I have discovered a new definition of fun. Fun is watching my toddler turn into a 17-month-old version of Randy "Macho Man" Savage in the throws of what I can only describe as a combination of a bad crack trip (is there a good crack trip?) and massive roid rage. Liz received an asthma diagnosis from the pediatrician yesterday and has started on a barrage of medications the likes of which I haven't seen since I came down with a nasty case of asthmatic bronchitis several years back. She needs a steroid twice a day for the next few months as well as a rescue medication to attack her bouts of wheezing and respiratory distress. She was already capable of death-defying feats of great strength before starting regular uses of inhaled steroids, so you might be able to use your powers of imagination to visualize what it's like around here right now. The only place I haven't found her is actually running across the mantle. But that's about it. She's spinning like a top, totally pissed off at everyone and everything, and is looking to break things and fall from as high a height as her twenty-three pound frame can find and scale.

In the meantime, I've had the other two on a medication (that shall, for the moment, remain nameless) for their allergies and I am now taking them off. I haven't been able to understand why they are both behaving as if they are two bipolar children suffering from massive PMS. Lizzy's doctor wanted me to start her on this medication yesterday in addition to the allergy medication that she is already on, and I was a little nervous. I started talking to my girlfriends about this knowing that they have dealt with asthma and severe allergy issues with their kids, and the light bulb came on...their kids were on this evil shit, too, and their kids acted the same way. They took them off and viola...sanity (sort of) returned. Needless to say, the evil meds are being purged from this residence.

So what are we to do? This is one more example of the diligence required to care for our children in a day and age where the prescription pad is mightier than the sword. We are to trust that our health care providers will prescribe what is necessary and safe and then we are to put these medications into the bodies of the babies we created when we actually know nothing about what they are and what they do. We are accustomed to the quick fix of a pill or potion for ourselves, and now we can get the same type of instant gratification for our children. But the truth is that most of these drugs are new and no one, including the doctors, has any clue about what they do to people who take them on a short or long-term basis. Look at Tylenol, for God's sake. Only in the past couple of years did the drug makers begin to think that it was pertinent information that that drug is processed in the liver...so peeps popping a bunch to combat a hangover were winding up putting themselves into liver failure. Who knew? The drug companies knew. And they don't tell us the truth.

So now I'm pumping my baby's body full of drugs in the hope that she will get better. Soon. And in my gut, I'm doubting whether or not it's safe, whether or not it's the best course of action. But in an effort to relinquish my gut instinct to distrust and also enable her to breathe with greater ease, I am doing as I'm told. A little bit. Except for that one med. And then I'm asking my friends all of my questions instead of the doctors.

Baby steps.

I realize that I get nuts about this issue, but this is just another feather in the advocacy hat. It's another visit to my soapbox where I will continue to yell about remaining vigilant and committed to protecting the health of our children and ourselves. No one will do it for us. And our kids certainly cannot do it for themselves.

On that note, it's been nearly a month since my biopsy and as such it is time for me to remind myself and you to FEEL THE BOOBIES!

Next post: my take on the insanity of Jon and Kate + 8