregnant, he might start to ask me questions."

silence

Doctor:  "The date can't be changed that much.  Please take this form to the front desk and we'll see you in a month."

Who would have thought that I'd be privy to just a juicy soap opera tale. I was both intrigued and disgusted simultaneously. My mind began to conjure scenarios and lurid details. Just as I was feeling doubtful about the future of humanity,  the baby kicked and I was reminded that not everybody is doomed.

Finally, after another 20 minutes of waiting (as you can imagine I was becoming annoyed), the doctor decided to grace me with her presence. The examination went as well as I predicted, and I was quickly re-wrapped in my paper gown for the post speculum chat. She asked if I was feeling especially hormonal. Without thought, I blurted  "I don't feel like I'm hormonal, but I have become acutely aware that I am surrounded by an inordinate number of assholes."

The look on her face was priceless! I can't be certain, but I'm fairly sure I heard a chuckle from the occupant of the room next door. Apparently thin walls work in both directions. The doctor ordered additional blood work (to test for hormone levels) and sent me out the door. I left satisfied with the knowledge that I don't have to return for another four weeks and comfortable that I was able to provide another patient with some comic relief during her lengthy wait.