Tag Archives: Health

by

Things I’ve Learned: Pediatric Surgeons, Surgery and the Like.

These are my favorite of the “themed” posts I write. It never amazes me the things I learn when I’m out and how it annoys me or makes me laugh. I understand, I might be the only one who laughs. But if you can’t laugh at yourself, what can you laugh at? There’s really no real introduction I can write about this, so I’ll just dive right in.

1) Residents are young and possibly lack any sense. In waiting for our son’s surgeon, a resident and a high school student interested in medicine appears telling us he was a resident and our surgeon would be right with us but he wanted to come in and check our son. He seemed very new to this, and I wouldn’t have cared so much if he didn’t enter the room saying what he said. As he appeared, smug smirk and all he greets us by saying “So is this George? Is he still peeing downwards?”. I looked at my husband, non-verbally asking permission to make a snide comment back or to actually punch him. Note to doctors: it’s generally not a great idea to mock a 7-month-old baby about his birth defect in front of parents who are nervous about the whole thing. Humor is appreciated; unintended mockery is generally neither appreciated or acceptable in any situation. I have a great sense of humor, I enjoy a good joke. That wasn’t funny; it was mildly insulting. It wasn’t just the comment, obviously we wouldn’t be there if the problem magically fixed itself. Don’t be an idiot resident, and I think you’ll go far. Also, developing a personality and better bedside manner would probably help further your career.

2) Compound Centers. I live in Massachusetts, home of the New England Compounding Center. In case you don’t watch the news, that’s the pharmacy that dispensed Meningitis to almost thousands of people becoming sick and several of them dying. Our baby needed a prescription and I nodded and waited for the paper to head to my pharmacy to fill it. No, you can’t do that. It needed to be filled at a compounding facility, which thankfully was right next to my husband’s work. However, the minute that I heard the words “Compound Facility”, I looked at the nurse as if she was trying to kill my child. Though I’m not entirely sure the difference between a regular pharmacy and a compounding one, aside from the meningitis and obscene cost of prescriptions without being covered by insurance.

3) My maturity level is shaky. I learned a hard lesson yesterday, that my brain sometimes has not left high school. Maybe it’s a result of my love of Penny Arcade, and finding their “doodle” contest very hilarious. Phallic jokes are hilarious, and I laugh every time. I also apparently laugh when there are pictures drawn of them in a hilarious manner. Maybe it was the nerves, I’m definitely a person who laughs at things instead of the proper emotion as a result of a defense mechanism. So when the doctor proceeded to draw diagrams of the surgery, something inside my head reminded me not to laugh, though I can’t promise I didn’t snicker a little. It’s not funny, but I probably could have done without the diagrams.

The most important lesson I learned yesterday was that I can do this. I have it in me to find the positives and ignore the negatives and I know I’ll need help, but I have an awesome husband to go through this with me and we have an amazing family that will stand by us and support us. People are social beings, and we need people to stand by us during our difficult times.

by

Suite 220

I get the phone call for the appointment for tomorrow, reminding me the baby has an appointment with the surgeon. This pain in the muscles around my neck seems to have tightened more. I didn’t think it was possible, but still 2 weeks later it’s now worse. Teething and lack of sleep started it, the looming surgery hanging over my head probably helped keep this pain. I know logically, this isn’t anything serious. I know that I can choose not to, but I’m not willing to say no because the downside is much worse than the surgery itself. I keep telling myself that anyways.

I’m not normally a” worry-er”, I usually leave that to my husband since he’s much better at it than I am. I over-think situations but I rarely actually worry. I go in with the worst case scenario in mind, always. Because I know that if I’m prepared for the worst, I’ll have accepted it as a possibility. Ignoring the worst blindsides you, and I hate being blindsided. I like to know exactly every scenario that would possibly happen so I can have a proper and calm reaction no matter what. It works, but usually the middle of the road or best scenario happens and that makes it a little easier.

Still, I keep researching every chance I get. I know my options. (Really, the only options are do the surgery or be responsible for my son feeling awkward or embarrassed the rest of his life.) I still don’t know if I can see him off into the OR, with all those wires and tubing attached to him while he cries because he’s terrified. I’m a strong person, but I’m not entirely sure I’m that strong. We’ll see; I tend to excel when tossed into a situation and end up being a fierce version of myself. That’s what I’m counting on anyways, because I need to be for my family and mostly for my baby.

No sense overreacting about it now. Tomorrow we’ll probably get a surgery date that I’ll circle on my calendar and look at every day obsessively. I’ll try to forget, but I won’t be able to not look and remind myself. I know I need to mentally prepare and I know I’m good at that. I’m good at shutting down to prevent any sort of negative emotion and it keeps me unhealthily strong and sane. I’ll pretend the pain in my neck and head are just a result of working out too much, though I’ve been too tired for exercise. Most importantly, I’ll remember to hug my boys a little bit tighter every day because you never really know what can happen because anything can.

by

When Television Hits Home

I definitely enjoy television. Maybe too much. My evenings are dedicated to sitting around with my loved ones and watching shows together. I’m not discriminatory about the shows I watch; I appreciated anything moderately well written, entertaining, and moderately well acted. I enjoy some crime procedurals, mostly comedies, and a few assorted others. I enjoy getting lost in a good show as much as I enjoy getting lost in a movie or book. Sometimes the more mindless and questionable the humor, the more I enjoy it.

Sometimes though, you see a show and you relate to it. Most of the time something happens on a sitcom and you say to yourself “well crap, that happened to me this morning” and laugh along with the main character because you know exactly how that it. I suppose that’s why sitcoms are so relatable: the deep down core of the story is something we’ve all experienced in some form. Most of the time the characters themselves are just more attractive versions of us laughing their way through crazy families and when the daily routine goes wrong. We laugh, hoping it doesn’t happen to us or we laugh because it has.

Sometimes though, those pesky dramas we watch tug at our hearts. I’ve become a big fan of that new show “Monday Mornings”. It’s by David E. Kelley, who’s known for his colorful and eccentric characters tossed into dramatic shows. I’ve been a fan of his since I first saw Ally McBeal. I can’t stay up for the show so I usually entrust it to my beloved DVR, and watch it later with my husband. This past weekend was that later. (I’ll try not to spoil it.) There, they  had an infant about 2 months old going into surgery. They showed the little thing getting wheeled into the OR attached to tubes, and I looked at my little baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

It’s becoming more real that I have to see my son like that. I don’t think about it normally, it makes me a little sad when I do. Next month I see his surgeon for the last consult before the big day in June. I know I need to keep my calm, I know I’m known for that. I’ll probably make inappropriate jokes to mask my nervousness, though the procedure is routine enough. In the back of my head, I’ll constantly be thinking of “people die all the time during routine procedures”. A doctor has a difficult job because if they have a bad day, it can cost a person their life. I try not to think about it, and I know it seems silly since I should have nothing to worry about. The image of him being wheeled into the ER will probably stick with me until it happens, and will probably haunt me after. People say that God doesn’t give you more than you can deal with, but I wonder if that’s some lie we like to tell ourselves to gain strength. I don’t care though, something tells me I’ll need every little bit wherever I can get it.

by

I’ll Buy You A Corvette, Whatever You Want

A note before this post: Every year I plug the Jimmy Fund Telethon, a great local cause. Today, I am mentioning another cause that is soon going to personally affect me. Baystate Children’s Hospital is the place where my son will be having his surgery and the people I’ve met there are fantastic and make me a little less nervous about his surgery. No matter how routine a surgery, you know in the back of your mind that anything can happen. Check out this page: https://foundation.baystatehealth.org/netcommunity/sslpage.aspx?pid=533 for information on donating.

My little one drives me crazy. My oldest son is a master at this as well. Not all the time, but no mom can say honestly “I’m always 100% on the ball and sane”. We’re not, we do go a little crazy and we do spend an extra 5 minutes on the toilet wanting to cry but really just enjoying the peace. This doesn’t make us bad people, and this is definitely more common in stay at home moms than working moms. Though I remember some days staying in the shower an extra 5 minutes before work just because I could. We’re moms though, a resilient sort of person that is under appreciated and underestimated.

My baby might be popping his second set of teeth, which timing wise makes sense since he was supposed to pop his first set out around 6 months and he was 2 months ahead of that mark. It’s tiring, nothing turns a baby crankier than teething. My baby used to sleep through the night, now I’m lucky if he even sleeps. I say to him, “I’ll buy you a Corvette, a pony, whatever, just don’t cry”. I don’t know why I try to bribe me since a) he doesn’t know what a corvette or pony is and b) he doesn’t know what a bribe is. He eventually does stop crying, mostly to laugh at pulling my hair out for me. He’s not crying all the time, just when he gets on a “Mom, fix my teeth” fit, it lasts a while.

When he’s not crying, he’s learned that he can pull himself up and walk along furniture. He whizzes by and mastered falling on his butt, not his head. I told my husband, “eventually he’ll get tired of falling and learn” and unfortunately he has. Now he’s brave and let’s go like he can walk and lands right on his heavily padded bottom. His laugh is as infectious as his cry, and he smiles at you baring his 2 little bottom teeth that have almost finished growing completely in.

He’s growing too fast, and as he races out of the room or follows me around like my little duckling I realize that every cry is just precious. Life is too short to stress about not sleeping or all the fussy fits babies can have. It might not seem it at 4 a.m. on your third day of no sleep, but it’s a miracle and something we should be grateful for. Many people can’t have kids, many lose theirs too  young. I can’t get mad because when I open my eyes tiredly and I see him standing in the crib looking up over at me with a smile on his face, I smile back. Remember to always smile back, no matter how tired and stressed you are. You’ll feel better.

by

My Face Was Red With Anger and Awe…

… while I wrote out the check.

Several years ago, my son seemed to have a cold that just wasn’t going away. After what seemed like the 3rd week of a bad cold, I took him to the doctors. It turned out that my son just from lack of contact with many kids prior, just didn’t quite have the immunities so every cold he came into contact with, he got. While there, the doctor noticed my kindergartener had a tissue stuck up his nose. At the time, I had awful insurance with a $600 premium and a $4000 deductible because for some ungodly reason I didn’t qualify for cheaper insurance. (Thanks Romneycare.) The politics isn’t the point, the point happens here.

The doctor was our new doctor, so it was only our 3rd visit with him. This doctor took a pair of tweezers and pulled the tissue out of his nose. Easy and done, right? I thought so until when I got the bill for the visit, I had to pay $700: $100 for the visit and $600 for “object removal”. I called my insurance company, and since we were so healthy we didn’t need our deductible I had to pay for object removal. When I told her the object that was removed, she laughed with a “tough poop” attitude. (I don’t miss you Blue Cross, but I do love you Tufts.) I immediately decided to call the doctor’s office billing center to reason with this. She laughed when I told her my story, and when I thought I was going to get sympathy I get that “so would you like a payment plan?” No, I’d like you not to charge me $600 to pull a tissue out of my kid’s nose.

I forgot that story for a while. Then I got a bill from a Pathology department shortly after my return from the hospital for the items that come out after your birth. (Seriously, I thought they threw that out, not send it out for testing that costs $200.) It came back to me how much in awe I am for some things we end up getting charged with and for how much. This became even more apparent when I received a bill in the mail over the weekend from the doctor’s office. My newborn son had one rare condition that will hopefully be easily fixed in a few months by surgery. He had another rare-ish condition called “umbilical granuloma”, which is a fancy way of saying “part of the umbilical cord is still there and needs to be removed”. The doctor said all we needed was some nitrate and it’d heal right up. He took a q-tip looking thing and put it on my son’s belly button. It did exactly what he said and all was mostly fine. Then, I get my son’s first bill of all neonatal services done and I just quickly looked saying “$144 isn’t bad.” It wasn’t until I read the bill to write out the check when I noticed all the hospital services were free. That $144 was for a q-tip. I looked up in anger and said to my husband “that doctor has expensive supplies. A $600 set of tweezers and a $144 q-tip!”

This made me wonder if the real issue with healthcare wasn’t the cost of the insurance itself. Maybe the problem is really with the doctors and hospitals and the ridiculous prices on necessary services. I cringe to think of the monetary issues with the surgery as well as the “holy crap, my baby needs surgery”. I think the problem is the medical offices are allowed to charge whatever they want on things and there’s nothing as a patient or a consumer that you can do about it, which I guess is a problem with the insurance too. They choose what they cover and what they don’t, and don’t see a problem with these costs because everybody wins. Right? By everyone, I obviously mean the heads of these hospitals and insurance companies, because the everyday person that needs these services are definitely not the winners here.

by

We Heard His Cry… and a List

I won’t lie and say I remember too much about when my son was born, either one really. When you’re in that much pain, you just remember specifics. You remember his size, time of birth, you remember that people were standing around you but your eyes were closed and didn’t see who stood where. You remember his cry, at least you think you do. You try to anyways. I don’t remember his cry, I don’t remember much aside from my husband standing around the warming bed as they seemed to show off issues with my son. I couldn’t hear them, and no one bothered to tell me until after the fact.

When my husband started rattling of issues they noticed, I was looking at this little innocent child and felt bad. His face was bruised, apparently he was facing my back and smacked into my tailbone on the way out. One side of his face, specifically the mouth, was drooping. He had a double uvula (seriously). All of these problems were merely cosmetic, but you look at your little newborn and can’t help but to feel awful for them. Eventually he mentioned there was one problem that wasn’t just cosmetic, it wasn’t serious or life threatening which is good, but it did need to be fixed.

Tomorrow my husband and I get to meet with a pediatric urologist surgeon that’s going to fix my son. I’m nervous, he’s nervous but it’s something that we need to do. When you hear your child has a condition, you can’t help but to look up every detail you can about it and the surgery to correct it. The condition is hypospadias, watch out if you Google it I definitely had nightmares for a while after. Graphic pictures were unnecessary Wikipedia, drawn diagrams would’ve done just enough. There is such thing as too much information, probably much like this post.

No matter what the surgery is for, no parent wants to see their child have to go through a surgery. The idea of the large amount of pain and tubes being attached to him scares me. The idea of changing his diaper and seeing a catheter there with blood and grossness both worries me and grosses me out. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m terrified, as silly as it seems since it’s “supposed” to be a simple and common enough procedure. I’m also not ashamed to admit that I’m terrified of the idea of changing his diaper until the area heals. It needs to be done, so I’m good at just taking a breath and dealing with it.

Part of me can’t help thinking I did something wrong, I think any parent that just goes through birthing a child with anything “unusual” about him worries about that. Maybe I shouldn’t have divulged my love of Chipotle’s and Panera Caesar Salad, or maybe those 6 glasses of cola I had while pregnant did something. Rationally I know that things like these just happen. I keep saying that these things make him special, and special is better than a boring old normal baby. But somehow realizing that special doesn’t make surgery on a baby any less terrifying. I suppose that’s one reason you see the surgeons before you go through something; somehow meeting the person who will do the procedure will make you feel better and more comfortable about it. It’s hard to get comfortable about something even as routine as this though.

by

And Like That, He Appeared.

Last week, I was in the hospital doing the baby thing. As a result, my normal blog week didn’t exist. Then again, neither did sleep or the privacy of my anatomy. Welcome to childbirth.

As I discussed in my last post, I was scheduled to go into the hospital to be induced. I was started with my medicine an hour later. Much to everyone’s surprise, I didn’t need a second dose of the Cervadil, nor did I need to get the Pitocin. The best part was not needing the C-Section the midwife told me to get to accepting I’d need this done. My water broke on its own and twenty minutes after that, there was a poor bruised faced little newborn. Ok, he was almost 8 pounds so he wasn’t that little as far as newborns go. Aside from cosmetic issues, he is in perfect health. That’s all any parent wants to hear. (Though one bit of cosmetic malformation actually requires a surgery to fix, which is sending me to a pediatric surgeon in the close future.)

Giving birth wasn’t the problem; for being induced, I had it pretty easy especially since I only spent roughly around 20 minutes pushing. The problems came after, when it was time to start feeding my newly born son. The hospital was an avidly breastfeeding only environment. I had more people than I’d care to remember poking at my bare chest trying to get something to work that obviously wasn’t. Finally, one night while my poor chest was cracked, swollen, and sore and both my son and I were beyond tired and frustrated, I begged for formula. The nurse charged in, making me sign “The Paper of Shame” for pleading for something to make him not hungry and crying. I don’t like to give up, so the next 2 days I tried everything they suggested while being in so much pain, I cried. Finally, the lactation consultant on my discharge day made a realization that no one bothered to make: it wasn’t my fault and sometimes babies just can’t. I felt relieved. It’s bad enough on your esteem as a parent when you can’t do something that everyone tells you that you should, it’s even worse when people make you feel ashamed that you couldn’t.

I didn’t give up on the idea that my son should get the best nutrition. After renting a double pump there, I realized that this was the best compromise. I don’t care that he gets the breast milk from the bottle, just that he gets it. Even that is a side concern, as long as he eats and thrives I’ll be perfectly happy. My first son turned out perfectly and he was formula fed. Breastfeeding doesn’t make you a better mother no more than natural childbirth does. It’s a personal choice people make, and we need realize that as long as the child is growing up healthy that it doesn’t matter how it happens. There are too many comparisons that do nothing more than make one person feel less like a mother than they should.

by

#awkwardthingssaidatthedoctors

Sure, that hashtag is longer than most tweets. It’s the most fitting title I could come up with. You’ll be forewarned that I will at least mention sex in this post, and maybe something else graphic. We’ll see where I end up, as I write these blogs from the top of my head with only a main point. Where that point takes me? I guess we’ll all find out after.

Today I found myself again in the doctor’s office. I went in with hopes of change, with hopes that maybe just maybe I would get sent to the hospital to finally end this pregnancy. Of course, that didn’t happen. No change. I sat there in the room with the midwife, a new midwife to my doctor’s office, and a student looking at me with looks of consolation. I don’t want consolation, I want to end the madness. My due date isn’t until tomorrow, and I half wonder if I’m just that lucky to have children on their exact due date. I wouldn’t say lucky though, because tomorrow is a whole day of cramping and being too sore to function.

As I was leaving, I was called into her office like a student passing by in the halls who just happened to do something wrong in front of the office. She told me to schedule a fetal stress test for next week before my next scheduled appointment. Then if I’m unfortunate enough to still be pregnant by then, I get to sit for an hour twiddling my thumbs while I’m monitored to make sure everything’s ok and discuss being induced. I might turn to religion if it’ll get this child out of me before it gets cut out of me forcibly. It’s one thing to go into the hospital and “oops, guess you need a c-section” so you don’t have time to psych yourself out. It’s a completely different story when you have to schedule it and over think your insides being cut up and pushed aside while you’re awake and watching the shadows while they do the surgery. I’ll buy this kid whatever he wants if he comes out now.

Before I finally left for good, in a completely crappy mood. No, crappy doesn’t cover it. I would actually use “shitty” to describe my mood at the moment, I had a bright moment when the midwife loudly said “until then, have lots of sex”. I looked up with a raised eyebrow and completely embarrassed. I can’t say that the first thing on my mind at that moment was what got me into this situation to begin with. Much to my horror she continued on, and it may have been my imagination but she said it louder this time. “Seriously, it would really help your situation. Enjoy yourself! Well, you don’t have to enjoy yourself, just as long as he does.” Yeah, that really happened.

In the end, I think I’ve officially hit a wall of frustration and being emotional. I can’t even begin to describe everything on my mind at this moment, and I definitely have no words for how I’m feeling. I definitely think I’m just going to spend the day wallowing in my bed maybe to catch up on all the sleep I’ve been missing due to my lack of comfort. I probably won’t though; wallowing isn’t my style. Commence jumping jacks, spicy food, and castor oil?

by

Now We Just Wait For The Plane To Land

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting across from my midwife. She said “this is the time of the pregnancy where it’s like an airplane circling around, waiting for the right moment to land. Now we wait”. Two weeks ago I was ok with the wait, all things happen when they’re meant to. I’m a patient person, I was a patient person. Then you realize how hard it is to be patient when you can barely move without wincing in pain. I’m not patient when I’m feeling miserably uncomfortable.

Last week, I had an appointment and I was dilated. That was exciting, and she proceeded to “start some contractions”. She succeeded, if her goal was to make me feel more physically miserable than I had previously. Now with my due date slowly crawling nearer, the discomfort is worsening to where if I could squeeze him out myself, I definitely would. I’m not sure if my impatience is worsening due to my being miserable feeling or that everyone else seems to be more impatient than I am. I don’t want him out now, I need him out now.

What they really don’t mention often enough in pregnancy books is you are incredibly drained at the end of the term. By 37 weeks, you’ve got a 6 pound or so baby with all its weight making everything impossible. You want to do all these things, but you can’t because you have this large stomach in your way. Soon you feel not just miserable because of how uncomfortable you are, but you feel miserable because of how you look at yourself with every weigh in or glimpse in the mirror. Finally, the toll it takes on your emotional state. That’s when the worst of it hits, because you’re torn between excitement of meeting this person you’ve been sharing your body with and the guilt of wanting the pregnancy to be done so you can get yourself back.

The misery is worth it though when you watch them grow up into incredible children. Then you forget about this emotional roller coaster they refer to as “the joys of pregnancy” when you decide to go for another one. The sadness and discomfort are as forgotten as the labor pains. I’m thankful I have it better than most, with a doting and fantastic partner that supports me and makes me feel a little less repulsive. I just hope that tonight I can go to sleep, and wake up in the hospital with my 3 boys.

by

Reading Books About Nursing: Part 2

On Monday, I discussed a book from the La Leche International about breastfeeding. The book emphasized things I hate about even watching the news: not enough information but a ton of biased propaganda. I don’t mind people having a point of view different from mine; I mind them judging that I don’t agree. This book scared me about the other book I bought at the same time, entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding by Marianne Neifert, MD. I looked at it, flipped through the pages, hoping to work up the mental strength to read it. Finally I decided to dive in.

And I was pleasantly surprised. My favorite part about this book is that it has a ton of information with no filler stories or commentary. The book gives you all the information you could need, and encourages you that if you try and aren’t successful no matter how hard you try, that you’re not a failure as a mother. After the first few chapters, I was encouraged to try this out without any guilt of failure. It doesn’t just give a ton of information on feeding, but it also gives a ton of information on newborns and infants in general. This book was everything I wanted when I went to the store that day.

Most importantly to me, this book seemed to speak to certain things that I’m practiced in from my first time around that the other book seemed to find “more harmful than good for your child”. If swaddling with a pacifier works to help your child be content, shouldn’t we do it and not feel guilty about it? While the La Leche League book mentioned how every time the baby cries, offer a boob and don’t swaddle. Just sit around topless with a baby on your chest with a blanket over him and that’s all he needs. Neifert tells says that comfort comes in many forms and to try what works for both the parent and child. In general, my ideals closely match the ones she presents in her book.

Another plus from this book is it’s easy to navigate through because of the set-up. Because this book lacks the story telling from La Leche League’s book, you get to the information quicker and can go back to it easier to help you along. The way the book is arranged, both the chapters and the information within the chapters, you can easily skip over a section that doesn’t really apply to you. I wanted a book that not only was informative at the first read, but easy to go back to and reread the information I need at a specific time.  Added bonus? A ton of web resources in the back of the book. I like the idea if I can’t find help in her book, I have 7 pages of resources that might be able to help me.

I recommend Marianne Neifert’s The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding to mothers that are attempting to nurse for the first time. The information in there seems to be beyond useful. It’s not enough that she gives us “how to” information, but she gives a detailed “why”. Every bit of information she gives has a purpose, no filling to make the book longer. Her pictures give a nice subtle detail on positionings for feedings and why each position works. Another great part of the book was how she didn’t just write about breastfeeding, she gave great information about other newborn issues like sleeping routines, colic, solid foods, and how to get yourself emotionally and physically back to your normal. I’m very happy with this book, and I would recommend it highly to anyone who asked. Luckily, you guys didn’t need to ask.