Searching for 'The Safe Side'

Little A had a regularly scheduled pulmonary appointment last week. I was almost looking forward to it. It's been over four months since we've had to break out the rescue inhaler to stop an asthma attack. Even two weeks ago, when we had that fast breathing episode with a cold, there was no wheezing present, and radiology declared it wasn't another pneumonia. Plus we made it through a whole vacation without going to the ER, which hasn't happened in over a year. To me, all that was progress. I arrived at the pulmonary clinic expecting to hear "Good job, guys! Those long-acting maintenance asthma meds are doing the trick. Keep dosing her, and see you back in six months."

Which is why I felt pretty smacked upside the head when the pulmonologist talked about how Little A's latest Xrays are oddly grainy in the same place they have been oddly grainy in previous illnesses. He launched into a discussion of right middle lobe syndrome . He also mentioned how he'd like to stick a scope down her lungs to see if there was any goop or other obstruction in there. Depending on what they found, they might culture the goop, biopsy a growth (gulp), or in the case of discovering something she accidentally inhaled into her lungs that got stuck there -- remove the problem.

Not quite the high-five fest I was expecting.

Hearing that a doctor thinks your child's lung is partially collapsed all the time does not make for a happy mommy. And a syndrome is extra difficult to contemplate. I'm not a medical professional, but it seems that the word "syndrome" is medical shorthand for "this grab bag of weirdness impacts the same body part, so let's call call it a single disease, even though it actually has fifty causes and can range from being a little bit annoying to requiring a surgeon to cut out part of your lung."

This would be nerve wracking enough if I had a good relationship with Little A's pulmonologist. But while he is gentle and good natured with children, his communication with me sucks. Each appointment the doctor (let's call him Newbie) spends one minute examining Little A, then buries his face in his laptop while firing off questions and typing answers while I hold Little A. I often wonder why we have to be there for the appointments after the nurse takes vitals. We might as well be at home on conference call, given the amount of times he makes eye contact with either of us.

Because Dr. Newbie is in his fellowship (aka still training for his subspecialty) he needs to check in with the attending pulmonologist at the end of our appointments. And many times, what the other pulmonologist says to me doesn't sound the same as what Dr. Newbie says. It's terribly confusing to get conflicting explanations in the same appointment. Especially now that we're dealing with tracking down a less-than-straightforward diagnosis.

I balked at Dr. Newbie's idea of immediately putting a scope down Little A's lungs to have a look around. When the attending physician arrived, I explained that I was concerned because I kept hearing the same phrase from everyone involved: To be on 'the safe side."

• I had taken Little A to the pediatrician before vacation for an iffy cold that in retrospect, would certainly have cleared up without any intervention. I did it "just in case."

• Her pediatrician sent Little A to be Xrayed this last time despite the fact she didn't hear clear crackles or wheezing in her lungs. "Because of her history, let's be cautious," she said.

• And now the pulmonology dept. is saying this latest Xray is evidence that, just to be on the safe side, we should do more testing.

It's not that I don't want to discover a potentially serious problem in addition to the asthma. But I am haunted at the prospect of such aggressive testing when we are not 100 percent sure it is needed. Usually a parent wants to hear that tests have come back clear for their child. But if we jump in with both feet on this and Little A is poked with needles and surgical instruments, I can't help but feel like I won't be quite as elated as I should be if this syndrome is ruled out. Instead, I'll be sad at the thought of what we've done to my little girl needlessly.

Off to email the pulmonologist some pointed questions. More on this soon ...

I Heart Disneyland (Holy Crap)

We have officially broken the vacation jinx, getting through an entire week in Southern California without needing to call 911, visit an ER, or have Little A admitted to the hospital to be tethered to an oxygen line. This differs markedly from the previous two vacations that were cut short by medical emergencies. It's just so freaking normal, I almost don't know how to process it. Oh wait, I remember -- YAY! We had such a great time!

So, Disneyland. I'd never been there before. I believe there are two types of Americans: those that naturally embrace all things Mickey, and those that squint and back away from the cartoon empire as if it emits toxic fumes. Prekids, I was a big Disney hater. The parks, movies, DVDs, and merchandise tie-ins are so massively hyped that it seemed like a huge, embarrasingly obvious racket to me. I just didn't get how anyone would want to go there. It didn't help that since DH is in the entertainment industry, we know people who have worked for The Mouse and oh, the stories of hardcore corporate craziness I have heard. So going to Disneyland in my twenties or early thirties made me grunt and roll my eyes. It was not going to happen.

Of course, motherhood changes you. Alters your body, makes you accept things you never thought you'd accept, makes you utter ludicrous statements on a regular basis. Just the other day I found myself saying "We do NOT wash each other's butts!" Shortly before that, "You cannot marry daddy. He already has a wife." But even though strange announcements are fairly routine around Chez Wabi, this latest one still feels odd when it comes out of my mouth:

I am a convert. I love Disneyland. I want to go back.

Now, I expected Big A would want to move there. She's almost five, deep into that frilly princess stage. (Ah, the princess stage. This is another one of those things I was initially horrified by, but now just find routine.) And Little A is a generally affable little imp, so even though she is too young to know the various characters and stories involved in Disneyland attractions, I guessed she'd like it all.

But me? I figured I'd just grit my teeth and be there on the girls' behalf. The lines were going to bug me, I knew I'd be hot and annoyed by people in the crowds. I didn't expect that I'd find going to Disneyland so pleasant myself: That walking by the uber-romanticized buildings on Main Street would still feel cozy and fun; that the parades would be delightful to watch, and that the rides would be as fun for me as the girls. And the lines? With a little planning, they turned out not to be a big deal. In a nutshell, I discovered that despite the nonstop merchandising and inflated prices, despite the fakeness of every single thing there, I had an authentically great time anyway.

I read somewhere that Disneyland averages 30,000 visitors every day, and that as many as 50,000 are in the parks during the summer and on other holidays. But the interesting thing was that I didn't see a lot of the typical ugly scenes of family stress/hunger/tantrums/arguments that one usually witnesses with that many people hanging around together. I wonder why it is that everyone seemed to be on such good behavior (my family included)? Is it park engineering? People's expectations? Some sort of happy gas?

If anyone has any theories on this, I'd love to hear them.

Update

Little A was a terror in the radiology waiting room, but a dream on the actual x ray table. They found what the pediatrician called "a little infiltrate" in the right lung. Too small to officially call it pneumonia on the report, though. Given her medical history, Little A came home with a prescription for antibiotics anyway, on the off chance it isn't viral.

Even better: after chugging along at 60 breaths per minute for a day, her respiration rate dropped back down to about half that last night. And she finally ate. It was ice cream and not her dinner, but whatever. She took in calories. After a bumpy couple of days, I think my girl is licking this infection on her own. I'll give her the antibiotics anyway, since she also had a developing ear infection. But as a mom, my anxiety level with Little A's health tracks closely with her breathing rate. There's nothing like a gasping child to get me all nerved up! So now I feel better too. Even though Little A gifted me with a cold of my own, and now Big A is now complaining of a sore throat, I feel better.

We may have to pack lots of tissues and Tylenol for our trip, but now it seems we will be packing. Hooray!

Summer Is Officially Over ...

... When Little A gets her first bad cold of the season and ends up at the doctor's office with what might be the beginning of yet another pneumonia. Or maybe not -- hard to tell what's happening in those lungs when Little A is screeching and batting away the pediatrician's stethoscope like it's a hot iron. (Why oh why do doctor appointments always end up right in the middle of naptime?)

On the doctor's recommendation, I took her home for a power nap after the appointment rather than going straight to the hospital radiology department. Hopefully the nap improves the odds that she'll stay calm during the chest Xray this afternoon, and we'll get a nice, nonblurry shot of her lungs. Right now we have no idea if the fast, shallow "belly breathing" I've watched her do in the last 24 hours is just a bad (but nonserious) cold, or something else that requires aggressive intervention.

It feels like eerie deja vu from the first time Little A got seriously ill last December. That time her illness began when we were about to go to Lake Tahoe for New Year's weekend and stay at a house we rented with friends. So in addition to being frantic about Little A's wheezing and coughing, I was worried and conflicted about whether to cancel the trip, and how that might impact Big A. We decided to postpone leaving by a day, then traveled after the pediatrician gave us the ok. But despite all our precautions, Little A ended up in the hospital for a week anyway, after a terrifying experience that cut the trip short.

This time instead of a Tahoe house rental, the illness coincides with an impromptu trip to Southern California that is supposed to begin this weekend. Sitting on my desk is an envelope containing nonrefundable Disneyland tickets that I only purchased a couple days before Little A got sick. We also have nonrefundable hotel reservations for inside the park and nonrefundable hotel reservations in San Diego for a few days after Disneyland -- a real splurge for us. Big A is apoplectic with excitement over this trip, and frankly so am I. We haven't gone on a real vacation that lasted more than a couple nights away from home in years. The idea we might have to cancel this due to a medical emergency so similar to the one that ended the last big getaway we tried for is something I'm trying not to think about. But of course, that just means the possibility of canceling the trip is the second-most frequent thought on my mind today, right behind "what's up with my girl's lungs this time?"

So. Off to radiology now -- wish us luck!

Plans (Temporarily) Thwarted by that Pesky Innability to Write More Than Her Name

Big A: What are you writing, mommy?

Wabi: A note to the babysitter about what you and Little A need to do at bedtime.

Big A: Oh! Write this down: "Big A can go to bed whenever she wants, and that's ok!"

Gotta give her points for trying ...

Thanks for all the Babysitter Advice ...

Without going into all the nitty gritty details, let's just say the conversation with Susanne went as these things generally do: A little awkward and strange at first, but ultimately ok. And now that it's September, my work has dwindled down to practically nothing (as planned), which means that Little A is no longer in regularly scheduled daycare anyhow. Yee haw!

I'm loving being a SAHM so far. Of course ... two weeks in is just the honeymoon period. Especially since DH is home with me this entire month!

Usually when DH is home for a month, it's a stressful, dicey thing that has to do with him getting laid off. The video game industry is famous for its lack of job security, since many companies slash staff between projects. You work like crazy, and then you look like crazy for work. But this time it's a little different. After working six days a week for about five months in a row, DH's project finished in time to ship for Christmas. (Not finishing in time for the Santa retail season is the kiss of death for any game.) The company thinks the game is going to sell very well, and decided not to lay anyone off between projects. Instead they shut down for a month.

I love having regular family dinners with DH again and having leisure time that is actually relaxing. The girls are over the moon to see their dad more, too. Yet being the crankypants I am, I also can't help muttering a little bit under my breath about how all this came about. Reasons for eye rolls include:

1) No advance notice on having September off. There were rumors of it happening in the last couple weeks of August. But we didn't know for sure until two days before it started. So long-term planning for any travel during September was impossible.

2) The company continually insists on calling this "comp time," even though nobody has a choice in when or if they take it. Doesn't sound like comp time to me -- it's really a plant shutdown between projects to save the company some bucks. Yet the company brags about how they are the most fabulous, generous, wonderful employer in the world for "allowing people to take off September." Pay no attention to the fact that everyone just worked through the three last national holidays and about twenty Saturdays without any overtime pay at all. Time off now is nice, but doesn't match up to what was given by employees in the last few months. Not by a long shot.

3) Last and most important: Can you imagine explaining to a not-quite five year old why Daddy, Mommy, and Little Sis get to hang out together at home every day while she must suddenly attend Kindergarten five days a week? So much for making that transition to school easy.

.............................................................


At any rate, it was a very good summer, and despite my always-at-least-residual crankiness, it's a good fall so far as well. I have a post brewing about Sarah Palin as well as other topics, both large and small. I feel recharged. I think my 'blog vacation' is officially over for awhile.

Misadventures in Baby Sitting: WWYD?

Picking up Little A from daycare, I pause to coo at the newest kid there, a bright-eyed baby who is perhaps five months old. The baby sucks fervently on a bottle. I ask Susanne, the owner/operator, if the transition is going well for the little one.

"She had a good day," Susanne says as she cradles the baby and smiles at her warmly. "I'm just so THRILLED she's finally taking the bottle! The first couple days can be hit or miss for babies who are used to the breast alone."

I nod, remembering that particular hell when Big A started daycare. Just then the mother of the new baby enters and the baby throws off the bottle and lunges for mommy with a joyous chortle. I say hello but must turn back to my brood rather than make more small talk. Big A holds her sister's beloved blankie over Little A's head just beyond reach, and Little A is ready to poke every finger through whatever orifice she hits first. I separate and haul both kids toward the door, tossing a goodbye over my shoulder.

When my head is turned toward them, I watch as Susanne asks the new mom if she can give the bottle to someone else. "It's seems such a shame to waste it!" She says. And next moment, another child who happened to toddle by is happily guzzling the beverage.

I'm curious: What would you do?