Two nights ago, the third stomach virus to hit our house since November took hold of Erin. I had a feeling it was a night for puke before I even went up to attempt to go to bed. And it was. Call it mother's instinct again. Liz was awake with more sewage poop, the scent of which is again drilled into our sinuses, and as soon as we got her back to sleep after 2 hours of rocking and hoping, Erin was up and spewing.
So out came the sleeping bags again to adorn the bathroom floor, one with parent and one with child. Those sleeping bags used to go camping. Now they take care of sick kids. Pete's is a really high performance bag that has seen some of the highest mountain peaks and the coldest desert nights. Now, it just sees vomit.
Before the puke hit I had one of my post-traumatic stress episodes. It was a simple start...I went up at 10:00 to a sobbing Lizzy who had not taken her bottle before bed. I had left it upstairs (accidentally) and looked at the clock to count the hours it had been sitting out to judge whether or not I could reasonably give it to her. It had been about two hours. And that's all it took. I was catapulted back in time to a place where I put four hours worth of formula at a time into the feeding bag connected to her NG tube. So if it was less than four hours, we were all good. I suddenly could hear the sound of the pump that ran the food through the bag, through the tube and into her little body. And everything came back to me, all at the same time. The sound of the alarm that would sound on the pump if food ran out. The smell of the vitamins we added to the formula to help her liver heal that turned the formula the brightest shade of orange. The process and recipe for making her fomula, adding special oil to it to increase the calories. And then I remembered the first and last name of every doctor and nurse at the hospital who touched her, for better and for worse.
And I thought I would lose my mind. I just sat and cried. Because she is sick again with another stomach virus, or at least what I think is a stomach virus, and it will not go away. I'm right back there again, with my anxiety sky-high and my hope in the toilet. This virus raises all of these questions about what is actually happening inside of her little GI tract and whether or not she is suffering from an overgrowth of the bad bacteria that live naturally there. It is more than anyone would ever want to truly ponder about the inner-workings of their kids' systems. Labwork, testing, doctor's appointments...I feel like this is what is on the horizon for her, and it is almost a year since she was discharged from the hospital. So I get pissed off all over again at the incompetence of many of those whom "cared" for her, knowing that if they had done their jobs with even reasonable care, we would most likely not be here...and then I want to either sue the pants off of them, or take a baseball bat to their knee caps. Or both.
I cannot imagine how soldiers deal when they come out of battle. I endured minor trauma in comparison to what so many others endure, and it has made a quivering mess out of me. My empathy and compassion for those who defend us through times of war is not quantifiable.
In hopeful news, we inaugurated our new President yesterday and it was so thrilling. I loved that all of us were home, even Pete who was able to come down from his office and watch President Obama's inauguration. Everything about the ceremony was beautiful. And my kids were actually interested and excited...especially Erin, who had lots of questions about their daughters. She was fascinated. She then schooled me about the Civil Rights Movement, who Martin Luther King, Jr. was, what he worked for, why he died and that President Obama is our first African-American president. She also told me that we shouldn't say "black," but instead it is correct to say "African-American."
I agreed, smiled and realized once again that my six-year-old is stinkin' brilliant.
Today I am attempting to give my kids one more health day so that they legitimately feel better before going back into their germ-infested schools, which they all are. Ick. I have the heebie-geebies just thinking about them touching the basket of community pencils. However, this "health day" strategy will probably only be effective if random household accidents stop happening. Like Dance Time Wall-E falling off the table and onto Meghan's forehead, and me nearly burning the house down by putting a frying pan on to warm up and forgetting about it until I smelled it accross the house.
Mommy needs some more java and a vacation. Stat.
So out came the sleeping bags again to adorn the bathroom floor, one with parent and one with child. Those sleeping bags used to go camping. Now they take care of sick kids. Pete's is a really high performance bag that has seen some of the highest mountain peaks and the coldest desert nights. Now, it just sees vomit.
Before the puke hit I had one of my post-traumatic stress episodes. It was a simple start...I went up at 10:00 to a sobbing Lizzy who had not taken her bottle before bed. I had left it upstairs (accidentally) and looked at the clock to count the hours it had been sitting out to judge whether or not I could reasonably give it to her. It had been about two hours. And that's all it took. I was catapulted back in time to a place where I put four hours worth of formula at a time into the feeding bag connected to her NG tube. So if it was less than four hours, we were all good. I suddenly could hear the sound of the pump that ran the food through the bag, through the tube and into her little body. And everything came back to me, all at the same time. The sound of the alarm that would sound on the pump if food ran out. The smell of the vitamins we added to the formula to help her liver heal that turned the formula the brightest shade of orange. The process and recipe for making her fomula, adding special oil to it to increase the calories. And then I remembered the first and last name of every doctor and nurse at the hospital who touched her, for better and for worse.
And I thought I would lose my mind. I just sat and cried. Because she is sick again with another stomach virus, or at least what I think is a stomach virus, and it will not go away. I'm right back there again, with my anxiety sky-high and my hope in the toilet. This virus raises all of these questions about what is actually happening inside of her little GI tract and whether or not she is suffering from an overgrowth of the bad bacteria that live naturally there. It is more than anyone would ever want to truly ponder about the inner-workings of their kids' systems. Labwork, testing, doctor's appointments...I feel like this is what is on the horizon for her, and it is almost a year since she was discharged from the hospital. So I get pissed off all over again at the incompetence of many of those whom "cared" for her, knowing that if they had done their jobs with even reasonable care, we would most likely not be here...and then I want to either sue the pants off of them, or take a baseball bat to their knee caps. Or both.
I cannot imagine how soldiers deal when they come out of battle. I endured minor trauma in comparison to what so many others endure, and it has made a quivering mess out of me. My empathy and compassion for those who defend us through times of war is not quantifiable.
In hopeful news, we inaugurated our new President yesterday and it was so thrilling. I loved that all of us were home, even Pete who was able to come down from his office and watch President Obama's inauguration. Everything about the ceremony was beautiful. And my kids were actually interested and excited...especially Erin, who had lots of questions about their daughters. She was fascinated. She then schooled me about the Civil Rights Movement, who Martin Luther King, Jr. was, what he worked for, why he died and that President Obama is our first African-American president. She also told me that we shouldn't say "black," but instead it is correct to say "African-American."
I agreed, smiled and realized once again that my six-year-old is stinkin' brilliant.
Today I am attempting to give my kids one more health day so that they legitimately feel better before going back into their germ-infested schools, which they all are. Ick. I have the heebie-geebies just thinking about them touching the basket of community pencils. However, this "health day" strategy will probably only be effective if random household accidents stop happening. Like Dance Time Wall-E falling off the table and onto Meghan's forehead, and me nearly burning the house down by putting a frying pan on to warm up and forgetting about it until I smelled it accross the house.
Mommy needs some more java and a vacation. Stat.
posted by Kate @ 10:43 AM
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