Why Surgery is My Dream Come True

Mmmmmorphine.

 I had originally mentioned that my surgery was June 21st. That was a big giant fib told to me by some mean lady at the hospital, who then told me something else (actually she was quite nice and apologetic, but that doesn't sound nearly as dramatic). In fact, it is tomorrow, the 23rd.

Tomorrow morning I head into a lovely country hospital about 45 minutes from here, will be put under, sliced open, meshed shut, and will spend the next three days or so in bed before I'm able to come home.

I can't wait. This is sounding more and more exciting to me by the hour.

Tonight, as I was chasing Gutsy and Spawnling through a parking lot, then through the aisles at a grocery store whilst having my arms unceremoniously packed two feet high with various forms of high-fructose corn syrup (operation Buy Their Love complete), a list of reasons why this surgery is not only required, but needed, started running through my head. Here's what I've come up with:

Time to Myself
I've been a mom for fourteen years, and have had maybe four nights away from my children in that time. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm willing to get my gut cut open and barbaric things done to my insides in the name of some time off. Desperate times call for desperate measures. To celebrate my alone-ness, I have packed two books, a few magazines, my iPhone and headphones and am praying they still offer me free cable. Nothing says "I have nothing better to do" than watching The View.

Say Yes to Drugs
Unless you're living under a rock, you probably know I'm in recovery. That means I'm stone cold sober at all times: No drinking, no drugs, not ever, in just over twenty years. The exception to this rule, of course, is if they're administered at a hospital under strict control for the purpose of pain management. I am not-so-secretly hoping to get stoned out of my everlovin' mind for a couple of days. I'll be happy as can be, it'll pass the time, I'll sleep a lot, and I'll probably engage in some serious Stonedbooking and Tweeting while I'm at it to amuse the masses. You're welcome.

Not cleaning
I don't even think I need to elaborate here. Mothers everywhere are breathing heavily at the enticing thought of not having to lift a finger for days, if not weeks. I think I'll enjoy it at first and then will be dying to clean something - anything - before I'm given the green light to do so. But until the twitches start up, I'm going to enjoy every unproductive minute.

Quiet
I know hospitals aren't quiet, but they're a hell of a lot quieter than Casa Maven. There are not three unbridled boys running through the joint, knocking, misplacing, breaking, manipulating, and disorganizing everything. I know I'll miss my Gremlins Three. I really will. And I'll likely sleep better once I'm drifting off to the sounds of their tirades and tantrums again. But in the meantime, I'll just up the morphine drip and listen to the soothing beeps of the monitors.


Staying in Bed
"Mom? Moooom? MOOOOM?? MOOOOOOOOOOOM??!! ... Can I have some cereal?"
"It's 6:15 on a Sunday, and you know how to pour your own cereal."
"But I can't open the baaaaag. And the milk is emptyyyy."
There will be none of that.
All. Weekend. Long.

Booyeah.



Room Service
"Nurse? Nuuuurse? NUUUUURSE!? NUUUUUUUUUUUUURSE?!?"
"You have a call button beside you bed, Maven."
"I know, but it's more fun to yell for you. Anyway, can you get me a coffee?"
"...Again? Didn't you just have one?"
"But, but, I should really make good use of this provincially-funded catheter, and I'm an invalid with a stapled wound, trapped in a bed, and life is hard. And come on now, do you really want to see my sad face? Look how pretty I am with this mascara on. This hotness can't be redone with swollen red eyes, girlfriend."
"*sigh* Fine."
"Thanks, toots. Two cream, k?"
Oh hellz, yeah.

See you on the flip side. And don't worry, I'll be back. I'm speaking at BOLO two weeks post-op, so I'll be sure to get plenty of rest, blog from bed, and get better - fast.

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 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.

In Which The Maven Takes a Moment to Say Thank You

It's a sunny morning in Ottawa, and I'm tuning out Diego with an iPod playlist. I would have normally shuddered when Spawn picked that annoying little animal konservation kid from a stack of perfectly acceptable videos, but I suppose he being alert enough to pick and watch a video is the important thing.

I guess.

There are only two things more annoying that Diego: Barney the nasal dinosaur (complete with creepy, overly-animated kids) and that huge-headed Dora. Figures she's Diego's cousin. Please stop yelling questions at the screen. I don't know any child who actually answers you out loud anyway. Also, if you can't figure out where you are, where you're supposed to go, or how to to identify primary colours, you are far too stupid a child to be out in the jungle by yourself. Where are your parents?

...But being in a hospital room for several days isn't getting to me or anything.

Spawnling now has the pleasure of being our most costly offspring. Geekster and I want to sincerely thank the taxpayers of Canada for helping to make our child better. This is where public health care really shines, and why we need to protect it; Spawn's isolation stay costs a few thousand dollars a day. He's also had 72 hours of anti-viral drugs and many tests that are quite costly. Furthermore, his IVIG treatment was at least $3000. Yes, for one dose.

I only know all of this stuff because I asked and I researched out of sheer curiosity. Nobody has bothered me about cost-related stuff because we don't have to directly pay for it. Thank goodness.

I've always been a big proponent of public health care, but now that Spawn has been this sick I'm positively militant about protecting it. The last thing anyone should have to think about when their child is very ill is how much it's going to cost, what their private insurance company will cover, whether or not they'll renew coverage after this is all over... Nursing your baby back to health should be the entire focus. That's stressful enough as it is.

(I would highly suggest you don't try to debate this with me right now. It's not a good time. Just nod and smile and back away politely. Say things like 'Wow, Maven! You're so passionate about this! That's great!' That would be the safer approach. Just sayin'.)

I think I'm done ranting now. It's been kind of stressful around here, in case that's not apparent. And the recovery process for my dear Spawnling (who's real name is Jackson, in case you didn't know and feel strange praying or thinking good thoughts for a kid with such a 'colourful' nickname) has taken its toll on the whole family. The situation has a lot of 'hurry up and wait' elements to it, and that can really wear a person down - even one as amazing as myself.

So here's the scoop on Spawn: He's picking up, but it's very slow. He's awake more often, eating a bit, drinking some, watching movies and cuddling in bed to read books.

But he's irritable. Sooooo irritable. It comes with the Kawasaki disease. He wakes up every time his IV monitor goes off, which is quite frequently because the little bugger moves around a lot (another good sign). He's somewhat combattive which is also positive. And last night, at 3AM, he called me 'stupid'. I was so happy to be belittled I nearly cried!

On Monday the tinniest gremlin has an ECG so we can have our first look at his heart. I'm not terribly worried, but only because I need energy to focus on the right now and not on the 'what ifs'. The heart might not be affected now but could be compromised later. Or maybe not. Why worry about it? We have a long road of aspirin taking and cardiac follow-ups regardless. It could be worse. I mean, he could have potential heart problems and the hospital could face a serious coffee shortage. Now that would be a problematic.

I'll have you know that I was an awesome mother this morning: In an attempt to bribe the boy into taking the four aspirin pills he needs every six hours, I gave him a bag of Doritos to munch on. Don't worry; the aspirin will more than offset any potential Dorito damage. That's my hands-on health-conscious parenting at work.

Everything is by-the-minute right now. As my wonderful new friend Lil said, you take this stuff a moment at a time. That's all we can do.

You people have been amazing. I can't thank you enough. All the comments on the blog have kept me going when I'm feeling scared or overwhelmed. My friends on Facebook have been incredibly supportive, asking how he's doing and how they can help. My cousin apparently got a lot of people at this weekend's pow-wow to pray for Spawn to get well. How cool is that?

Folks have been calling, coming by, bringing coffee, offering hugs. Geekster has been holding the fort down and keeping the older gremlins amused and distracted. Friends and family have been pitching in wherever they can, taking the boys for an outing or cooking meals. And my mom has been a rock for me to lean on more times than I can count. I call her about everything and, sick as she is, she's here, she's babysitting, she's preparing food, she's researching. If I ever needed her it's now, and she knows that. Thanks, Madre. I love you!

Oh hell, I love all of you. Come here and get a hug. I always knew I was fantastically popular, but I didn't know exactly how good my friendships and family relationships were until now. I pick good peeps. Pat yourselves on the back - you deserve it.

Shit. Now I'm crying. Gratitude crying this time. That's good, right? Better than terrified crying or exhausted crying. We're headed in the right direction.

Must go wipe my tears and check the dryer upstairs. It will be nice to have clean clothes that do not smell like ass.

Thank you. I'll update when we know more.

Spawnling vs. Lots of Bad Stuff

To enter the room: put on gown and scrub hands.

To leave the room: dispose of gown at the door and wash hands.

Vitals were being checked every three hours. They are now being checked every hour.

When Spawnling turns, I instinctively get up and make sure he's not wrapped up in his lines: OSAT monitor, heart rate monitor, respiration monitor, IV line, blood pressure cuff.

When he pees I put the wet diaper in a bag and we weigh it on the scale. Input vs. output.

Who knew living in a hospital could bring out my inner OCD? Everything has exact steps to follow or a precise technique. Today I accidentally screwed up Spawn's IV on the way back from Ophthalmology and they had to put in a new one.

Mom of the year award. Right here, baby.

It's a whole different world in here, especially in isolation. It's quiet and I watch the clock. I watch Spawn. I listen to his IV machine make noise and his monitors sounding the occasional alarm. I know what every single beep means and I even know how to fix most of them, although they'd probably kick my ass if I tried.

I wake up at around 6 every morning and look for signs of improvement in the demonite. So far there hasn't been a lot: just a disappearance of one symptom as another pops up.

The diagnosis du jour is Kawasaki Disease, which is the weirdest damn thing I've ever seen. John Travolta claimed his late son had it at one point, and I once saw an episode of House M.D. where they were considering it as a possibility. It's incredibly rare; various sites claim between 10 and 19 per 100,000 people, and nearly all of them are younger than 6.

Leave it to Spawn to pick up something that is rarely seen and very hard to diagnose. He has dramatic flair, I'll give him that.

Oh, and the twist in the story? Because it's not interesting enough on its own, there's a high possibility that he also has herpes stomatitis on top of the Kawasaki.

Well of course he would do that. He's my child, isn't he?

His cocktail right now consists of Acyclovir for the herpes, IVIG and Aspirin for the Kawasaki. If the herpes culture comes back negative tomorrow we'll take him off the Acyclovir.

Blah, blah, blah. I sound like a fucking medical textbook. I've learned so much jargon and doc speak in here I'm beginning to sound rather boring. That's why I added in the swear word. I need me some cussing to prove that I'm still a jobless lowlife and not just another person with a brain.

I've been eating my feelings a lot, too. Guilt free, I might add. It feels nice to say 'today, I am going to have a chocolate bar because my son is very sick and we don't know what's wrong with him and I'm stuck in a small room with no life while I stare at his limp little body and the last thing I care to think about is how many calories are in that thank you very much'.

I've made some acquaintances in the hospital. Since I did too many drugs in my early teens and thus have a hard time remember names, I've made up my own nicknames for them: There's the Lumbar Puncture Demin Doc, who looked fantastically hot in those jeans when he told me the needed to draw fluid from my listless son's spine (being easy on the eyes when delivering potentially devastating news is kind of a superpower). We have Herpes Hero, the resident who specializes in the disease, appreciates that I do my own research and treats me like someone who can, like, think. There's 'Witty Late Night Counter Dude' who I think is the funniest, most sarcastic bastard in the whole hospital so I introduce him to everyone who stops by. And, finally, there's a resident who's name always escapes me, so I call him 'Nice Shoes Guy' for obvious reasons - he has killer taste in footwear. In the middle of one of my numerous crying jags I stopped dead, looked up and him and said 'Wow. Nice shoes.' Every time I see him now I say 'Hey! Nice Shoes Guy! What's kickin'?' and he pretends he's not incredibly annoyed with me.

Since I started writing this post I've had to get up several times to check on Spawn, question the nursing staff on his decreased heart rate, comfort spawn because he's finally waking up when the monitors go off (good sign!) and cover him up because he's getting cold without blankets instead of running a constant fever (even better sign!)

I'll update more tomorrow. The Kawasaki Disease treatment is finished. Now we wait and hope for the best.