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.

Illness: An Illustrated Primer for New Parents

Ah, germs! Back-to-school time is overrun with the little bastards, finding their way into our bodies and taking a baseball bat to the ol' immune system. And even worse, if your very young child is in any sort of activity that involves other young children, you get the best of the best of the best of the germs, sir.

The question on every new, overprotective parent's mind is, how do I know if my child is sick? Well, let me show you!

(And if that's not on your mind, pretend it is so that I know I didn't go through the trouble of writing this primer for nothing, ok? I slaved over this artwork, people. And sure, it looks a lot like the work from my tantrum post, but that's because I saved the egghead shape from that last series of child drawings I made. The rest is custom designed for this post, baby. Don't say I never do anything for you.)

FIGURE 1: THE HEALTHY CHILD

Look! I made a girl child this time. Are you happy? I fully understand that not everyone only makes boy babies like Geekster and I. I'm not bitter, and to prove it I made Little Sally. In this picture, she's quite healthy. Look at that glow! Isn't she adorable? She looks kind of like I did when I was little. Come to think of it, she probably looks a lot like what my girl children would have looked like if my husband hadn't locked the X chromosome sperm up in his Tower of London for all of eternity.

But, uh, anyway. Not bitter, like, at all. Incidentally, Sally has one of those obnoxious bow things on her head that screams "Look at me! I may seem gender-neutral right now, but my mommy gets to dress me in lots and lots of pink! My clothing department is twice the size as the one you get to shop in for your stinky boy babies. Neener!"

FIGURE 2: WARNING SIGNS

Incidentally, the name of this section is also the name of my favourite Coldplay song. Not that you care.

Little Sally isn't looking so hot right now. She's still rocking the bow, but her eyes are a little fatigued.  She's not smiling as much as she usually does, either. Displaying signs of poor behaviour is another symptom of illness. So, if Barbie's head finds its way into your coffee cup while Sally grins evilly from behind the couch, do NOT panic: she may be possessed by a virus (it's like a demon, but smaller). This is the time to keep an eye on things and see how she is in the morning.

FIGURE 3: IT'S NOT EASY BEING GREEN

If Sally wakes up looking like she just stuffed Jabba the Hutt up into her sinuses, you could be dealing with the common cold. This isn't dangerous for most people, but it is gross. The younger the child is, the more disgusting a cold becomes. Boogers are eaten, sleeves are smeared, spittle shall be gratuitously coughed everywhere and anywhere but mostly into your open mouth.

If you're at home with your kids anyway, giving them a day or two to rest would be nice at this point. But if you need to cling tightly to those work-allotted sick days, now is probably not the time to use them.

FIGURE 4: IT'S GETTING HOT IN HERE

If your child was a planet, then National Geographic would be having a field day right now with all the global warming going on. Little Sally is hot -- and not in that creepy wrong way that lands people in jail. She's actually hot to the touch with fever.  Look: her obnoxious little headband thingy is sizzling away on her head. Tragic!

Sally's immune system is being attacked hardcore and is doing its best to fight it off. This could be nothing but a viral infection making its way through, or it could be a sign of something bacterial in nature. But until you have symptoms, it's wait and see. Keep her at home, throw on some Dora to make her happy. Then, go into the other room and pop some codeine so you can deal with Dora's loud, annoying voice.  It's okay, we'll understand.

FIGURE 5: I SEE SPOTS

Uh oh! Sally's fever is gone, but now she's covered in -- is that your brand new $35 lipstick? -- no, but you shouldn't spend that much money on makeup anyway. It's wasteful. Shame on you. Go sponsor a hungry child or something.

Sally has a rash on her sweet little face. Is it something mild, like roseola? Does it pack more of a punch, like chicken pox? There's no way of knowing right now. There is a very easy way of identifying chicken pox that we'll cover in section 7.

At this point, you couldn't even bring Sally out of the house if you wanted to because she's too easily identifiable as a carrier monkey. Heck, whether or not she's contagious is irrelevant at this point; she looks contagious, and that's all it takes. If you bring her into a grocery store pandemonium will ensue. People will drop their produce and take off at a dead run. Some will smash their way through windows if they have to. Women will fall to their knees in prayer to whatever saint will grant them immunity from the pestilence which has now surely tainted the supermarket.

For your peace of mind and Sally's future therapy bills, I would recommend staying home.

FIGURE 6: SPEWING FORTH THE SIGNS

Puke. Barf. Spew. Vomit. Upchucks. Blowing chunks. Whatever it is, keep it to yourself, Little Sally. Stomach bugs are really contagious and really unpleasant. If you have one, please stay far, far away from everybody else. We don't want it, we don't need it, and it will not help us build immunity toward the next bug.

Did you know that having a stomach virus only gives you partial immunity for about six months until the virus mutates? Did you know that adults are contagious for up to 1 week after they stop showing symptoms, but that kids are contagious for up to 2 weeks after? That knowledge is my gift to you. That being said, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone quarantining their gremlins for 2 weeks after a stomach bug. Heck, I know all about this stuff I don't do it. Do you want me to go absolutely insane? Because it would happen much sooner than 2 weeks in, let me tell you. That's why mommy hand sanitizer in her purse. It's my societal compromise.

FIGURE 7: AND NOW YOU KNOW

Break out the calamine lotion. And maybe some shake n' bake.

I hope this primer was helpful in some way. Please let me know if you have any questions. As I'm sure you can tell, I'm very well-researched and extremely fact-based.

Thank you.

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.

The Legend of Lucette

I'm so glad I wrote yesterday's post about anxiety. Truly, it's just better to come right out and admit something than try and pretend everything is perfect. I feel a lot better just having spoken the truth instead of hiding it. Today has been a good day with very little anxiety.

And I realize a fair number of people in my community read my blog and know me personally, so I may be seen as 'that anxious nutcase' from now on, but I don't really mind. Better to have a qualifier rather than just be 'that nutcase,' which we all know is a well established fact anyway.

That being said, I have upped my level of insanity this week by having two sick little gremlins at home. Funny, because every so often I hear from my working mom friends 'Oh, I could never stay at home with my kids. I don't know how you do it. I'd go crazy from boredom/breaking up fights/mundane day-to-day stuff.'

I disagree, kind of.

First of all, most people who have spent at least a year parenting are already as loopy as a bowl of Cheerios, so there's no 'going crazy' be done. Mission complete, know what I'm saying? Second, if you have any social aptitude at all, you can easily fill your time with friends, outings and all sorts of things to keep the little claws retracted. Hence, stomping out most fighting and boredom. Third, mundane it is hardly ever, as long as you get out there and enjoy the fact that you're mistress of your own universe: Champion of pajama bottoms. Owner of the ceramic coffee mug. Ruler of the park bench.

All bets are off, however, when your child get sick. Once a bad cold, stomach bug, or flu sets in, I'm one grouchy kid fight away from a straight jacket and a nurse checking under the tongue to make sure my happy pills are swallowed. And this state is where I have sat for the last four days plus a weekend; trapped inside these walls with two coughing, runny-nosed gremlins who are just sick enough to stay home and just well enough to take out their frustrations on each other.

Crazy, fighting, mundane. Twitch-twitch.

So as to reduce the aforementioned twitching, we've been taking Coughy and McSneezy out in the yard a bit on nicer days, which just happens to be where I found the most coolest thing ever like ever that has ever been found.

We bought this house nearly three years ago from an awesome woman named MC. She and her three kids lived here for several years until she decided it was time to move to a home with less upkeep. Meanwhile, we moved in with our three kids, rolled up our sleeves, and have been continuing the task she started of lovingly renovating and restoring this 1946 postwar home which just happens to be in the neighbourhood I grew up in.

It stands to reason we'd move from a shiny new house bought eight years prior to an older home. We're simply not new home people, especially when its situated in a new neighbourhood. I'm just not a cookie cutter community kind of gal. I tried it for eight years and feel I gave it my best shot. In the end, we found the kids had no room to play and the houses were so close to each other we were practically dry humping our neighbours.

I like living in a home that is pretty but has nothing to prove, stands out simply because every house looks different on the street, and is spaced far enough apart from our neighbours that nobody is getting accidentally fondled. But what I love most is the half-acre with a backyard surrounded by overgrown hedges and huge trees. Space rocks. Space with privacy rocks even more.




And space with privacy with cool treasures in it rocks the hardest.

When MC gave us the keys, she said 'Anything you find the yard is now yours. Enjoy!'

We didn't realize that wasn't meant to be funny. Since then, we've found six or seven balls, some army men, cars and a frisbee or two. Every time the boys find something, I hear squeals of delight as they run their new treasure over to show the rest of us. Little did I realize, however, that I'd be the one squealing one evening earlier this week when I found a little treasure of my own.

Geekster and I were taming the beast that is sickly Spawnling by exploring the great outdoors with him before bed. While in the far back of the yard, we decided to do our quarterly ball-retrieval exercise (stop giggling, perverts) by digging through the hedge that has what we think is a patch of poison ivy growing in it. Except it's not growing right now, so it's a good time for Geekster to be pulling out the balls.

Didn't I say "no giggling"? Sheesh.

While scouring the hedges, I pointed at a yellow half circle partially buried in leaves. 'Honey, what's that?' I asked. He shrugged and went closer. 'It looks like part of a bowl or something. Let me grab it.'

What he pulled out was this:



Beautiful, right? I instantly fell in love with it. I love old mixing bowls, especially free ones that grow in hedges. But where did it come from?

I posted a picture on Facebook and tagged MC in it. She was surprised to see it, and told me it was her grandma's bowl. She has no idea how it got lost in the backyard, but suspects illegal activities conducted by her teens (I second that guess, as I now have my own teen and this doesn't seem so far fetched).

She then said I was welcome to keep the bowl, as long as I promised to pass it down to the next homeowner. That suits me just fine.

MC's grandmother, Lucette, is now 92 and destined to become a legend in my neighbourhood. I have promised to concoct an amazing - and possibly ever so slightly untrue - story about this bowl so that it can be passed down from one home owner to the next with pride.

Perhaps Lucette and her mother used that bowl during the great depression and fed countless school children who would have otherwise gone hungry.

Maybe Lucette was a WWII spy/housewife who poisoned an entire company of Hitler's men with ginger cookies a la salmonella, mixed in this very bowl.

Maybe Lucette herself buried the bowl in the backyard after the unpopular next door neighbours went missing. Wouldn't want to leave any evidence lying around...

... Okay, maybe not the last one.

At any rate, I feel like we found something really special in those cedar hedges. MC and Lucette's bowl will be taken out for every special occasion, every neighbourhood BBQ, and most certainly left as a gift to the next homeowners.

When they can pry the house keys out of my cold, dead hands, that is.

Any ideas for a great "Lucette and the bowl" legend? We need to come up with something spectacular. Also, what's the best thing you ever found? Dish! (You know that pun was intended)

Extreme Makeover, SAHMayhem Edition

So I may have the flu, and I may not. Who knows? Last night it felt like I had been inappropriately touched by a steamroller, but by this morning it was more like being lightly fondled by a dump truck. I had a bit of nausea today, some aches, and a handful of chills, and the thought of doing much more than checking out LOLCats seemed ridiculously difficult. Mostly I watched Spawnling make a mess and fed him sugary things to keep the peace.

This afternoon I feel almost normal. Well, I think. I don't believe I've felt normal for a very long time. I lost that feeling the first time I stayed up all night with a teething baby. My sanity batteries ran out by 4AM and to this day I still can't find the charger.

The good news? Being sort-of-but-not-really-sick gave me an excuse to give the blog a facelift. The old girl was looking rather tired, even with Pippy Longstocking and her cup of coffee lounging in the background.

And, yes, I made the logo myself. I do have talents other than being very beautiful, really smart, and scrambling to the top of the popularity dogpile with ease, you know.

I'd ask everyone to post an honest opinion of my new custom theme, but instead I'll just have you lie and tell me you like it, even if you don't. I have absolutely NO desire to change it, so I'm afraid any complaints will fall on deaf ears.

And besides, I'm too *cough, cough* sick to design a do-over. What kind of harsh critic are you? Get a life, slave driver.

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.

NaBloPoMo Day 2, or Let's Give Her Something to Talk About

Last night, after I impulsively signed up to post once every day for a month, the NaBloPoMo gods met on top of Mount RSS to discuss my actions.

"Can you believe The Maven committed to writing every day?" asked the Goddess Commentia. "What was she thinking?"

"I know, right?" Cackled the joker Spambot. "She's such a tool!"

Commentia giggled into her late night bowl of Godleeos. "She was a tool before she ever signed up for anything. I mean, she writes about staying at home with three kids. Who reads that crap, anyway? Boooooring! Get a job, Maven!"

Follow, a more serious and dedicated sort, shut down the laughfest with a fist smacked hard upon the ethereal table. "That's enough! Why are you mocking The Maven? Why, she's practically a goddess herself, what with all her awesomeness and everything. We should be helping her succeed so that she earns her place in the Hall of Successful Daily Bloggers; No small feat, that."

"I suppose you're right," sighed the beautiful yet often cruel Commentia. "It is our job and all. But I helped the last pathetic mortal. Spambot, I believe it's your turn."

Spambot, the mischievous bastard he is, grinned widely. "No problem, my oh-so-powerful posse. I'll come up with something... interesting for her to blog about."

****

And this morning, Intrepid woke up with Swine Flu symptoms.

Let's give her something to talk about, indeed. Immortal jerks.

Pushing Away the "Ick"

Crapolla. Is it Thursday already? Looks like I decided taking care of my son's medical issues took priority over blogging. I'd better be careful or I'll be kicked out of the Super Nerds Club.

The long and short of the last few days is that Spawnling is doing much better and we are home. He was discharged late Tuesday afternoon and is now resting here while he sheds his sickly exoskeleton and gets back to his more rambunctious, slightly less ornery self. He's making fart and bum jokes, which is always a good sign.

There are two not-so-good things going on right now that have us concerned. One is his heart, which the echo showed has a 'very mild' enlargement of the LAD artery. It's probably not a big deal and he may have had it all along, but since Kawasaki can cause heart damage this news is not sitting well with us. He has a repeat echo in six weeks (and we'll get him sedated right away this time - not like the epic fail two days ago where he lay there sobbing until they gave him drugs and waited 20 minutes).

A few people have said 'Well, at least the risk of heart issues is less now that he's received treatment'. Those few people would be correct: without IVIG treatment, Kawasaki patients have a 20-25% of developing heart issues. With it, the chance is reduced to 5-7%. That's pretty good.

Unless you play paranoid mother, a role I'm quite proficient at.

See, after your child is diagnosed with a rare disease everything changes. Statistics can be comforting one day and completely unimportant the next. On the surface, 7 out of 100 ain't bad. But considering Spawn was one of the fewer than 20 out of 100,000 to get Kawasaki Disease in the first place, that number seems rather high. Add in the fact that he has an enlargement of one of the arteries already and that makes for a very, very worried Maven.

But there's nothing we can do right now other than give him his daily aspirin dose and hope for the best. The next few weeks are when any heart issues will arise. They tend to form in the later stage of the disease.

The other issue that cropped up is vision-related: Spawn can't look right with his right eye. It stares straight ahead when he tries. It could be a couple of things, and one could resolve spontaneously as his health improves. But there is a good chance he will need some long term care to make his eye work properly again. Why is this happening? We don't know. He did have some weak eye muscles at birth which quickly strengthened and required no follow-up, and they could have relapsed when he got sick. He also had very swollen eyes for a few days and it might have damaged the nerves or muscles temporarily or permanently. We see the opthalmologist again in three weeks.

Maybe this time he won't scare one away with his Kawasaki screaming and draw blood on the other one's arms with his sharp little claws. 'Ooh! Look at those scratches. Impressive!' she declared yesterday after he let her know how unhappy he was.

'Please don't sue us' I half-joked.

She grinned. 'Usually it works the other way around'. She officially made my Awesome People List with that joke.

***

I know I don't tend to get serious very often and try to keep this blog light-hearted, but sometimes I just can't. I'm sad right now, and that makes funny hard.

I am so grateful that my baby boys is doing better. There isn't an hour that goes by when I haven't thought of him when we first brought him into the hospital; when I honestly thought I was going home without him. I hug him all the time and thank the powers that be that he's alive and mostly well. I try to take his moodiness in stride; it's something that will pass, after all, and every day we see a little more Spawnling and a little less Kawasaki.

But in some ways he's not the boy I knew less than two weeks ago. He's weak and shaky. He's nowhere near being back to his old, energetic self. Add to it that he can't see well and you have the makings for a frustrated, unsure child who wants to run around and play but is afraid of falling over. And when he does fall, he cries for a long time. Seeing him struggling with his own limitations kills me inside.

I try not to worry about his heart, but I do. I wonder what's going on in his chest despite our best efforts. Will he drop dead of a heart attack at four? At six? At twelve? Will I ever feel comfortable not watching him like a hawk? Will I worry every time he's out of breath? Every time we go to the park? Will I be that parent who begs for follow-up cardiology appointments even when they give us the all clear? Will they say 'Uh oh. Here comes that crazy Maven again. Alert security. Tell them if they launch a latte out the main doors she is very likely to follow it.'

In 12 step recovery programs we're taught to take things 'one day at a time'. With eighteen years of sobriety behind me you'd think I'd have that well entrenched in my psyche. I'm trying, because all this worrying isn't doing us any good.

But this experience has fundamentally changed me in ways I haven't completely figured out. I now know how quickly life can change and how little control I have over the whole thing. Apparently I'm not queen of the universe after all. I am keenly aware of how precious life really is, and not in some cliche, saw-it-in-a-movie kind of way. I also have more empathy for anyone who's had a very sick child, and a deeper respect for the strength it takes to have one who is chronically ill - a club I hope we never have to join, but if we do we'll be in good company.

Also, I hear they have cookies.

I'm sad a lot lately, and not much fun to talk to. When we were at the hospital it was all go, go, go, and the constant adrenaline rush helped me get all the things done that needed doing. I cared for Spawn, met with doctors, interacted with nurses, researched everything going (to the point where a few people thought I had a medical background - I told them I just have a giant brain), updated people and took care of myself. But now that we're home and I've had time to fully appreciate what has happened, my emotions are running amuck. This is why I've been so quiet. I just don't have a lot to give right now. I hope that gets better.

I know it will get better.

The wound is fresh, but some time will heal it. I'm well aware that things could have been a lot worse. I'm also aware of how awesome I am, and how I will bounce back as Spawnling does. Geekster, Intrepid and Gutsy will, too. We're all feeling a little low, but we'll be okay. We'll schedule in some quiet coffee visits with friends and family, get ready for back-to-bliss school, go to Spawn's appointments and take it from there, a day at a time.

It will be okay. Also, the next post I have lined up is significantly more lighthearted than this one. I just needed to purge the yucky stuff first.

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.