Good Enough

Have you ever had a dream about your kids or a loved one that is SO terrifying and realistic that you wake up and have to go and hold them tight, and remind yourself that it wasn’t real,

IT WASN’T REAL. But it sure felt real.

And I couldn’t help but hold them more often today, and I found a little more time for them, and a little more patience.

And then I found myself wishing I could hide them away in the mountains on acres of land, until they were fully grown and able to fend for themselves.

How to type with one hand.

That my sweat smells weird when I’m nursing…(TMI?)

Showering has become a luxury not easily afforded.

I miss my clothes.

I like to stare at the baby for hours.

I think everyone else likes to stare at my baby.

I should be sleeping instead of staring at the baby.

I can fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and have woken up only due to the kink in my neck.

I miss my other kids.

Life is good…something it’s hard for me to remember when I’m pregnant.

I was up last night, silently crying for my brother who’s going through a life changing trial right now.

Although I’m not surprised by the latest family news, it really didn’t make it any easier when I lay my head on the pillow, in the dark silence, with all the thoughts allowed to run wild in my head.

What will happen to my brother. It is him who I worry about most. Will he come home to us? To his family that loves him no matter what and are ready to support him through this dark time in his life? Has it been such a long time away that he forgets we are here? Although he’s not one to talk. None of the men in my family are. It’s very frustrating.

I wish I could have good heart to heart talks with my brothers. My sisters all wear their hearts on their sleeves. There is no guessing involved. 

If my brother was the type to listen, the type to respond to conversation, I would tell him that it’s going to be okay. It’s going to work out. We love him, we’re here for him. Please ask if you need something. Please don’t try to get through this alone.

And I know that it hurts and it will for a long, long time. But don’t let this make you bitter, my brother.

I love you so much. I want happiness for you.

I cry for you, and if you know the women in this family, you know we all do.  

When I started searching on-line for my little brother I was excited and optimistic…

It’s not that there aren’t any choices, there seem to be many cute girls out there, single, open to new relationships…

Maybe I’m missing something? I find a nice girl, she’s interested and then what? What is next? She could be from Ohio? How are they supposed to have a date when she lives in Ohio? And it’s not like I can make little bro began an e-mail relationship. Especially when he is definitely not as keen on finding Mrs.Right as I am. 

And then there is the dilema of all the girls that just aren’t my brother’s “type.” They keep sending him these flirts and messages and I’m the one that has to politely decline. It’s awkward folks! It makes me cling to Mr.Good just a little tighter and beg the heavens never take him away from me.

Personally, I would not want to have to resort to the Internet dating experience, it would scare the bologna out of me. There are just so many unknowns.

So, anyone have any successful stories of Internet hook-ups? How about horror stories?

I had to do it.

I had to go ahead and make the appointment.

This pregnancy needed to be officially validated, and I was tired of waiting for The State to decide if they were going to insure us or not.

Yesterday I had a very unpleasant conversation with one of the State Employees. She was extremely unhelpful and annoyed. “They expect us to be accountants.” She said. “We are not accountants. I can’t understand all these receipts.”

“Is there somewhere where we can all sit down together and go over them?” I asked.

“No. We are a virtual company. There is no office…I”m going to have to look at all this after work. I don’t have time to do it here.”

“You don’t have time to do work at work?” I asked. That goes to show you what a well-oiled machine our Human Services Department is.

So today as I lay staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember to breathe, dollar signs began flashing on the florescent lights in front of me.

One Pa*p Sme*ar…cha-ching!

We need a sample in the cup please…cha-ching!

Let’s see if we can hear a heart beat…cha-ching ching!

One Blood Sample, seven tests ordered for no good reason…cha-ching!

I found myself saying “No, we don’t need to test for any extra abnormalities. Just the basics.”

“How about HIV?”

“No, not necessary. I’ve had about 5 or 6 in my lifetime. They’re always negative.”

“How about AFP?”

“I don’t think so. I mean what can they do if it’s a positive?”

“Nothing.”

“Then no.”

“What about genetic testing.”

“That’ll be a no as well. It sounds pricey.”

But hey!  If I paid up front at the office I received a 10% discount! How’s that for good news?

No, the good news is they did find a heart beat. I love to hear that sound each time I go in. It reminds me that it’s all worth it. No one can really put a price on our baby. Though I did leave the office with a considerably lighter wallet.

Meanwhile back at the ranch I forgot that I had three children from two different families coming over for my weekly babysitting swap. 

“Uh Mr.Good? On top of getting Buster off to school and taking care of our 2 youngens, while I’m at the baby doctor’s, there will be a few additions…Zach and Zoe will be here at around 9am…Bella comes around 9:20 xoxo luv ya!”

I’ve seen good and bad out there in the blogosphere, but at times like these the Internet can be an amazing way of banding together and helping out those in need.

Here in Western Washington we see our share of rain… but this year it hit one particular area exceptionally hard, washing away houses and even the freeway.

I know many of you read Kathryn at Daring Young Mom. I watched her children on Friday while she headed south to participate in cleaning up the mess. It’s hard to explain how devastating it is for those people. Especially at this time of year when we’re all nestled snuggly in our homes with our families.

I complain about my rental house. The popcorn ceilings, the ugly carpet, the broken windows…but it could be worse. 

So let’s all join Kathryn in helping these people and donate. You can do so on her site. Every little bit makes a difference and can help rebuild homes. Won’t that feel good? It’s what the season is really about.

When I get overwhelmed by something I tend to try and push it out of my mind and put it off. In this case it is a very unwise thing to do. I will spend the week focusing on getting health care for my family. I can’t put it off any longer, and it’s wearing a hole in my stomach because all I’m doing is worrying.

I need to stop sitting around and worrying. I need to be proactive. By the end of this week I will have everything turned in that I can possibly gather. So I’ll see you all later, and when I do I’ll finish my story about Buster. Right now I need to prioritize! This is level 1!

After that night Buster’s health did not get any better.

He still had trouble uri*nating. He was moody. But after the hospital visit, Mr.Good was even more assured that nothing was wrong with our boy.

The next weekend rolled around, and matters became clearly defined.  Buster began throwing up and having loose bow*els by Sunday evening. I stayed up with him all night. He began complaining of intense stomach pains. I let him relax in the bath, where he could barely sit up straight. He was getting very weak. By Monday he could only sit on his little inflatable bed. We had to carry him around on it because he was in too much pain for us to touch and hold him directly.

Mr.Good left for work that morning.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I loaded up Missy and Buster in the car and headed to Auntie’s house. I would leave Missy there and take Buster to his pediatrician. I had given him some ibuprofen that morning and it seemed to help his mood. His pediatrician was, of course booked that day, we saw the Nurse Practitioner. I immediately liked her. She took me seriously, she was sensitive to the fact that we had no health insurance. Although Buster performed like a champ for her she was still suspicious. She poked his inflated tummy. He seemed to have a lot of gas, and said it didn’t hurt that much. She asked him where it hurt the most, he indicated to his right side. But even then, not that much, he said with his three year old wisdom. She asked him to jump up and down. He did. She asked if it hurt. He said no. He had a smile on his face.

This was a different boy than I had nursed the night before.

She suspected appendicitis. She said we should go to Children’s Hospital to be diagnosed. They had programs there for people without insurance. We would have to wait in the E.R. that was adjacent to the Regional Hospital. Everyone had to be admitted through there.

Picture the waiting room of the regional E.R. in downtown Anaheim CA. It was packed. We waited for four hours. I debated leaving. Buster seemed fine. Was it really worth it? He was smiling, laughing, walking around. After two hours I asked the admitting attendance. 

You should wait. She said. Even if you go back to his ped’s and he gets diagnosed with appendicitis there, he’d have to come back through here to be admitted. It shouldn’t be too long now.

I couldn’t help judging the people I saw as I sat there with Buster and his favorite blanky curled in my lap. No one really seemed as sick as he had. The little 11 year old girl across from us sat there with her father. She looked fine. She was being over dramatic to get out of school. That’s what I thought about her.

Then there was the little baby with a head wound. Why didn’t they make him priority?

It looks worse than it is. They told the mother.

I wanted to scream. IF MY SON IS HAVING AN APPENDICITIS IT COULD BE ABOUT TO BURST! DOES ANYONE CARE ABOUT THAT?

But we waited in silence. For two more hours.

What a relief it was for me when we saw a real nurse. She weighed Buster, took his temperature. It was high. We talked about his symptoms. He was admitted to a small room decorated for children, with a TV/Video on the wall. Oh joy of joys! He could finally relax. A nice Doctor came in and apologized for the wait. He was handsome. As far as I was concerned nothing else mattered. This man would tell me what was wrong with my child.

They started Buster on an I.V. drip. He was dehydrated. I told the nurse he only got one poke with Buster, he better get it right the first time. Buster was eerily calm with all that was going on. He didn’t seem to care. He kept his eyes on the movie. The nurse got it in right away. By this time Mr.Good and Grandpa Good showed up.   

They came and took our little boy in for an ultrasound. I remember seeing a technician and a doctor in the small room. They were shocked at what they were seeing. His appendix had burst, and been broken for many days now. Pockets of infection riddled his stomach. The largest one was covering his bla*dder and ure*thra.  Which was why he couldn’t use the toilet.

He is the bravest little guy I’ve ever met, said the Doctor. I can’t believe he’s not screaming in pain right now. 

So what’s next? I asked. Are you going to operate? I had visions in my mind of a quick, easy surgery, and Buster coming home in a few days.

Little did I know that the diagnosis was just the beginning. My husband and I had no idea what a nightmare that next month would be. The battle was far from over.

Thanksgiving Eve started off with a bang, or should I say a chuck?

Upchucking that is. At 4 in the morning. Mr.Good and Buster came down with something that decided to visit for the holidays.

As I lay in bed, awake, and alert from soothing my sick son back to sleep I started to feel a little bitter. And then I remembered what we were going through three years ago during this very time of year.

Buster was only 3 1/2 and Missy was barely 1 year old. I didn’t think anything of it at first, when my son, who had been toilet trained for more than a year, began refusing to ur*in*nate. Our usual routine before we left for daily activities was to get up and use the bathroom right away. He started refusing to. He would hold it, going only once a day and even then it wasn’t without a fight. He seemed more emotional than usual. Buster is normally an easy going kid. When his friends were over he seemed more withdrawn, and he would ask that they be taken home.

I sensed something was not right, but I hesitated to take him to the doctor. We did not have health insurance.

Then he would claim he needed to go, and he would sit there, and not be able to. One day I took my daughter for her vaccinations. Buster said he had to go to the bathroom right when the doctor came in to the room to check out Missy. I had to excuse us all, and we went to the bathroom and waited for Buster to do his thing. He couldn’t. He was so frustrated and sad. It hurt my heart. When I finally herded us all back in the room I asked the doctor what her thoughts were about it. She said if he touched down there to often (as little boys sometimes do) that it could cause infection. A little Vaseline on the tip of the appendage should help any stinging he might be having. But she seemed concerned about it as well. She was not my sons regular pediatrician, and Missy was covered for a year under my old insurance. I didn’t feel like I could get him a full check up.

Thanksgiving came and went and Buster was still acting odd. I started to wonder if it could be a bladder infection? The only symptoms he had revolved around those toilet issues. I had voiced my concerns to Mr. Good. He knew our insurance would be reinstated soon and asked me to wait before taking Buster in. This was one of the most conflicting times of our marriage. I ached to take my son in, but my husband felt like his problems weren’t a big deal. I don’t want to make him out to be the bad guy in all of this, but poor Buster had to endure both of his parents begging, pleading, sometimes yelling at him to get over whatever it was and use the toilet. Thinking of this time makes a lump well up in my throat. I’m thankful Buster is a forgiving little boy.

One Sunday night his pain escalated. We were at his parents house which was close to a small hospital with an Emergency room that had always been good to us whenever we had midnight ear infections. This night I asked Mr.Good to take Buster in. I usually like to be the one at the hospital. I’m his mommy. I’m with him every day, all day. I know what is normal and what is not normal for my boy. I believed there was something wrong with him. I SHOULD have taken him in. Maybe the reason I sent Mr. Good with him was that I wanted him to see that there was something really wrong with him. My hope was they would diagnose a bladder infection and send him home with a prescription, and our problems would be over.

It couldn’t have gone worse that night.

Mr.Good came home more frustrated than ever. The nurses were rude and bullying. The Doctor was apathetic. Buster could not give a ur*ine sample. That was the problem. So of course they wanted to catheterise the little guy. When my husband questioned their method they told him not to be difficult.

I remember my first catheter. I was 21, and went to a local ER with one intense bladder infection. The nurse took one look at me and my boyfriend and I could see her opinions about us forming in her eyes. Then without warning she had jammed one into me. She pulled it out just as fast. Every time I pe*ed for the next week I felt exactly where the catheter had been.

And they did this to my little boy. Only they couldn’t get it in. They shoved and shoved and it wouldn’t fit. Mr. Good had to hold him down while he screamed. It is very hard for me to imagine that night.

After the catheter plan failed the nurses were at a loss of what to do and wanted to try again. My husband asked if they could try using a cup one more time. He took Buster in the bathroom and explained that the nurses would try to stick the tube in him again unless he could go into the cup. Buster tried very hard, and like a champ he finally went in the cup. They tested his ur*ine and sent them home empty handed. They told Mr.Good it was probably gas pains and that Buster seemed a little dehydrated. “Come back again if it gets worse.” The doctor told my husband.

You can imagine what Mr. Good was thinking.

He scolded me when he came home that night. He told me they never should have gone, that there was nothing wrong with our son, and he had to endure all that pain for nothing.

In my heart I felt it was the wrong diagnosis. I knew there were more trials ahead for us.

Tune in next time for more of the story. Good news, Buster lives. But just barely.

Because when I saw a huge one over my shoulder this evening and screamed bloody murder it backed away quickly and was lost in the confines of “behind the couch.”

I should take you back to two months ago when I was vacationing in sunny Southern California, minding my own business when I received a call from Mr.Good.

“There’s been an interesting development around here.” He said.

“What do you mean?” I tried not to panic immediately, as it is in my nature to do so. But all the possibilities were running through my mind.  This could be the landlord must have found out we had a dog and we’ve been evicted  type of interesting development or another one of his employees stole from him type of development or he’s contracted a rare disease and we don’t have health insurance…type of interesting development.  Whatever it was I would try to hold it together and be calm.

“We have spiders,” he continued. “I was sitting on the couch and a huge one came up behind me. I also caught one that looked similar in the garage. I caught it and Googled poisonous spiders of Washington and the Hobo spider came up. It’s as destructive as the Brown Recluse, and I think our house is full of them.”

“Spiders!” I thought. “Spiders! This is the disaster I was imagining?” Well I could handle spiders. I calmly told him bomb the house.

“That’s not suggested.” Mr.Good replied. “The bomb will kill their only other living predators. Then they’ll come back stronger.”

“Well, vacuum every room in the house then!” (for goodness sake man, they’re just spiders!)

But as he told me more, I became more worried. Hobos apparently are not good climbers. But our mattress is still on the floor! There was nothing I could do about it while I was enjoying my vacation. So I put it out of my mind and tried to trust the man to take care of it.

September came and went, uneventfully. I never saw any spiders…but it was incentive to keep things properly dusted and de-cluttered. Apparently Hobos love to live in piles of clothes. Today is October 1st. And today, as I was chillin’ on the couch watching Meerkat Manor ( a disturbingly violent animal documentary) my daughter (who was standing in front facing my direction) got a queer look on her face. “Come out here little spider!” she beguiled.

That’s when I decided to peer over my shoulder…just in case.

There was the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life!!!  And as I screamed, it backed away and I hoped it wasn’t lost forever. I got out my weapon of choice, the vacuum. But as I pulled the couch away from the wall the arachnid had seemingly disappeared. After much swooshing with my weapon and tugging of the slip cover…it appeared again! My mind hadn’t played any tricks on me, it was even bigger than I thought the first time!

And that’s when I sucked it up! I kept the vacuum running for a few minutes of good measure. I just knew that spider would come back out if I didn’t. When I pulled out the cannister and looked inside I could see it kicking. I couldn’t help it. I had to scoop it out and put it in a jar. It was just to awesome of a creature not to show it off.

So now it sits in a jar on my shelf in the living room. I don’t think it really survived the suction. It’s not moving anymore.

Mr. Good came home and confirmed that it was indeed a Hobo. So the war must rage on my friends. Until next time!

I swear this is ACTUAL SIZE! PEOPLE!

    updated two hours after original post…Kathryn stopped by to drop off my laundry, don’t ask why she had my laundry, but she pointed out a “huge spider on the wall” it was another Hobo. Yes, they’re trying to infiltrate.