Sick Day

Sunday afternoon Robby was invited to a play date with his friend down the street. He was so excited to play with his friend that he literally sprinted out of the car to run to her door. About two hours later our door bell rang, and a sick little boy was on the other side.  Apparently while his friend was getting a game from her room, Robby had curled onto the couch, covered himself with a blanket and fell asleep.  Obviously, this is not usual behavior for a play date!

Sunday evening he continued to disintegrate. Between near constant coughing and a fever, he had a difficult night. By the time the sun rose, I had already made the decision that he was not going to school. He was most unhappy when he staggered into the living room and in a raspy voice stated that "his cough had eaten his voice."

Thankfully we have a wonderful pediatrician who was quickly able to fit him into the schedule. After his exam the verdict was rendered. My little guy has bronchitis. I hate seeing him sick, but I did take solace in the fact that his ears were clear of infection. If we had not had the tubes inserted, I have no doubt we would be dealing with bronchitis and double ear infections. (I fully admit that I am grasping for positives, but at this point I'll take what I can get!)

He spent the afternoon curled up on the couch, lifting his head only to ask when his daddy would be home. I tried to get some work done, but I had a difficult time focusing. I felt so helpless listening to his coughing, and although I knew that he would be well again soon, seeing a child sick is always hard. I finally put away the computer and resigned myself to streaming Scooby Doo for the rest of the day. (Spoiler alert- the phantom/ghost/monster is ALWAYS either somebody wearing a mask or an elaborate machine.)

With antibiotics coursing through his body and lots of tender loving care (and a little spoiling), Robby should be well enough to return to school on Wednesday. We are, of course, expecting a major snowstorm so I am not holding my breath about his attending school this week. Thankfully I have more than enough work to keep me busy at home while housebound. 

Pregnancy + Cancer = A Frightening Reality

I learned a long time ago about the power which comes from putting words to your emotions. Left unsaid, fears and frustrations can become a toxic force. Lately I have been guilty of not taking my own advice because I've been struggling, and I have been hesitant to share.  Instead of openly acknowledging the situation and the fears, I have been trying to put on a stoic face. Needless to say, this approach has not been working. It's time I start being honest with others and with myself.

I have openly written about my experiences as a cancer survivor. I try not to dwell on my cancer experience; in truth I would rather erase those memories all together. I suppose my avoidance is partly out of fear of a recurrence but primarily because I don't want to be the recipient of the "poor thing" look which is often bestowed upon survivors.  I detest being viewed as weak!

Although my status as survivor does not define my life, the experience has certainly had a profound impact on who I am today. I often refer to Robby as my little miracle because, had I listened to the experts, he would not be here. I was told that although I had the heart and soul of a Mom, my body could not make that dream a reality. I never expected to receive yet another miracle which is why we were shocked and overjoyed when I learned that I was expecting again. 

Just when I began to digest the news that I was going to be a Mom again at 40, our miracle was overshadowed by a devastating report. The cancer which I have fought against and have feared for a decade, has returned. I am officially considered a pregnant cancer patient.  To be more specific, my medical record touts me as an amputee, pregnant cancer patient with advanced maternal age and active pituitary cluster tumors.  I have grown weary of labels and would much prefer to be called Peggy.

I have taken solace in the the experts' assurances that I will be okay. Approximately six weeks after the baby is born, I will undergo surgery to remove my uterus, including any (and hopefully all) malignancies. We are hoping that no further treatment will be needed, but we won't have a guarantee until after the baby is born. I am being monitored closely, but there is nothing else to be done at this time.

As if the cancer diagnosis wasn't devastating enough, I learned that the pituitary clusters which had gone dormant, have now fully ripened. A few weeks after my uterus is removed, I will again be in the operating room to remove the clusters. Thankfully we know that these little tumors are benign! I do have to admit that the prospect of neurological surgery, a few weeks after gynecological surgery, which will happen a few weeks after I give birth, has rendered me both scared and overwhelmed.

I'm hoping for the best, but my mind is spinning with worst case scenario preparations. I wish that I could just enjoy the pregnancy with my only worries revolving around integrating a newborn into our family dynamic. At times I feel such paralyzing fear that I can't move. I want to run away and hide, but I know all too well that this is not something that evasion will fix. I look at Robby or I feel the baby kick, and I know that somehow I will figure out a way to cope. After all I have to--I'm a Mom and Moms don't have the luxury of hiding.

We have tried to deal with this diagnosis internally. Other than family and a few close friends, I haven't spoken openly about the newest battles. I suppose I just wasn't ready to face it, or maybe I just didn't think I had the strength to cope. I have come to realize that this isn't news that I can deal with privately. I am not SuperWoman, and I don't have the strength to pretend that everything is okay.

Much of my hesitancy in writing about the diagnosis lies in fearing the reactions from others. I don't want to be cast as living in a shadow of despair. I detest pity and cannot bear to be viewed as pathetic. I need others to help me focus on the true blessing of this situation;I am about to be a Mom again and for that I could not be happier!

More than anything, I just want to enjoy this pregnancy and feel the rush of anticipation and excitement as the delivery approaches. Instead, I have felt guilt because I am afraid of what will happen after the baby is born. As long as my little miracle is inside me, I know that I can avoid reality. Delivery will mark the beginning of a medical journey which I am dreading. Sometimes I think that we are both safer as long as I'm pregnant.

With time, I know that these experiences will simply become memories. The latest medical blips will be added to the list of obstacles which I have overcome. I don't know how, but I do know that we will figure a way through this situation. 

In the meantime, I am sure I will continue to struggle with a roller coaster of emotions as I come to terms with what lies ahead. I'm scared, and I've never dealt with that emotion gracefully. I'm hoping that I will be able to draw strength from going public and being true to my feelings. At this point, I figured it can't hurt to be honest!

The Big "O" Talk-- Courtesy of Good Morning America

Robby is at that age where he is highly influenced by what he sees on television. Because he is a little sponge, I try to keep a close eye on what he watches. Unfortunately, sometimes I slip up and he sees something that is entirely inappropriate.  Yesterday I experienced one of those parental fails.

Like me, my little guy loves a bargain. He is particularly fond of the Steals and Deals segment on Good Morning America. Every Thursday he hovers around the television as the shiny boxes are lifted to reveal "amazing bargains." He often begs for us to take advantage of the deal, mimicking the hosts by spouting all of the product's attributes and the money saving opportunity. On rare occasions I agree and hop on the computer to snag the deal. 

Yesterday morning I was getting ready to drive the neighbor up to the bus stop when I remembered that Steals and Deals was about to air. I turned the channel from SpongeBob to Good Morning America, and told Robby to keep his eye out for a good bargain. I grabbed my keys and drove Rowan to meet the school bus. Robby remained on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV anticipating the deal of a lifetime

I came back a few minutes later and Robby had not moved. I glanced at the television and realized that I had not missed the deals. I sat next to him and immediately felt uncomfortable when I realized the topic of the segment which I had instructed Robby to watch.

Instead of Steals and Deals, Robby watched an entire segment detailing a new medical breakthrough to promote female orgasms. Almost reading my mind, he looked at me and asked, "Momom, do you have trouble with organisms in the bedroom. Organisms are between your sheets somewhere. If you do, you can get this new shot. It might make you really really REALLY scream."

I was horrified by his innocent inquiry and possible solution. Not quite knowing how to react, I did the only thing I could think to do. I told him that I was fine and assured him that I do not need a shot. I could tell that he was impressed by the segment.  Before he could continue his plea for me to try to remarkable new organism shot, I did the only thing I could think of to change the topic.  I offered him a cupcake.  Thankfully he became distracted by the treat and, by the time he had crammed it into his mouth, Deals and Steals began to reveal the amazing bargains. I can only hope that he was impressed enough by the bargains and the unexpected treat to pursue the "organism" discussion.

From now on, I will no longer trust Good Morning America as a child-friendly program. Saving money on some products is not worth the adult themed discussions which may ensue from watching the show. Thankfully Robby is still at an age where he is distracted by pastries!

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.