The Final Stretch (not the yoga kind)

If all goes well, I will be able to stop being such a drama queen after today.

Oh, I know you're getting sick of it: Kawasaki this and Kawasaki that. If I were a helmet-wearing crotch-rocket enthusiast then maybe you'd forgive me. But I'm not. I'm just a mom with a blog who's kid got sick last year and she hasn't been able to fully let it go yet.

A careful analysis of my posts over the last few months reveals the following thematic pattern:

My kids are crazy!
I'm also crazy!
Look! I watch TV and I write about it!
Spawnling had Kawasaki Disease. Poor us.
I like coffee. A lot.
Spawnling said he would kick a baby if I let him.
Did I mention he had Kawasaki last year? Did I mention that sucked donkey gonads?
I'm anxious about a lot of stuff. No idea why.
Oh, wait... No. My kid's anxious, actually. Maybe I'm just a spaz.
I read my blog out loud and made new friends! I'm a celebrity!
Except I'm not because I never post anything lately. Maven who?
Boohoo Kawasaki.
Look! I drew something funny!
Childhood anxiety sucks.
I really, really like coffee.
I should write about something original. Hey, I know! Ever heard of Kawaski Disease?

See? No matter what I do, I always come back to the same sad topic: an illness that was treated and so far has shown no signs of permanent damage. My constant need to write about this stuff is a problem. Next thing I know, I'll agree to be in a documentary about Kawasaki Disease. I'll be heading to my final appointment to talk about scary it was, only to walk into a room full of blog readers holding letters and crying about how I need to get help. Today, or they'll never read me again. And once I agree, I'll be whisked off to a rehabilitation centre for drama queens and attention whores. There will be some debate as to what my problem actually is, but in the end we'll probably decide I need treatment for both addictions. There will be talk of acceptance and letting go and perspective. I'll be told that it could have been much worse. I'll be told that people are tired of it rearing its ugly head in my writing, sapping me of creativity. And we'll probably have a follow-up interview to show how well I'm doing as a recovering drama queen/attention whore.

Or, we could just wait until later this morning and I'll probably feel like forty pounds of Coscto carrots have been lifted off my shoulders. Spawnling has his one year post-Kawasaki follow-up ECG, where they'll do a final check for heart damage. Since they didn't find any last year, they likely won't find any today. Then, we'll get the all-clear, he will be formally discharged from the hospital's cardiology department, and we will go through life not worrying about his little ticker unexpectedly detonating in the middle of a soccer field a few years from now.

My wise friend with a sick child (you know who you are, Gussachi Goddess) told me before Spawnling's ECG last year that if you look at your kid, you'll know if he's healthy. All year we've seen the littlest gremlin grow into his horns, sprout a nice set of claws and tackle everything that life throws at him. He's chatty, outgoing, hilarious and-- well, he's totally awesome like his mom.

Back when Spawn was in the hospital, Meanie put me in touch with Chantal, who's son had Kawasaki Disease a couple of years before. Since it's one of those exceedingly rare things, being able to read a local moms' firsthand accounts on her own blog meant the world to me. She's been my go-to gal when I've occasionally needed a "I know what you're going through" ear.  She's also damn funny, for the record. When I got to the point in her posts about Alex's one year follow-up ECG showing a healthy heart, I could feel her sigh of relief. I knew if we could just get there, Geekster and I would feel better, too.

Spawnling's heart is good. I know that without them even hooking him up to the machine. I feel it to the core. Is there a chance I'm wrong? Sure there is, but we'll cross that dreadful bridge if we get to it.  This morning, I'm choosing to walk into that appointment feeling excited instead of scared, holding his little hand, eager to close this chapter of his life. Once we get the all clear, I will truly feel better. I'll know he's going to be okay.

So, all this to say that you can burn the letters and send the camera crew packing. Because today, a week prior to Spawnling's 4th birthday, I am anticipating some good news and will promptly toss my tired old tiara in the garbage as soon as I hear it.

 Thank you for being here through all the ups and downs. For not telling me to shut up and be funny when I don't feel like it. For letting me go through all the emotions. Today is a big day. It will be a good day. If they tell us right after the test, which I suspect they will, I'll update as soon as I get home.

Just a quick one

A year ago tonight, I went to sleep in a hospital room next to our very sick two-year-old. It would be the first of several nights. The nurses had given me something for my headache - it was so bad it felt like my head might explode from all the stress inside. As the medication slowly kicked in and I could listen to the beeping of machines without wincing in pain, I wondered if Spawnling would make it through the night. 

Today, we had friends over. Spawn tormented his four-year-old pal and chased Gutsy off the tire swing.  He ate homemade pizza, told his dad stories about the Lego creatures he had just built, wrestled with Intrepid, stole forkfuls of my cheesecake, ran way ahead of us on our way to the park and held my hand on all the way home. Tonight, he kissed me, rolled over, snuggled his purple stuffed cat, and fell asleep with my arm around him.

I am so grateful. We were so lucky last year. He is so healthy. We are a good, strong family of five with a tough little guy to complete us. 

What a difference a year makes.

I'm done being sappy. I just needed to get that out.

I love you, Jackson. Always.

One Year Later

I can't believe it's been an entire year.

A year since my son got frighteningly sick with what was at first a mystery illness for several days. A year since he suddenly spiked a fever of 104f that wouldn't come down, and slept all day and all night with only brief periods where he would wake up and drink something.

Nearly a year since I rushed him into the hospital with sores all over his mouth, where I was told he could be dying; since I signed consent forms and we waited - for results, for answers, for some sign that he was going to be okay; since I walked around in a daze and prayed to an entity I don't fully believe in to please make this a bad dream and please - please - just wake me up.

Only a few days short of a year since I watched his eyes turn red, saw his swollen insides on an ultrasound screen, his blistered lips caked with scabs, his peeling hands and feet. Since we counted the symptoms: 1, 2, 3, 4 and a stubborn high fever, and realized this couldn't be anything but Kawasaki Disease, thank the Powers that Be, because the alternatives were far scarier and deadlier.  We treated that night, and waited. It was the longest night of my life.

The next morning, he woke up from his listless state and looked at me. He ate some Doritoes - his first meal in days. He was pale, shaky, one of his eyes wasn't working properly. His heart was slightly enlarged from the disease and that made his prognosis worse, even with treatment. It would still be weeks before Kawasaki ran its full course and did any possible permanent damage. But he was okay: alive, breathing, here with us. And that meant I was okay, too.

Except I wasn't, and I wouldn't be for a long time. Spawnling's illness was the start of a downward slope for me that I didn't fully grasp until recently. It was a bumpy year to follow, which meant I didn't have time to fully process what had happened. I had to be strong, I had to try and keep it together for the things that were happening now: Gutsy's emotional state was deteriorating, our income dropped, a crazy (now ex-)friend faked cancer. So it sat in me and it festered for months. I didn't deal with it, I just pushed it back. Be strong, be happy, just be grateful he's here, I told myself.

But when I don't process stuff - go through the motions, have a few good cries, talk about it, maybe see a professional - I don't get better.  There were signs, little and big. For one, I haven't blogged in nearly three weeks. I dare you to find another time in my blogging history when I went that long between posts. In the last couple of months, I started sleeping more, eating less (not necessarily a bad thing in my case, to be honest), avoiding people and situations because I just felt too overwhelmed to deal with life. And bam! just like that: depression.

Yep, it's true: Just as things are getting a lot better around here, I was getting worse. It's as if I was finally giving myself permission to deal with my own shit because I'm not dealing with everyone else's. I was feeling down, crying over nothing, finding little joy in watching my healthy kids run and play and do childhood things that should warm my heart as a mother.

Depression. Why didn't I see it sooner?

Last week, I hit my bottom. I felt completely crippled by the darkness. Once upon a time, I had postpartum depression. This felt similar. So, I did what my therapist at the time taught me to do: I talked to Geekster and a handful of friends and I admitted that I just wasn't okay. The support I was received was stellar, and I instantly started to feel a little better.

Then, Saturday morning, I packed a bag and jumped in a car with my sister and a friend and we took off to upstate New York for a shopping extravaganza. The timing couldn't have been better. For two whole days I had no parental responsibilities, a sizeable shopping budget (we had been saving all year) and a whole lot of belly laughs. The weekend was perfect from start to finish. It refreshed me, reset me, centered me.  It was exactly what I needed.

More importantly, I bought a Coach purse. Now I'm trendy and centered.

When I got home, Spawnling ran up and threw his arms around me. He kissed me and stroked my hair, saying "I really missed you, Mommy." Frankly, I missed me, too. I missed the happy-go-lucky me. I missed enjoying life and the three little boys in it who need me to be in good form emotionally, mentally and physically.  I feel like maybe I can start to give them that again. They deserve it.

Last year sucked - there's no way around that. August will probably be a challenging month for a while to come. But I won't let the darkness creep up on me again. I'll recognize it and do what I need to do to make it disappear. Next time, I'll beat it to death with my new purse.

They're guaranteed for life, you know.

Just a fever (I think)

Thursday night, Spawnling developed a fever. We were in the pool for about three hours with only minimal sunscreen application, so I assumed heat exhaustion and felt tremendously guilty for not being more vigilant.

Over 48 hours later, we're pretty sure it's not heat exhaustion. He still has a high fever, but absolutely no other symptoms. For the first day or so, it wasn't responding well to medication, but we seem to have it mostly under control now if we alternate between Tylenol and Advil. Back and forth, back and forth, like an adulterer on Jerry Springer.

Here's the thing: Spawnling got very sick last year. His first and only persistent symptom? A high fever that responded poorly to medication.  And even though my brain knows that my littlest gremlin is not having a second bout of scary illness, my heart has crawled up into my throat and won't leave until the fever does.

If I'm not mistaken, this is Spawn's first fever since he was blindsided by Kawasaki Disease in August of last year. If he has had others, I don't remember them, so they must have been fairly mild and accompanied by other symptoms that would make me think "Oh, it's just a little virus. Nothing to worry about."

And all I've done for the last three days is sit and watch him, feel his forehead, ask if anything hurts, give him medicine, follow him around, and make sure his lips aren't cracking and his hands aren't peeling and his eyes aren't bloodshot.

No, I beg you: Please try to contain all your envy of my latest hobby. I'm sure you have awesome stuff going on in your life, too.

I admit to being a total spaz. I admit that I'm overreacting and dwelling on the past too much. I don't like it and would do just about anything not to be sitting here fretting about my child's fever which is probably nothing more than a fever. But instead, I ran him into the local children's hospital at six this morning because his temperature was nearly 104f and not coming down fast enough with Advil.

I was running on three hours of sleep after going out with some of my awesome peeps last night for patio drinks (I, of course, got a little risky with not one, but two glasses of Diet Pepsi). Geekster pretty much forced me out when I tentatively asked if he'd mind holding down the fort. He could probably see my crazy starting to bubble up to the surface and figured he'd rather I not implode. I'm glad I went, but I did worry an awful lot while I was out despite the excellent company.  I fell asleep sometime after 2:30 and woke up at 6 when Geekster brought a very hot three-year-old into our bed. So, off to CHEO we went, Spawnling and I, with only a brief stop at a drive-thru for some essential - like, seriously essential and not pretend essential like usual - caffeine.

Diagnosis? Well, there is none, of course. He either has a virus (surprise!) or a reaction to some insect bites. Either way, there's not a whole lot anyone can do other than wait it out.

Oh, and maybe I could chill the fuck out a little in the meantime, too.

I wasn't like this before. Really, I wasn't. I left my paranoid new mother phase in a medical waiting room several years ago and never went back to claim her. I like not flying into a panic at the first touch of a hot forehead. I like scoffing at a sneeze, pshaw-ing a cough, shrugging off a runny nose. I was getting really good at saying "Sure, bad, scary, random things have happened to other kids I know and that's awful. But those are other kids, not my kids. I am so great at not making things all about me!"

Until, you know, it was my kid.

And when it was your kid, your perspective changes. I get that now. I wish I didn't. I wish I could ignorantly roll my eyes at me right now and tell me I'm being too emotional.

My goal over the next little while is to try and make a fever just a fever again. Meaning that I don't let my thoughts run away with me to the dark alley of what-ifs to perform dirty deeds with assumption, the lusty john that he is. I'm going to try and look at a sickly Spawnling as normal and not serious and not dangerous.

Logically, I know that everything will very likely be okay. When we do get his temperature under control, he acts completely normal. He has energy, he's chatty, he plays games, he has attitude - all good signs that this is mild, whatever it is. I loathe my inner panic button for not just letting me ride on logic. I never bought tickets to the emotional roller coaster and I do not wish to keep going around the track. Feeling suck. I think sociopaths are on to something. Is there an "off" switch somewhere?

In two days, if Spawnling's fever is not gone, I need to take him back to the hospital for testing. If any other symptoms of infection crop up before then, I need to bring him back sooner. But, of course, he will get better. The fever will break, and I will breathe a sigh of relief that it was, truly, just a fever this time.

Breathe, Maven. Just breathe. Focus on the good stuff, like how your friend is coming tomorrow from the US and you can try and pump her as full of Canadian misconceptions as humanly possible over the next six days. And how your older two are going camping with their dad and you'll only have the sickly Spawn to deal with, who will very likely have made a full recovery by then.

Just breathe. And quit whining. And go have another coffee, because that two hour nap you had earlier today isn't doing much for your mental state, obviously. You freaking basket case, you.

Since this post wasn't terribly funny (sorry, it's kind of hard to make anxiety over your child's health a ha-ha moment), I'll post a link to something I wrote last year about hospital wall art. I read it again recently and it made me laugh.

Take that back! I'm not lame, ok? I'm just that awesome.

A post about illness, sex, and chocolate cake

I spent a great deal of Friday catching up with friends I don't see nearly as often as I'd like. When you're as insanely popular as I am, you can't possibly see everyone all the time. It's just not feasible, people.

But if I could just hang up my popularity pompoms alongside my ego for a moment, something else happened on Friday that really hit me that I need to write about: I caught those same people up on what had been going on over the last few months, including the tale of Spawnling vs. the sudden scary illness. I was asked for definition, details, diagnosis. I talked about how he slept for an entire week, stumped the doctors for several days, recovered miraculously despite the very real concern he may have something far more sinister than what it thankfully turned out to be.

And I realized, quite suddenly, that what so many other parents have told me was right: You never "get over it." That, while seven months have gone by since a rare autoimmune illness called Kawasaki Disease befell my then two-year-old baby boy, the trauma is not gone, the wound is not healed, the very real fear that I can lose someone so special and so important is still present and accounted for. Telling the tale brought up a lot of emotions I thought were gone. I'm not over it and I probably never will be.

But unlike those dark days so many months ago, there's a more positive quality to the memories now.

My friend The Guilt Goddess and I have talked a fair bit about hospital promises. They're a lot like pillow talk; honest in the moment, but quick to fade into something more realistic in time. See, after sex, emotions run deep and we're quick to say just about anything. However, the "I love you"s of Saturday night turn into the "So, like, I'll call you sometime"s of Sunday morning. The "Yes, baby! Oh yes! You can have a Lexus!" post-date-night becomes "Is a used Volvo okay?" over before-work cappuccinos.

Hospital promises are similar, in that they're made during a time of high emotional involvement. I only got a taste of the type of things we'll swear off of or onto when our children are very ill. Spawnling was in a hospital bed for a few days, while The Guilt Goddess' Jacob was there for months. I tip my hat to her keeping her sanity (mostly) intact after seeing her son fight a brain tumour with everything he's got. (I say she's 'mostly' sane because she ended up befriending me shortly thereafter, so we know not all her solar panels are facing south, if you know what I mean.)

Anyway, hospital promises, in my limited experience, are also a lot like new year resolutions. They're made with gusto and a lot of willpower. You really don't think you're ever going to have chocolate cake again, but actually you will - just maybe a little less of it. Here are some of the things I promised during those scary days at Spawnling's bedside:

If my child gets better:

- I will never yell at him again
- I will never argue with his father again
- We'll start taking vacations
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together
- I will never complain about the little things again
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever

Don't they sound wonderful? They're so full of positivity and determination, aren't they?

Ahem.

Now, let's fast-forward a few months down the road. Spawnling is, by all accounts, very healthy and has made a full recovery. We know his first two echocardiograms were good, so the chance of a potentially lethal aneurysm hiding in his ticker is unlikely, although he will continue to be monitored every so often for he rest of his life. Still, this mother's fear has lessened, the adrenaline has left, the depression and worry have lifted. Let's take a look at The Maven's revamped list of hospital promises, shall we?

Now that my child is better:

- I will never yell at him again except when I do
- I will never argue with his father again except when he deserves it or I'm PMSing and just need to bitch about something
- We'll start taking vacations when the magical money tree suddenly sprouts from the ground in our backyard (still waiting)
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together but I'll sometimes wish we spent just a little less time together, especially when all you want to do is talk about Star Wars or call me stupid
- I will never complain about the little things again except when they don't seem so little, which is actually quite often
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever -- and I don't. Ever. Still.

See, that's the difference. I was always grateful for them. But as much as they drive me completely insane sometimes, I'm even more appreciative, more amazed by them, more captivated by the things they do, say, think, feel. Why? Because sometimes Spawnling will run into the room and say 'Mom! Check this out! It's my lightsaver, a green one, but maybe a double-sided red one because those are cool and chop off hands better' and I'll get a flash of him lying helpless in that big white hospital bed with tubes and monitors around him, and I'll remember how fortunate we are to have dodged a proverbial bullet and have him home safely.

I still remember that; I won't ever forget it.

And then I think about how any of my little gremlins, at any time, could suddenly not be here tomorrow. But instead of being deathly afraid like I could be, I choose something better: I choose to appreciate that they're here, today, and celebrate that.

Except when I'm getting punched in the arm. That's not so celebratory-like. I take a break from my happy place when that happens.

I've learned that it's okay for things to normalize and for some of that hospital pillow talk to become more realistic again. It means I'm not afraid and sad and angry every day anymore. I'm a mom who will never get over what happened to her son, but maybe in a better way than I thought. And that's a good thing, because I'm awesome like that.

Finally, the Guilt Goddess said it was okay for me to write about her as long as I say how much she curses me every day for getting her hooked on shows about hoarders. I'm guessing any promises made about The Maven probably involve voodoo dolls and a lot of swearing. No Lexus for me.

Why I Should Not be Allowed to Make Analogies

I was glad to have coffee with my fantastic friend Nat this evening. I did so without having read her most recent blog post, which involves a scary trip to the hospital with The Boy and his new friend, Mr. Asthma Attack. This happened only two days ago, and the feelings are still very raw for poor Nat. Seeing your child that sick, with machines monitoring his oxygen levels and a mask full of medicine to help him breath, is one of those scary situations a parent hopes to never find themselves in. Well, she found herself in it, and I didn't realize when I walked into the coffee shop how much I needed to be there for my friend.

I'm so glad I could be there.

It's yet another example of how a bad situation - like Spawnling's illness three months ago, Gutsy's stay at the hospital for pneumonia 18 months ago, and Intrepid's exciting broken femur episode 2 years ago - can be manipulated into a positive. As it turns out, I've become an unwilling expert in the field of childhood injuries and illnesses requiring prompt emergency treatment and hospitalization. I do not like it, Sam I Am. But it is what it is, and I sure am glad to lend that ear and tea (which was free and provided by my distraught friend who was too upset to realize she buys way more than I do).

My company costs about $2.50 an hour. The Maven is a cheap whore. Spread the word.

How interesting that I would happen to write yesterday's post about Spawnling's traumatic experience changing me for the good, and then find myself with someone going through something similar tonight.

Ethereal forces, you keep me smiling.

I wanted to say thank you, once again, to everyone who has been so amazingly supportive over the last few months. I don't think I can say thank you enough times or in enough ways. Whether I know you in real life (lucky you) or only online (in which case you really should put "meeting The Maven" on your bucket list, trust me) your kindness has helped heal this huge gash in my heart. I'm no idiot: the sole reason I've been able to be a strong mom for Spawnling is because I have good backup. A ton of sidekicks. Dozens upon dozens of Robins. Thank you, and if you ask nicely I'll let you use the utility belt.

That's the way the world works though, doesn't it? Give and ye shall receive, and whatnot. It's that whole karmic circle thing: My life was shit on toast, people helped me make new toast that didn't have shit on it, I ate that instead and felt better, and now I'm helping someone else with their choice of breakfast spreads.

That was, by far, the worst, and yet, best analogy I've ever come up with. I don't know whether to pat myself on the back or delete my blog altogether because I don't deserve to call myself a writer.

We had a perfectly good day today, my herd of gremlins, co-shepherd and I. Spawnling and I went to playgroup and he only pushed one little friend, and only because he was overwhelmed with joy (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). We had our friend Jacob over for lunch, and then The Madre over for tea, after which I passed the shepherd's crook over to her for a little while so I could clean the kitchen.

I made one of the world's laziest dinners: sandwiches coupled with a piddly amount of baby carrots on the plate so I can say it comes with a serving of vegetables.

Then I went out for coffee with Nat, and now I'm back here, blogging about nothing extraordinary. Just another example of me being awesome, people around me being nearly as awesome, and shit on toast.

Deep Thoughts, by The Maven

I'm doing okay with this next-to-no-sugar thing. When the cravings come, I want to grab a bag of the white stuff and dry hump it, but otherwise I'm fine. I've been (barely) swallowing tablespoonfuls of unsweetened yogurt throughout the day to destroy the candida metropolis undoubtedly thriving in my body. The sugar mine is closed, little yeasties. Pack up your belongings and move on out.

Spawnling's withdrawls have been more... pronounced. While his mood swings are less intense than they were, the unpredictability of when and what he'll destroy next has been the theme of the day. The sac of cane sugar that broke the mule's back was when he scribbled on my antique chair - correction: my late grandmother's antique chair. We are not amused. Part of this evening will be spent learning how to delicately remove pen from fabric.

My mind is clearer, my mood is more stable and I have more energy. Now as long as I can continue to resist the siren songs of Lady Chocolate, I should be alright. It's a good thing I'm familiar with the philosophy of 12 step programs, because one day hour at a time is about all I can do right now.

***

As I was filling my cart with wholesome foods at the grocery store tonight, a chatty and adorable Spawnling in tow, I realized something.

No, not how awesome I am. That was established a good while ago. Keep up with the news, already!

I realized that, while Spawnling's health scare in August was traumatic enough that I still get teary when I think about it, what it has done to me on a personal level isn't all bad. In fact, I would say that the woman who walked her son through Kawasaki Disease and all the scary potential diagnoses leading up to it, is a better person than she used to be. Someone who sees how beautiful, how precious, and how short life is.

I was given a second chance at living when I got clean and sober at fourteen. I walked into rehab a shell and walked out a new person who wanted more for herself. I was given new breath yet again when I became a mother, and I learned there is a kind of love deeper than any other. It was transformational. And exhausting.

And then, when it looked like I might lose my littlest boy in those dark days of August, something snapped inside me. I remember the exact moment it snapped - you can't forget that feeling.

At first I thought it was a bad something and would require a phone call to my therapist. And maybe some drugs. And Oreos. But as shock and sadness lifted, as he gained his strength back and, finally, as his heart was given the all clear - for the next year, at least - everything looked different, felt different.

It wasn't intentional, but it seems I've given myself a makeover from the inside out. I've re-prioritized what's important to me, who's important to me, and what I'm willing to put time and effort into. I've had no problems cutting ties with people who are unhealthy - passive-aggressive, immature, continuously self-destructive. In fact, there are a few people I spoke to regularly in August that I don't speak to at all anymore. The funny thing is that it's not done out of anger or spite or a sense of superiority; I'm just not willing to put in the effort to keep a one-sided or very unhealthy friendship afloat. If I get sucked into someone else's negativity, then I'm wasting my energy on those things and not putting it into the important stuff.

Then, exhausted, I binge on chocolate. This is a lose/lose situation, obviously.

At the same time. I think I've been more real, more assertive, more kind, more honest. I cherish the people in my life, I love them deeply, I let them know. Spawnling has taught me to embrace every day - except during PMS time, when I get a couple of days to hate everyone's face.

***

So, this sugar thing? This didn't just randomly come about like I thought it had. It was a natural progression. I've been weeding out the negative in my life, and eventually I dug deep enough to hit my diet, that's all. It's very simple. It feels right because it is. I've arrived at a place and time when taking care of myself and my loved ones is the only thing that makes sense. I'm transformed. I don't think I can go back to who I used to be. But then again, I don't think I want to.

And there you have it. My deep thoughts for the day, brought to you by a three-year-old, a grocery store trip, and an experience that maybe I don't want to forget as much as I want to look at in a different light.

Holy crap, I'm awesome.

My Name is The Maven and I'm Addicted to Socializing

If my dedication to NaBloPoMo was ever in question, it will not be again. Folks, I just left a girls' night out so I could come home and blog. That is how much I care about all of you and your eager anticipation for the next post. You mean that much to me.

Well, and the fact that I'm tired, my hubby is tired, and we could really use a good night's sleep. The idea of crawling on top of some memory foam sounds rather appealing right now. But that's only secondary to writing a post. I must honour my craft and my promise first.

We found out today that Intrepid does indeed have the H1N1 virus. The swab test they did at the clinic on Monday came back positive. I suddenly feel trendy, like I just bought a Coach bag or some skinny jeans. After all, we just had the virus of 2009 in our very house! And not simply one of those 'suspected' cases. Just like anyone can walk around with a "Timex" watch purchased from a stall in a Beijing market, anyone can get a cough and call it the swine flu. We have a brand name illness here, people. That earns us extra coolness points. I am working very hard on acting nonchalant about it, though. I'm thinking that if I put my hands in my pockets, lean against a wall and shrug a little when I say 'So, anyway, Intrepid had swine flu. Like, a confirmed case, you know? But whatever, right?', that might pass as humble.

I'm obviously kidding. It's a pandemic, right? Pandemics mean a lot of people have already had it. Talk about beating a fashion statement to death. Having it isn't cool anymore; it's about to go the way of acid wash jeans.

There are two actual reasons why I'm happy we had a doctor who offered to test Intrepid.

First, it's good to know what strain we're dealing with so we can make appropriate decisions concerning the vaccine and any potential treatment should one of us asthmatic types in Casa Maven have symptoms crop up.

Second, most people aren't being tested unless they wind up in the hospital, meaning that the majority of confirmed cases are severe if not deadly. This instills panic and leaves people wondering just how bad this strain is. Testing those who aren't on respirators gives us statistical proof that some people do get a much milder case and recover just fine. Intrepid was knocked off his feet for a few days, but he was able to get through it with a bit of Advil, a lot of sleep, some fluids and, of course, incredible parents.

I never miss an opportunity to pat myself on the back.

So, what does this mean in terms of our previous decision to vaccinate? Not much, really. We still plan on getting the vaccine for every family member who doesn't get sick within the next two or three days. If the rest of us stay healthy - and please, please, please let us stay healthy - we'll go get jabbed early this week. Intrepid, who fears needles like I fear a world without chocolate, is thrilled he won't be waiting in line with us. He has some solid immunity now, and that makes me happy. The fact that he only vomited once and managed to make it to the bathroom first makes me happy, too. Nothing like a puking, feverish child to make the idea of a bridge leap significantly more appealing.

I need a break. A nice, long break from illness. No sick people who are dependent on me to nurse them back to health. We've had a full course of gremlin illnesses for 2 1/2 months: Beginning with Kawasaki Disease, slathered with colds, and hopefully ending with swine flu desert.

I'm just glad we moved a couple of years ago. When we bought this house we specifically looked for one that wasn't of the 'open concept' design. Our last home was, and it was hellish when I had to spend a great deal of time in it for several days in a row. It felt like a loud, smelly, dirty shoebox I couldn't escape. One big room is nice when you're not in it for the majority of your waking hours while caring for sick people or being sick yourself. The stinky shoebox nearly drove me insane. It would have finished the job, but thankfully Spawnling was born. Having that third child drove me over the edge instead! Tag team insanity-building. That's nice.

Today, my inner extrovert - is that an oxymoron? - was able to come out and play a little bit. First, the Coffee Fairy fluttered by with an extra large coffee, some donut holes and chocolate milk for the two gremz who were still scuttling about the homestead. I love her terribly, that Coffee Fairy of mine. I am so glad she takes pity on me, even though she and her two little ones are getting over H1N1 themselves. I've brought her coffee once and she's hit me two or three times in a week. Our relationship isn't terribly equal, but I do give her blog props; that has to count for something.

Then, at lunchtime, That (incredibly beautiful, witty, and ego-boosting) Script Chick came by with - you guessed it - another coffee! I made sure to disinfect pretty much everything her and her son might tough so she could feel comfortable staying. Pretty nice of me, right? Definitely. Way to go, Maven. *pat pat*

Finally, I ended this spectacularly social spectacle of a day with an evening out at K-War's house. Her children were asleep, the air in the home smelled of cleaning products, the company was great (I think there were 10-12 of us - I was too busy basking in my social glory to count), and the artery-choking food was to die for.

A good day, overall. Tomorrow we have the Ottawa Blogger's Breakfast. XUP has threatened to give me a table all to myself, even though I do not and have never had the stupid swine flu. Therefore, I have secretly decided to lick her utensils when she's not looking. And I don't mean that in a dirty way, either. I mean actual utensils. Take that, XUP.

Update on Spawnling's Gremlin Heart

Yesterday, we got the news we'd been waiting to hear for over two months:

Our son's heart is healthy and strong.

We officially took him off the aspirin that was thinning his blood in order to prevent aneurysms. We no longer have to worry about running him into the hospital at the first sign of a fever, because any fever now would be from another illness and not a Kawasaki Disease relapse.

He is 100% better with no foreseen complications in the future. He sees the cardiology appointment for a follow-up in a year, and needs a cardio risk assessment test every five years for the rest of his life. But truly, we couldn't ask for better than this.

On second thought, if they handed me a giant bag of money and then told me he was okay...

Spawnling and I celebrated his great news with a heart-healthy trip to McDonald's. Nothing says "love your arteries" like some fries and McNuggets. In my defense, I needed to bribe him with something really over-the-top in order to get him to lie still and not talk for 45 minutes. I'm pleased that, in our family, fast food take-out is considered "over-the-top". At least we do one thing right around here.

(And if you'd kindly ignore the fact that we have an entire cupboard shelf dedicated to snack food of the most heinous sort, I'd greatly appreciate it. Keep quiet and there may be some peanut butter cups in it for you.)

To everyone who's supported us through this crazy ordeal, who's put up with me being far less funny than I used to be, who's prayed for Spawn, thought good thoughts for Spawn, ignored Spawn calling them 'stupid', or wrote it off, like we often did, as 'it's just the Kawasaki talking':

Thank you. Like, for serious. You likely have no idea how your kindness has impacted our lives. Never have we felt so much warmth from both our local community and the online community. You're all so very awesome.

I mean, not as awesome as I am, but pretty close, you know?

Like so many of you have said, life has changed in a way that can't be undone. Once you see your child that sick, it never really goes away. But the troll (thanks XUP) has been caged for now. He's still in my brain, but he's currently sedated with some chocolate. I have a feeling that, as long as I keep feeding him lots of chocolate, he will be quiet. Lots and lots and lots of chocolate. For medicinal purposes.

Oh, sure, I might need a new heart in a few years, but they're growing them on mice now, aren't they?

Wait. Those are ears. This may spell trouble for The Maven.