Chesed

1.  You know you’ve reached a new level of sick baby when your silent internal conversation at night switches from rather demanding “Would you please sleep through the night again” to whispered “please wake up little one just so I know you’re still alive.”  Oddly enough, he slept all night and I think (whispered very softly so as not to jinx anything) we’ve turned a corner in a good direction.

2.  There’s a lot to be said for the nursing profession as a job where you take either the day or the night shift but not both.  Where you choose a subspecialty line of work.  And where you actually get a day off.

Then again, there’s a lot to be said for being a mom and taking care of the sick in your pajamas and not having to crawl into a freezing cold car at six in the morning.

Last night on the way into town Adam and I were conversing about a number of subjects.

A:  “Mommy, why do cigarettes turn your kidneys black?”

Me:  “You mean lungs?”

A:  “Yeah, why do they?  …..Where is the nicotine inside?  ….How do they put the smoke in there?  …I’m glad you never smoked, mommy.”

(How often are we going to have to have this cigarette conversation?????)

And then we were discussing the nursing home we were driving towards and why the people live there and how it’s kind of us to go sing and what would happen and what would be good behavior for him while we are singing.

A:  “Then who’s going to share the message?”  (Is someone apparently listening at church?  Can’t you just hear it…We’re glad to have Brother Ivan share the message today…)

Me:  “No one.  We just have devotions not a message.”

A:  “Oh.  Pa Beachy had a good message today.  He just has an amazing voice for preaching.”

Life at our house is slowly resuming a semblance of normal.  A better word would be functional.  While I was not expecting this to be lunch at McDonalds, I was not exactly prepared for how terrible it would really be.  I think I expected something similar to having your tonsils removed or a c-section.  Funny.  Very funny.  Except that it really wasn’t. 

I have never in my life seen David Lee in so much pain, not even when he broke his hand.  That first week post-op has become a muddled jumble in my mind of running, running, running — walking close to David Lee every time he got up for the first four days because he was so lightheaded, making sure he at least nibbled on crackers and drank sprite with every dose of percocet because it made him so nauseous, trying in vain to think of something good to eat for one person who is nauseous and not hungry because of pain and another person who is not one bit hungry thanks to stress, getting up at night with a baby who always sleeps through the night but now gets up several times a night thanks to teething or learning to crawl (why do my babies do that waking after crawling thing?) or mommy’s stress level or all three, mucking out nasty puppy bedding straw, answering yet another puppy phone call, running to the pharmacy for more dressing supplies, going to therapy which at first meant getting up at 7 for a 10:30 appointment so I could help everyone get dressed (including David Lee) and returning at 1 and then doing it again and again and again.  Just getting everyone in and out of the car felt like a workout.  For the five days, I didn’t get more then a 2 1/2 hour stretch of uninterrupted sleep. 

Then things got better.  The last puppy sold and I felt like a different person.  David Lee’s swelling diminished somewhat and the surgeon switched him to vicodin and started him on antibiotics because things were looking iffy.  He also aspirated 50 ccs of bloody fluid off his knee which helped him get through that day of therapy.  By the next, the swelling was as bad as ever.  He did quit looking like an 80 yr old man with the drug switch though and started interacting with us much more like his usual self.  Suddenly I felt as though I had some emotional support.  Like, he at least talked to me again.  Steve and Christy came two days before Christmas and oh, how wonderful that was.  By day 7, David Lee could shower solo as long as I could help him in and out.  By day 10, he was on his own except for driving.  One day shy of two weeks he ditched the crutches for the most part.  I couldn’t believe it when he came around the corner and said, “Hey, sweetie, look!” 

In the last three days, we’ve started having fun.  We get to sleep in and stay up later then normal.  David Lee is working on office work and camp related things some from home inbetween therapy and helping me with the boys some.  Interestingly enough, therapy helps with the pain almost as much as narcotics now that he’s further out from surgery.  One of his friends from work is a professional bike trainer and offered David Lee the use of his stationary bike.  We’ve been going through the therapy workout 1-2 times a day at home as much as we can on the inbetween days — 15 minutes of heat, stretches, 10 minutes on the bike, 10 minutes slow walking on the treadmill, 15 minutes of ice.  He always limps less afterwards. 

                                                                     Adam’s three loves: the hat, camoflauge, and airplanes                Liam says, I can do that, too.

The first time I watched the therapist stretch him I decided it was the male version of a laboring woman in transition.  Just to get his knee close to 90 degrees had David Lee sweating, grimacing, and squeezing bars with his hands.  I watched his thigh muscles spasm in rebellion and knew he must be at an 11 on a pain scale of 1-10.  He’s still not much past a 90 but it’s coming degree by degree.  When he asked the therapist, “how far am I going to have to go?”  Lloyd said, “Oh, you’re heel needs to touch your hip again.”  Oh.

The good news at our house is it’s 2009!  Happy New Year to you all!  I am so excited about having the best year of my life yet.  New Years always feels that way.

The other exciting thing is Liam is crawling.  I’m still in shock as I watch him crawl, get into things, pull himself to his feet, rock with his big toy ball, tumble, roll, and go again.  Adam didn’t crawl til he was 9 months old so this feels like a big surprise. 

Yikes…I didn’t realize what time it is.  We’re scheduled to go sing at the nursing home tonight.  David Lee overdid it going to church and came home with pitting edema.  It felt a little late in the game to find a replacement so I get to solo parent again.  Wish me well.

The post-op honeymoon is over. David Lee’s knee is swollen and so painful he can’t lift his leg. His incision is oozing enough bright red fluid to saturate three 4×4’s, a roll of kerlix, and the ACE bandage in about ten hours. Percocet’s not cutting it and now with a dose of toradol on top he’s finally in a deep sleep. I’m just hoping the little pharmacy five minutes from here is open because I’m out of dressing supplies and had to resort to gauze topped with paper towels last night. And now instead of walking with one crutch, he nearly fainted using two. I wish, I wish, I wish he were downstairs instead of up. Please let there not be ice again tomorrow morning when we go for therapy. And please, God, let those last two puppies sell tomorrow.

edited to add: I always feared this would happen when I was at work; but it never did. Now, w/ no back up support outside the room, my “patient” got lightheaded, and after we got him into a sitting position turned grey, sweated profusely, and hyperventilated. I’ve never felt so frantically stuck … couldn’t reach the phone, couldn’t leave him, couldn’t lift him… I helped him ease to the floor where he started looking just a little more normal and after some Coke was able to get up. And while I don’t think he totally lost consciousness, he doesn’t remember everything either. Next time … er, let’s just hope there’s not a next time.

Life on December 19th has certainly held a greater quality of life status then I anticipated. David Lee’s pain level has stayed amazingly under control. Thank you, percocet.

Yesterday was the longest morning of my life. Well, right up there next to the two days between when David Lee called me to see if we could meet for coffee and the moment of him actually asking me out for our first date. At least this time I didn’t get caught practicing what I was going to say while mowing lawn. But I digress.

We had to be in by 6:30 and narrowly escaped having the wrong knee operated on. It was wrong on the schedule and he corrected them at the front desk. Then when he was prepped and Liam and I stood there keeping him company, the surgeon came in and after a few preliminaries said, “do you have your knee marked?” We’d joked that morning about the fun we could have with a sharpie. I thought I could draw a dotted line, “cut here.” David Lee thought we should draw a scalpel with a circle and an “x” on the wrong knee. Nice insult to the intelligence, huh. But we ended up not doing anything. And when I told Dr S. I’d thought of scribbling “oops” on the wrong knee he leaned over and scribbled. When he walked out, I realized he’d written “yes.” Excuse me?

The nurse walked in and said, “Ok, so we’re doing your right ACL….”

Nope.

What?

So they got a fifteen minute late start because they had to rearrange the OR. Funny. Or not.

I wish I’d know how many times I looked at my watch and discovered a whopping three minutes had passed. Mom came to join me around 9 which was such a God-send. I was just trying to figure out how I was going to get a huge diaper bag, my purse, the stroller, David Lee’s computer bag, our coats, and Liam who thought the stroller was NOT for sitting in, in to the bathroom, down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and then out to the car for David Lee’s knee brace.

And finally it was all over. Go here for a look at what they did if you’re scientifically interested. Oh, and his screws are the bio-absorbable ones otherwise they could be describing his surgery exactly. Less then an hour later they were ready to shove us out the door; but David Lee was still feeling pretty lightheaded so we stayed another hour or so. We just barely got his completely straight leg into our Ford Escape by putting the seat back so he could scrunch up higher. Let’s just say he won’t be riding in comfort or style for awhile. Ouch.

Home again and he didn’t fall out on the front steps, thank you, Jesus. And while I knew we weren’t home free, that in itself felt like getting walked to first base. Very, very safe.

They gave him a femoral block pre-op and sent him home with a polar pack that circulates 40 something degree water around his knee. It looks like a little lunch box sized ice chest that needs to stay filled with ice-water and then tubing up to where it disappears under the bandage. I’m thinking if someone could just invent something of the sort for pregnant women during their first trimester to deliver a constant flow of easily digested nutrition straight to the stomach they would retire young and rich.

Adam has kept us in stitches. He is the self-declared nurse and he’s ready for a bigger case-load already. He delivers the pills, plugs and unplugs the polar pak, positions the pillows, tells David Lee when it’s time for a nap or time to ambulate, gets magazines for him to read, scrubs betadine off his feet (I forgot how that stuff makes people look like they had a run-in with cheap sunless tanning lotion) with baby wipes, brings the crutches when needed, follows David Lee when he walks to make sure he doesn’t get lightheaded, checks his temp, auscultates his heart and takes his blood pressure.

Last night he was trying very hard to hear heart sounds with my all-too-large for him Littman Cardiology III. “I can’t hear any heart sounds,” he said, “I think you’re just half dead.” I explained to him that nurses function in a lot of different roles and they even have to keep the rooms cleaned up. We’d picked up most everything downstairs already but he insisted on going back down solo to “clean up.” I followed him down a little later and heard the frig door closing. “I cleaned up the crackers and the cookies” he informed me. Ritz crackers in the frig, well, why not. He locked the doors when I told him they lock the hospital doors at bedtime for security and told my mom on the phone that we’d shut down the doors. He claimed he could stay up all night so I explained about shift change and told him it was time for him to report off.

“Uh, yes, this is David Beachy with Edenali incorporated. He just had surgery, today and needs some help.”

“Ok,” I said, trying to help him out. “And what’s his pain level been like?”

“Um, a one.”

“Oh, that’s excellent.”

“Well, actually it’s a 10.”

“Ok, and how are we treating that?”

“Just with Calcium. And some Vitamin C.”

One more night of setting the alarm to stay ahead of the pain with meds and to keep that polar pak filled with ice water. Please let those little guys sleep in again tomorrow.

….and it has nothing to do with holiday shopping.  David Lee’s surgery to repair his “long-lost” ACL is scheduled for Thursday.  To him, it’s no big deal.  He plugged it in his palm to remind him of the date and bats the words around as though he were going to McDonalds for lunch.  To him, it’s an in and out, some therapy and back on the road.

Not me.  I can’t sleep well for the last three weeks.  At least five times a day Adam says, “Why do you have your very stern look, Mommy?”

I keep remembering the day the OR kept paging for staff overhead and everyone knew something was drastically wrong.  Or the middleaged man who came in for very minor, non-essential to life surgery who did very well until after his discharge the following day.  He was walking around his room waiting for transportation to bring a wheelchair to escort him to the front door when he fell over dead.  The doctors thought it was related to the anesthesia.  He was resuscitated but the long term picture wasn’t pretty.

Mental flashbacks of life after we had our truck accident two years ago haunt me.  David Lee broke his hand terribly in two places.  David Lee insists this is no comparison.  We couldn’t prepare for that, I was terribly sore the first few days myself, we were just starting to build the house and had a deadline to get the foundation in because our basement walls were coming on schedule, terrible financial stress….

All true.  I just keep remembering what it is like to go from two running full speed parents who dash out the door to the days of taking forever to get ready because your husband needs his arm wrapped in plastic for his shower, can’t scrub his back or do his shirt buttons.  What it’s like to have your husband in serious pain.  What it’s like when you’re husband doesn’t take care of himself and goes out to lay block three nights after his break.  What it’s like to have your low-maintenance two year old totally flip out at the sudden change in routine and throw multiple tantrums a day … and the responsibility is yours because your husband is there; but not able to take care of it.  What it’s like to have a husband at home who is not on mental vacation mind-set and who is going crazy to get back to work.

I can only hope it will be as different as he says.  The truth is, Adam is four, not two.  And while he survives on routine and order, he does fairly well with change when he is very. very. well prepped verbally.  David Lee has had six months to prepare and purposely scheduled this to coincide with Christmas vacation as much as possible.  He can get easy work lined up for his guys so he doesn’t have to be there mentally (I hope). 

Adam loves to play games and do preschool books so David Lee will be able to do more with him from the sofa.  Liam is too young to catch on to any changes in schedule so I’m hoping the boys at least will sort of blip right into this.  Still, I know better then to think it’s going to be a break.  And while I dread the therapy schedule and shlepping everyone to and from town several times a week, if I can at least get David Lee inside the door without fainting outside on the steps when we get home from surgery, I will feel much, much better. 

And already, I can’t wait to NOT hear David Lee’s knee go pop, pop, pop, pop with every step he takes.  To wake up in the morning with him instead of getting colder and colder in bed and trying to muster the courage to jump out.  To have him come home from work without pain.  To watch him play softball at the school picnic instead of having to ump.  He’s been incredibly long-suffering with this whole episode.  So here’s to skiing 2009. 

And if any of you have been through this, please give all the helpful tips you’ve got.  I have three more days to prepare…..

Puppies For Sale

Ten to choose from and just in time for Christmas

message me for details if you are interested

This is fascinating.

There should be a word coined to describe the feeling any mom of young children gets when the phone rings and

“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to be home late…..”

brothers — do you think they look alike?

Liam’s personality is emerging rapidly.  Our babies might look alike; but they have night and day different personalities.  Adam is methodical.  He learned to crawl at 9 months with some coaching from my dad.  All through his life, he waits and watches until he can do something perfectly.  He refused to practice writing his name, then out of the blue, he did it solo.  As a baby, he did a lot of looking and not so much moving.  When he learned to walk, he refused to take steps between us then one day I was vacuuming and heard him do a little distress cry.  I turned around to see him walking in circles as though he’d gone into orbit.  From then on he was racing across the room.

playtime

Liam lunges, grabs, squirms, rolls, and contorts.  He moves all the time.  At six months he is across the entire living room floor in twenty seconds.  Not truly crawling.  Just getting up, on all fours, lunging, rolling halfway while contorting his torso to switch directions and then flip, flip, flip and boom, he’s there.  He giggles almost as much as he moves.  While Adam used to intently observe every single detail as I carried him through the house, Liam’s head darts here and there, eyes half smiling already and making eye contact with me every few seconds half giggling … just waiting for us to get to the hillarious place we must be going next.  Adam hardly touches him and he giggles so hard I’m afraid he won’t be able to catch his breath.

Still, the two have many similarities.  They both love attention.  They love stories, playing ball, and dancing in the living room.  They both love being cuddled … things I used to think were inherent to all babies.  The boys are both still sick with terrible colds.  Last night when Liam woke up screaming, I snuggled him close and rocked him gently.  Almost immediately his body began to relax.  Secure.  Warm.  Upright so he could breathe.  He drifted back to dreamland in five minutes; but I sat there five more remembering another day.  Another rocker.  Another baby.

                                                                             ^photo credit to Adam ^

I was in my final nursing school rotation doing pediatrics at a rehab center.  My patient for the day was a 9 lb six month old baby girl with the same first name as my own.  She was beautiful, but oh, so pitiful.  Her mother birthed her three months prematurely and abandoned her at the hospital.  The long months of high concentration oxygen therapy had left her (the doctors thought) nearly blind and deaf.  She looked like a newborn.  I administered her tube feedings, accompanied her to her chest x-ray, and watched the tech strap her in as she fussed.  My heart broke.  No one cared for her in that mama hen protective way that mommies fight for the comfort of their child. 

                                                when can I go hang out with the men? 

Halfway through the day my instructor suggested I hold her in the rocking chair to give her some tactile stimulation.  I was delighted.  I’ve always loved rocking babies.  I held her gently and sang to her wishing she could feel loved.  Instead, it frustrated her.  She wasn’t accustomed to being held and very quickly went into respiratory distress.  The nurse supervisor insisted she be put back into her seat to calm down.  That night she ended up back in the main hospital.  I never heard how her story ended.  When I left, they couldn’t find her mom to get rights terminated but a nurse working part time at the center was hoping to adopt her.  I can only hope she did.