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Jul 1, 2009

Sick Babies, or Tiny Possibilities?

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In the midst of all this tooth drama, I forgot to mention that yesterday morning I got to observe in a NICU for five hours. I was supposed to do this observation while I was in school, but it didn’t get set up until now, and despite Cordy’s tooth, I couldn’t turn down the offer to observe. (Besides, the emergency clinic was open in the afternoon, so there was no conflict of my time, other than no time for me to eat lunch.)

Some people don’t like the NICU. (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, for those not initiated to hospital-speak.) I can understand that – the area is filled with crib after crib of small and sick babies, many facing life-threatening illnesses and prematurity. Not all of the babies who come into the NICU get the chance to see outside of the NICU again. Some babies are so small that you wonder how it is even possible for them to survive at that size.

I watched a team of doctors and nurses rush to save a baby who had stopped breathing. Her skin faded to white, the monitor flashed red alarms signaling she wasn’t getting the air she needed, and her heart rate began to slow to the 40’s. As I stood back and watched, I’ll admit I was scared for that baby I had never met. In my head, I repeated, “C’mon kid, hang in there. You can do it. Hang in there…” I heard nurses saying that she was usually a stable baby. No one expected her to take this sudden downhill plunge.

But at the same time, miracles can be found in the NICU every day. That group of skilled doctors and nurses worked together as a team – chaotic but with unified purpose – and within minutes they had that baby breathing again. Twenty minutes later, she was stable once again, back on track to heal and grow and someday go home with her parents to live out her destiny.

In my five hours of observation, that wasn’t the only baby who called a large group of medical professionals to her side. When I got a tour of the entire NICU area, the nurse I was shadowing showed me babies of all types: micro-preemies, those with genetic abnormalities, babies withdrawing from drug addiction. I even got to see the infant who was found by a mailman, wrapped in plastic on an abandoned porch last weekend.

Honestly, I loved my time there. Some may see the NICU as too sad, but I see it as full of hope and possibility. Look at how far we’ve come. Thirty years ago, many of the babies in this NICU would have no chance of survival. Twenty years. Ten years, even. Nearly thirty-four years ago, my mother gave birth to a baby at 32 weeks gestation. Today, she would have an excellent chance at survival. Back then, she was simply too young, too sick.

The research and medical advances made in neonatology have made it possible for younger, sicker infants to have better outcomes today. (With lots of help from charities like March of Dimes, of course.) As I rocked a baby going through drug withdrawal, I marveled at how we now have the ability to keep her comfortable and help ease her through the withdrawal. And I realized how much I would enjoy working in a NICU, helping little people get through a rough start in life to experience the possibilities life has to offer and being on the front lines in new medical breakthroughs to save even more babies.

Just think of how many medical advances we’ll see in the next ten, twenty, thirty years. It’s pretty amazing to consider.

Filed Under: big issues, school ·


Jun 30, 2009

A Lot of Nothing, With a Side of Frustration

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I spent all of last night trying to psych myself up for today, prepared for Cordy to endure dental torture and probably some kind of sedating agent to allow tooth professionals to perform said dental torture.

No one told me the torture would be all mine today.

We arrived at the dental clinic at Children’s Hospital at 12:15pm. The emergency clinic opened at 1:00, so we took a number (#3 at 45 min. early!) and waited. Cordy was a little unsure of the waiting room, made worse minute by minute as more and more people filled the tiny room, eventually taking up every seat. It became loud and chaotic quickly. I silently hoped that, as #3 in line, we’d quickly be whisked away from the din of that waiting room.

The clock struck one and the registration window opened. #3 was called five minutes later and I approached the window, only to be turned away with a clipboard full of paperwork and instructions to return when I had filled it all out. Meanwhile, other numbers were called and other children were shuffled back into the office. I used my best speed penmanship to complete the forms and rush back to the window. I was again told to have a seat and they would let me know when they needed me again.

45 minutes later, we still waited. The room was still loud, Cordy was begging to go home and complaining of hunger. My head was pounding. When our name was called again, we went to the window only to be given an ID sticker to put on Cordy’s shirt, with the message to sit down and wait more.

Half an hour later, it was time to see the doctor.

We were brought back into a tiny room, where I explained what I knew: Cordy’s lower right back molar was broken, she may be in pain but we can never be sure, and she’s a difficult patient. The doctor coaxed Cordy into showing her the tooth (thanks to my offer to let Cordy cook tonight if she cooperated). The doctor then immediately launched into a lecture on cavities that made me feel about two inches tall. She seemed to assume I fed Cordy a steady diet of Mountain Dew and pixie sticks.

“Wait,” I interrupted, “How does she have a cavity? She doesn’t eat a lot of sweets, we brush her teeth, and I check her teeth weekly. I’ve never noticed even a darkish spot on that tooth. And she never eats hard candy or anything harder than a Goldfish cracker.”

The doctor paused, then told me how fluoride toothpaste can mask a cavity, effectively covering it up with a fluoride shell. I’ll admit, that made no sense to me at all. But then as she continued on, I again felt like she was somehow saying this was all my fault.

She then confirmed what I suspected: Cordy would need general anesthesia to repair the tooth. The better news? As long as it isn’t infected, they will be able to cap the tooth and not need to pull it. Then she told me, “The wait time for dental surgery right now is about 8-10 weeks.”

I stared at her hard for a moment, not sure if I heard her correctly. “You mean for routine stuff, right?”

“No, I mean for any dental surgery.”

As you know, I am nearly-a-nurse. I understand that a parent’s sense of urgency isn’t always the same as a medical sense of urgency. In that moment, however? I was ready to call the doctor a quack.

“8-10 weeks? But what if she’s in pain? We’re supposed to let her be in pain for 8-10 weeks?” I then explained Cordy’s odd pain reception, and how we don’t know if she’s hurting or not. She now won’t let me brush the tooth, so I can only assume she’s hurting. “There’s no way I can let her hurt for 8-10 weeks.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, since she is special needs, and has unique sensory issues, we can then consider that she is in pain and find an earlier surgery date. I believe there might be some spots available in 2-3 weeks.”

Again, a look of stupor had to show on my face. “2-3 weeks is considered acceptable for a child in pain?”

The doctor then tried to explain to me that there was acute pain and chronic pain, and how this is likely chronic pain, which a child can “get used to.” Ah. Well, that explains everything. She can just get used to hurting. No prob.

The entire procedure was explained to me, and I agreed that it sounded like the best possible procedure. General anesthesia gives them a chance to check for any other problems, correct them if needed, and give her teeth a good cleaning while she’s there.

So now we’re waiting to get a surgery date sometime in the next 2-3 weeks. And Cordy has to get a physical, also, to rule out anything that could prevent her from having surgery. (Including “malignant hyperthermia” according to the doctor, which I know can’t be determined from a simple physical.)

I am completely on-board with the procedure. It’s what Cordy needs. I also know that not everyone can walk-in and have dental surgery, despite what the ER led me to believe. I’m frustrated by the long wait, however. If Cordy’s tooth doesn’t become infected, we can save it. But if it does, the tooth will be pulled, which could throw off the spacing in her mouth. As someone who had braces for 5 years, I’d rather not screw up the good spacing she currently has. And the longer it takes to get this done, the greater the chance of infection, not to mention being in pain for longer than I would like.

The entire time the doctor and I talked, Cordy was miserable, sitting near the door, pulling on the doorknob begging to go home. She was scared by the medical equipment in the room, and the doctor often got right in her face, which is good for many kids, but completely intimidates Cordy. I hate that I had to put her through that today, and will have to put her through it again, along with a trip to her pediatrician, too.

We left Children’s Hospital exhausted: Cordy still with a broken tooth, and me with a killer headache and a lot of frustration. Cordy winced tonight when I brushed her teeth, denying that it hurt but showing signs that it did. The prescription painkiller (hydrocodone) did nothing to make it better, and in typical Cordy response, actually made her more alert and awake instead of drowsy.

This is one of those times when I can’t make everything better for her, and it really upsets me. I feel helpless, stuck in the system. I’m not asking for any kind of special treatment, either. In some ways, the special treatment we need is causing this to take longer – if Cordy could sit still and be a compliant patient, everything would have been fixed today in the dentist’s chair.

But as her mom, with all nearly-a-nurse knowledge put aside, I think it’s unfair to make her endure more pain because a condition she can’t control keeps her from being a model patient. I want to rage about how insane this all is to someone who can do something, but it wouldn’t help. It’s not rational, but isn’t that part of what being a parent is all about? We want to protect our children against anything, against all enemies, even if those enemies are reason and logic. Mama bear instinct is strong.

So now, we wait. And I make every effort to relax, while watching Cordy closely for signs of infection and hoping she isn’t hurting.

I hate this.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy · Tagged:


Jun 28, 2009

Tooth Drama on a Saturday Night

By ·

I had planned on a quiet Saturday evening. Aaron was going to be at Origins, I was going to put the girls to bed and watch some great medical reality TV on Discovery Health. And then near bedtime, Cordy and I were playing, and I asked her to let me count her teeth. When I got to the last one, I noticed something didn’t look right.

Hoping it was just a little bit of dinner stuck to her tooth, I gently brushed her teeth, and noticed the molar still looked weird. Grabbing my pen light, I asked her to open her mouth again, and I got a close look (warning, graphic description): a jagged V slice was missing from the middle of her tooth, with the yellow pulp visible.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Does your tooth hurt?” I asked Cordy.

“No!” she replied with a smile. No way, that’s impossible, I thought. That HAS TO HURT. She had no idea when she did it, or how. I have no idea when she ever ate anything hard enough to crack her molar.

Part of Cordy’s unique character is her reaction to pain. Or maybe that should read lack of reaction. I’ve watched her do things that would make the average child shriek in pain. I saw her tear half of her fingernail off, and the most reaction we got from that was a temporary sad face. She doesn’t process pain the same way most of us do.

I still can’t figure out if she is feeling the sensation of pain and interprets it differently in her brain, or if pain doesn’t register at all. But either way, extreme pain generally doesn’t bother her. (Now, try to pour water on her hair and she screams that it hurts. I don’t fully understand it.)

I called her pediatrician’s on-call service, and the doctor said it was best to take Cordy to Children’s Hospital for a look. Infection was a concern, as was the pain issue. So after spending 20 minutes trying to prep Cordy for what to expect, we left for the hospital.

Cordy was scared. I knew this was likely to end in disaster, but at the same time she seemed to understand what I told her. The doctor wanted to look at her tooth, and they wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. She asked if she would get a new tooth, and I told her they would try to make her tooth all better. She promised she’d be brave if I promised not to leave her.

At the hospital, she was fine as I checked in, and I had hope that she might do better than I expected. Then we walked back into the triage area, and the aide asked her to stand on the scale for her weight. She lost it right there, and her fear slowly built into a full, old-school meltdown. No one could touch her.

I sat on the floor with her in our nook in triage, holding her while she tried to break free to run away, primal screams and repetitions of “Let me go!” coming from deep inside. My own face burned with embarrassment at the stares we got from other parents and staff. I know I should be used to this by now, but it still gets to me. I wanted to scream out, “She has autism! Transitions and new experiences are hard for her!” but instead I focused on calming her down. She finally calmed down right before we were moved to an exam room.

Hiding under the table as she came out of the meltdown

The resident who came in to examine Cordy was young and I had to explain all of Cordy’s quirks to her. Cordy hid under a chair in the exam room, unwilling to show her tooth or let this new stranger near her. She got a history on Cordy, then said she needed to talk to her attending doc to see what steps we’d take next. I was left alone in the room with Cordy. She eventually came up onto the bed with me, and then exhaustion from her meltdown caught up with her. Cordy was overcome with sleep.


When the attending doctor came in, he got to look closely at the tooth, thanks to Cordy’s ability to sleep like the dead. He was amazed that she wasn’t in extreme pain, as it is a very deep break in the tooth. Nothing would be done tonight, he said, but she will need to have something done with that tooth.

Based on her behavior, it was obvious that she will need to be sedated to have her tooth fixed. That’s something they didn’t have the set-up for in the ER, but the dental clinic at Children’s has the ability to do general anesthesia. So the plan was put in place for her to come see the dental surgeon on Monday to determine what to do with that tooth.

Cordy also received a prescription for a heavy-duty pain med that would make drug seekers green with envy. Even though we can’t be sure if she’s hurting or not, the doctor said the only ethical thing to do in this case is assume she is in pain, treat with ibuprofen round-the-clock, and then use the prescription pain med if she shows any signs of pain or says that her tooth hurts.

Even though I’m nearly-a-nurse and know that general anesthesia is safe, I’m still terribly nervous about Monday now. First, I know we’re going to have a replay of everything that happened tonight. But on top of that, they will have to hold her down and sedate her.

And even though she has no allergies that we know of, we’ve also never had to know her allergies. She’s only been on antibiotics twice in her life. She’s never been seriously injured or sick. However, I do know that she reacts strangely to nearly anything she’s given. Pain medications don’t seem to do anything at all, while she has adverse reactions to Benadryl. Hell, even blue food coloring affects her behavior. Nothing about her seems to react the way it should. I worry she’ll be ultra sensitive to the anesthesia or something will go wrong.

I hate seeing her afraid. And I hate having to even think about risking general anesthesia for a tooth problem. At this point I want Monday to come and go quickly and with as little disruption to our lives as normal. But I’ll confess I’m so worried that something might happen to my Amazon warrior princess.

I don’t want to be on this side of things – I want to be the nurse reassuring the parents that everything will be fine, not the worried mother hoping her sensitive child won’t have a bad reaction under anesthesia.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy ·


Jun 26, 2009

Haiku Friday: Busy Weekend

By ·
This weekend, two big
events: one for geeks, and one
for all the hippies

Origins Game Fair
and Comfest in C-bus on
this hot, hot weekend

I’ll confess: I’ll be
at both, for Aaron is both
geek and hippie child

One features sci-fi
costumes, lots of games to play
and people watching.

The other features
handmade goods, yummy food and
people watching.

The end of June is always busy around here. Origins is an event that Aaron has gone to for years, and while I’m not as interested as he is, I still like to tag along to look at the new games, see all of the unique costumes people come up with, and look for cute plushies from the anime vendors.

Comfest, short for Community Festival, is an annual tradition around here, partially started by Aaron’s parents and their friends. I love all of the unique shopping (Little Alouette will be there this year!), and I love the relaxed atmosphere. And I do mean relaxed – it’s legal for women to be topless in public in Columbus, and you will see topless women walking around Comfest. All I’ll say is the boobage on display is generally far better to look at than sweaty, pudgy man boobs.

So what’s everyone else doing this weekend?

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your main blog URL). DON’T sign unless you have a haiku this week. If you need help with this, please let me know.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button at the top.

REMEMBER: Do not post your link unless you have a haiku this week! I will delete any links without haiku!

Filed Under: Haiku Fridays ·


Jun 25, 2009

Mid-Blog Crisis

By ·

Last weekend I attended PodCampOhio, a free conference for bloggers, vloggers, podcasting, and other types of social media. Overall, it was a great experience, and I feel like I learned a lot, while also meeting some new local bloggers, including those I already knew in name if not in person.

But one unexpected side effect of the event was an enhanced feeling of uneasiness with my blog. I’ve already been feeling as if I’m adrift lately, either due to a lack of focus or the possibility that my life has become so boring that I can’t find anything interesting to blog about. Don’t worry, I’m not pulling one of those I’m shutting down my blog 4-ever c-ya!!! dramatic moments, because that’s not what I want at all. I’m simply trying to refine and make this a better place for me and for everyone who stops by and cares for what I write.

One session I attended at PodCampOhio had me convinced I needed to “rebrand” my blog. I mean, after all, just look at my blog name: A Mommy Story. What in the world does that tell the reader about me? It says I’m a mom, and this is likely a mom blog. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t 163,946,037 OTHER mom blogs out there.

A Mommy Story is a somewhat dull name, created after the first three tries were already taken on Blogger back in 2005. Instead of taking the time to ponder and wait for inspiration to gift me with a creative name, I kept typing out new names desperately, because I had to have my blog now! now! now!

This session talked about setting yourself apart from your “competition” – offering unique value, being specific and remarkable, finding something to stand for, etc. Honestly, it was a lot of good information, even if it did send this blogger into a panic. I’ve screwed it all up from the beginning! I thought.

And then another session discussed good storytelling, and I realized I couldn’t tell you all about my blog in one sentence. Hmmm…maybe I’m not focused enough?

Finally, Dawn advised me that what I really needed to do was keep my blog name, but get my lazy butt off of Blogger and make the jump to WordPress, since Blogger isn’t always playing nice with some computers/browsers of late, which could be affecting my traffic.

So…yeah. I’m more confused than ever. Do I try to focus my scope more? Do I try to find an angle that works? Do I find a new blog name and rebrand? Do I switch to my own domain and WordPress? (OK, that last one really does need to happen. I am lazy, and I like the look of WordPress.)

Or do I just say to hell with all of that branding and narrative advice and keep on doing what I’m doing? I know some people will tell me that I shouldn’t worry about all of the superficial stuff like branding and contrived storyline focus. Writing should be organic, right? But I’m not one of those bloggers who can weave words with ease into artful essays, or come up with a story that is outrageously funny and over-the-top.

I’ll also admit: I do care about my stats, and I know I’m not supposed to care. I don’t like seeing that I’ve lost 1/4 of my traffic in the past year. Comments are down, making me wonder if I’m actually connecting with readers in a meaningful way or if my posts are still interesting. I still love every one of my readers like I love my chocolate cake – maybe even more so now that there are fewer of you.

(Side note: Wow, talk about rambling. This post counts as everything that might be wrong with my blog. All over the place without an editor. All I need for a truly dreadful post would be several different fonts, font sizes and colors throughout. Bear with me – I’m working through this as I type.)

So after writing all of this out, where does it leave me? Neurotic and in desperate need of a Xanax? Probably.

I’m not making any decision at the moment. I’m going to think on the topic at least until after BlogHer, then decide if I want to make any changes. Well, aside from the move to WordPress – I’m pretty certain on that one, once I learn CSS or save up for a good theme design. Maybe I’m just thinking too hard about this – after all, my birthday was also this weekend, and birthdays always make me susceptible to overthinking about what I’m doing with my life.

Feel free to add your thoughts to my one-person argument. I’d love to know what you want to see from me. Or how you solved a blogging crisis you’ve had. I know I’m really opening myself up to criticism here, and my flame-proof jacket is standing by. Just know that any comment of UR CRAZY = not helpful.

(Oh, I’m going to regret hitting publish on this one…)

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