Bottle Fix

During the past few weeks I have spent the majority of the time rocking Timmy. I love holding and cuddling him, but the time was anything but relaxing. Timmy was struggling in pain because of gas and, despite numerous changes in formula and medication dosing, nothing was providing relief. We were essentially held hostage by his gastrointestinal distress, forced to hold and soothe him in a fruitless attempt to ease his pain.  It is terribly frustrating watching your baby suffer!

By the time the weekend rolled around Timmy and I were both exhausted from our gas focused routine.  We were both pale and developing deep circles due to his lack of restful sleep. I was at my wits end, desperate to find a solution to his tummy troubles.  On a whim, I asked my mom (whom I was visiting) to pick up another type of bottle. I was doubtful that the change would make a difference, but having exhausted every other variable I figured it was worth a try. At that point in time, I was willing to try anything to help him.

My mom came home with two new bottles, both exorbitantly expensive but touting to deduce colic and gas. Unimpressed by the claims on the package, I skeptically examined the institutional looking bottle. The Dr. Brown bottle is certainly complex, featuring a straw like valve which I knew would make cleaning a multi-step process. But by this point Timmy was red faced and sweaty from screaming so I tore through the package and made him some fussy baby formula.

Almost immediately I noticed that he was latching on with more intensity, and that the constant dribble down his left cheek was gone. (I had asked his pediatrician about the difficulty he was having sealing around the nipple but was informed that he had some muscle tone weakness and was assured that it would resolve with time.) He gulped down the bottle in record time and, for the first time in weeks, seemed content.

I was encouraged by the expensive, complicated bottles and decided to keep using it for each feeding. Within 24 hours my cranky baby was gone, allowing me to become reacquainted with my sweet little Timmy. I had no idea that switching bottles would make such a difference. I wish I had thought of switching earlier!

Before coming home on Monday my Mom and I made one stop: we went to Babies R Us, where I stocked up to replace all of our bottles with Dr. Brown's. The relief that has been yielded by using the bottle makes it well worth the hefty price tag. As for the difficulty cleaning, I would rather spend a little more time at the sink if it means that my little baby is happy and calm.

Moving Forward

Yesterday I had my stitches removed. With the exception of providing a pillow, the experience with this surgeon was identical to others. I hear from other amputees whose sutures slide right out in a pain-free removal. Apparently my body likes to hold onto the sutures, embedding them and trying to hide remnants deep inside the wound.

The doctor was extraordinarily kind as he dug and cut, chatting about the Fourth of July and summer vacations. I tried to keep up with his repartee, but I finally admitted that I wasn't in a position for friendly banter. I didn't feel in control over what might come out of my mouth. 

After 40 torturous minutes, the sutures were finally all removed. The examination table looked like a mini war scene with blood soaked gauze pads strewn around my freshly angered limb. I was bandaged up, given a pat on my head and sent on my way.

When I went to my appointment, my pain level was at a nagging two. When I emerged from the visit, the level had jumped to a six. Much to my chagrin, it stayed at the elevated level throughout the day, making it difficult for me to function.  Scott and Robby went to the pool, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon holding and rocking Timmy.

Thankfully the pain is fading this morning, and soon the suture removal will be just a memory. On Monday, out of a sense of optimism, I made an appointment to see Elliot to cast for a new leg today. Looking at my limb, riddled with tiny scabbed over trenches, I am doubtful that he will cast. I know that he wants the limb to be completely healed when the process begins, but I am going to give convincing him a try.  At this point, I am so desperate to return to walking that I may even resort to begging/

Stitch Removal

This morning we are all piling into the car and heading to see my surgeon. After an extremely long and frustrating month, my stitches are finally going to be removed. In my mind, the stitch removal marks the beginning of my regaining my mobility, and for that I couldn't be more excited.

I was up most of the night, not with Timmy for a change, but because I was apprehensive about today's appointment. I know that I have healed well and that the stitches are ready to be snipped. Unfortunately the prospect has prompted flashbacks where the removal of stitches in my limb was not nearly as swift or pain free. 

I vividly remember laying on the examining table as the surgeon dug and cut my leg in the quest to find thread remnants left embedded in my healed limb. On more than one occasion, in fact with my amputation and every subsequent revision, my surgeon has had to poke and dig around my tender limb with sharp tweezers and scissors in order to obtain a complete debrided wound. The pain brought me to tears.

Going in for a stitch removal, I always leave with a bloody and extremely painful limb. The fact that the process occurs so callously in the office, with complete disregard for the pain being caused by repeatedly poking into my freshly cut limb, simply adds insult to injury. I wish that the surgeon had recognized the sheer agony being caused, and would have taken steps to make the process more comfortable.  At the very least, a pillow for me to hide my head into would have been appreciated.

This procedure was performed by a different surgeon, so I keep trying to remind myself that the stitch removal might be different. Regardless, I can't seem to shake the memories from my past procedures. I am going to this appointment excited about moving forward yet terrified about the final step.

Wish me luck!

Trampoline

This morning I am again waking up at my Mom's house. I had every intention of going home yesterday but was swayed by Robby's pleas to stay another night.  To be completely honest it didn't take much to convince me, the promise of a good night sleep and relinquishing nighttime bottle duty to somebody else is rather appealing!

I was surprised when Robby wanted to stay, not because he doesn't love his Nana but because he tends to be a homebody. Scott left yesterday evening to go home to care for the cats and check on the house, and typically Robby becomes upset when he sees his Daddy drive away. This time he offered a curt wave good-bye as he ran down the back stairs to the trampoline.

Yes, a trampoline. The mother who refused to let us on one, who summarily shut down our requests to buy one when we were little because they were "too dangerous and we'd all break our arms" now has a 16" jumping trampoline in the center of her backyard for her grandchildren. This leads me to the conclusion that she either loves her grandchildren more or doesn't care about broken arms when they are not on her health insurance policy. I'd like to think it is the latter.

Robby and his cousins were over-the-moon with the trampoline, spending the entire weekend jumping and playing outside. Each evening Robby would finally come inside, a sweaty mess but wearing a smile from ear-to-ear. At our family picnic yesterday the trampoline was full with extended cousins and friends, allowing the parents to stay on the deck to talk without constant interruptions. The only child who was not jumping was Timmy, who as it turns out was content to be held by everybody.

It is going to be difficult to convince Robby to come home, but if he wants to stay a few more days I am not going to argue. The sleep has done me wonders. I'm feeling better, and stronger because of the help and rest. She has also provided me even more motivation to heal and start walking again. I can't wait to get on the trampoline! 

Fourth of July

Happy Fourth of July!!

Today will be laid back and quiet. Robby, Timmy and I have been at my Mom's for the past few days and Scott is due to arrive today. My Mom is throwing a family picnic on Sunday, so today will be spent cooking and resting up for the big party. 

I am hoping to be able to take Robby to see some fireworks, but this will only happen if we can find a location which requires minimal walking. I hate that so many of our summer traditions have been stymied because of my surgery. As far as I am concerned, I am ready to get my leg and start walking. Of course, my doctor might have a different perspective on the topic.

A few nights ago, while changing into his pajamas, Robby saw lightening bugs in the yard. He excited ran to me and asked me to come outside and help. Yet again I had to explain that I can't walk, but offered to watch him from the window. It breaks my heart not being able to do things with him!

Undeterred by my absence, he slung his bug box around his shoulder, stepped into his cowboy boots and ran outside. Unfortunately he never finished putting on his pajamas. I watched from the window as my little eight year old boy ran through the yard in nothing more than his Angry Bird underwear, cowboy boots and a bug box.

Seeing my naked little bug catcher outside, I realized that my current limitations are impacting me more than my family. Although he would prefer I be with him, Robby has adjusted well to our new arrangement. It is definitely harder for me to accept sitting on the sidelines watching the summer fun through the window. 

If we don't make it to the fireworks today I am going to try to shrug it off. I know that I will be better by Labor Day, and there will be more fireworks to see. This definitely isn't the summer I wanted, but it is the one I have so I'm going to make the best of it. It's the Fourth of July weekend, and we are going to have fun despite my surgery!

Eleven Years

Eleven years ago today I started a new life. Scott drove me to the hospital with my left foot, disfigured by the constant pain I had been living with for five agonizing years. I did my research and took a leap of faith that my life would be better without the pain, even if that meant living without the limb.

The morning of July 3, 2003, was one of the scariest of my life. We didn't speak during the 2 hour drive to Baltimore; my crying was the only sound breaking the silence in the car. I was terrified of being an amputee, but I also knew that I couldn't live the rest of my life hostage to the pain from a defunct foot. I didn't know what to expect, but I did know that my life would be forever changed.

Opting to amputation was, without a doubt, the hardest decision I have ever made. The finality of removing a limb was petrifying, and I feared that I would live to regret the choice. After eleven years, I can honestly say that I am a happier and healthier person because I surrendered my foot. Amputating my foot allowed me to return to my life, and for that I will be forever grateful. 

Today is my Ampuversary! I'm not sad or mournful. Instead I am feeling reflective and content. If I hadn't made that brave decision eleven years ago, I wouldn't have the life I am living today. I have a wonderful husband and two amazing boys. I have a job which has become my passion. I have met amazing people and have had some surreal experiences, all because I am an amputee. Although I continue to have my struggles, today I am realizing that I am incredibly fortunate.  Happy Ampuversary to me!

Super Freak

This past fall I was presented with an unexpected, yet intriguing opportunity. I was contacted through this blog and invited to participate in the filming of a music video. Lacking both dancing and singing talent, I knew that sight unseen would be the only way I would ever be in a music video. I jumped on the opportunity with very little information, excited about the experience and confident that I would end up on the cutting room floor once my lack of talent was realized.

In October I left Robby at my mom's and hopped onto a train for New York City. I was already feeling the impact of being pregnant, nauseous all the time and bloated.  I desperately wanted to feel pretty and confident, yet in reality I felt fat, ugly and toxic. I tried my best to push my insecurities to the side and concentrated on enjoying the moment and the wonderful adventure of participating in a music video.

With the eclectic cast, I was unsure about what to expect or how I would fit in with the production. My insecurities were so strong that I was confident that everybody involved with bringing me to New York instantly regretted their choice when they saw me. I was definitely out of my comfort zone, but I also knew that I would regret not seeing my commitment through to the end. I mustered all of my acting ability, which granted is limited, and pretended to feel both confident and pretty.

I haven't heard anything since the filming and was beginning to believe that I was cut altogether. However, last week I opened up Facebook and was surprised to find a message from the artist. In preparation for the video release, a behind the scenes video was created. Nervously excited about what I would see, I wheeled into the bathroom with my computer (the only room in the house where I was confident I would be undisturbed) and clicked play.

Instead of being horrified, I was delighted by the behind-the-scenes video. Not only had time completely skewed my memory of how I looked on that day, but I was happy that I didn't appear nearly as nervous and insecure as I felt. Although the title of the song, SuperFreak, may be off-putting to some, it has a message that I am proud to put my name behind.

The song celebrates diversity in all forms. Although I don't view myself as a freak, I have come to accept that others might. Some perceive anybody with a difference with a filter of shame and scorn, ignorantly believing that different is automatically bad. I have long believed that different is neither good nor bad; it is simply an opportunity to be unique. This song parrots that belief and celebrates the individual. 

I am prepared to hear from those who are offended by my offering myself as a "freak," but I stand by my participation in this video. I talk with amputees frequently who are apprehensive about showing their prosthetic. Fearful of the looks and words of others, they are resigned to live in the shadows. The looks of others should not define a person's self worth, nor should the absence of a limb. I know that people look at me when I am in public, and if they have a problem with my prosthetic showing, the problem is theirs alone. I am not ashamed of missing my leg, and I am proud of living my life as an active and happy amputee woman.

Chipping away at the stereotypes that are held about amputees, I am optimistic that we will eventually be able to change the perspectives and dialog concerning limb loss. This video provided another platform for me to share the message that life does not end with the loss of a limb. So, with no further adieu, enjoy the behind the scenes video. And yes, I promise to post the completed video when it is released.