Last week I scratched a pimple and thought nothing more of it. About two days later, I noticed that the place where the pimple had been was now starting to hurt. A lot in fact. It was starting to swell up and it had a little hard spot around where that pimple had been. As the days progressed, it just hurt more and more, swelled up more and more, and the hard spot got larger and larger. You know something bad is going on when your mom (who has been a nurse for about 26 years) looks at this sore spot and says "that's not good".
At my mother's urging (and my husband's fervent agreement with her assessment), I went to the ER after visiting with my mom for the weekend (more on that in a later post). It was not a good visit. I had to have my sore spot opened up and cleaned out as it had become infected. On Wednesday, when I visited my family doctor, I mentioned the wound to him and told him that it wasn't getting any better. You really know something bad is going on when your doctor looks at your wound and says "Oh my God! Did you get an antibiotic?" and then proceeds to subject you to horrible pain for about five minutes as he apologizes for the horrible care you received in the ER and for the pain you are in at the moment.
My little pimple turned into MRSA. If you don't know what MRSA is, please feel free to open another tab on your browser and do a Google search or, if you must, use Bing. I'll wait.
Because I have MRSA, I have to go to the wound clinic to be seen by a wound specialist and I have to treat the wound with special stuff. But the pain of the whole thing, at least until I got on antibiotics and had the right kind of wound care, was extremely bad. I wasn't able to do anything that I normally do.
I have to say that my husband stepped up and helped take care of the housework while I was out of commission. He cleaned the entire apartment and left me cringing on the couch while watching the little man. He cooked and helped with diaper changes when I couldn't stand up for that long. He held my hand while I screamed in pain in the ER.
Mommy has never been completely out of commission before. Even when I've been sick, I've been mobile. The horrible stomach flu that swept through the family back in February didn't keep me from picking up pudding and jello at Walmart while Nate was here with a pukey little boy. But this MRSA thing made it hard for me to walk, to sit for long periods of time, even to sleep. All I could think about was the pain.
I'm happy to know that in situations like this, I have a lot of support and a husband who can step up and take over for me. Thankfully, my wound is healing well and should be completely gone in another week. Then things can get back to normal.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Sobriety and Motherhood
Last week I finished my thirteenth year of sobriety. It was a milestone for me and I'm very proud of myself. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the support of wonderful friends, a strong family, and a very patient and amazing husband.
While I was doing drugs and drinking until I fell over, I never wondered how my past addictive behavior would affect my children. I didn't plan on having any. I really and truly didn't think I'd live to see the ripe old age of twenty-one. I guess the joke was on me.
Once I knew I was pregnant with 2.0, I realized that my addictive behavior came with a price. I'm still paying it right now as I sit here and type this post.
After ten years of sobriety, I probably didn't need to tell my obgyn that I'd had a substance abuse problem. I did anyway. I probably didn't need to tell the nurses in labor and delivery that I'd had a problem before either. But in the midst of my contractions, I told them. One of the issues a mom with a past addiction has to deal with is understanding that even though she hasn't used or drank in years, the hospital will test her newborn for drugs and alcohol. Just in case. 2.0 tested negative, of course.
The biggest struggle I face is in pain management. After giving birth and having stitches, I was sore. I was offered percocet (a narcotic pain killer) and I had to tell my postpartum nurses about my past and to please never offer me narcotics. So I had to manage on 800 mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours. If the pain was worse before that 6 hour mark, I had to grit my teeth and make it through without it.
Anytime I have a sprained ankle, pulled muscle, or minor surgery in the ER (which I did have on Sunday), I have to tell the medical professional taking care of me about the past. I was only an addict for about four years and have been sober over three times that long, but I still have to live like I just stopped using yesterday.
The other struggle I have is knowing that my child is predisposed to repeat my behavior. He might have a harder time saying no to drugs and alcohol because I said yes. It was not the legacy I wanted to pass on to my son or any other children I may have. Knowing this makes it easier to fight it. Knowing what to look for makes it easier to spot the warning signs that my son might be using as a teenager, before he becomes addicted as an adult. He may not have a problem with drugs or alcohol at all. That's what I pray for.
The bad decisions we make early in life have consequences even beyond our youth. I wish I'd believed that when I was younger. But I definitely will work hard to make sure that my son doesn't pay for my mistakes and I thank God that I'm not defined by that behavior anymore.
While I was doing drugs and drinking until I fell over, I never wondered how my past addictive behavior would affect my children. I didn't plan on having any. I really and truly didn't think I'd live to see the ripe old age of twenty-one. I guess the joke was on me.
Once I knew I was pregnant with 2.0, I realized that my addictive behavior came with a price. I'm still paying it right now as I sit here and type this post.
After ten years of sobriety, I probably didn't need to tell my obgyn that I'd had a substance abuse problem. I did anyway. I probably didn't need to tell the nurses in labor and delivery that I'd had a problem before either. But in the midst of my contractions, I told them. One of the issues a mom with a past addiction has to deal with is understanding that even though she hasn't used or drank in years, the hospital will test her newborn for drugs and alcohol. Just in case. 2.0 tested negative, of course.
The biggest struggle I face is in pain management. After giving birth and having stitches, I was sore. I was offered percocet (a narcotic pain killer) and I had to tell my postpartum nurses about my past and to please never offer me narcotics. So I had to manage on 800 mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours. If the pain was worse before that 6 hour mark, I had to grit my teeth and make it through without it.
Anytime I have a sprained ankle, pulled muscle, or minor surgery in the ER (which I did have on Sunday), I have to tell the medical professional taking care of me about the past. I was only an addict for about four years and have been sober over three times that long, but I still have to live like I just stopped using yesterday.
The other struggle I have is knowing that my child is predisposed to repeat my behavior. He might have a harder time saying no to drugs and alcohol because I said yes. It was not the legacy I wanted to pass on to my son or any other children I may have. Knowing this makes it easier to fight it. Knowing what to look for makes it easier to spot the warning signs that my son might be using as a teenager, before he becomes addicted as an adult. He may not have a problem with drugs or alcohol at all. That's what I pray for.
The bad decisions we make early in life have consequences even beyond our youth. I wish I'd believed that when I was younger. But I definitely will work hard to make sure that my son doesn't pay for my mistakes and I thank God that I'm not defined by that behavior anymore.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Pneumonia
2.0 had a great summer. He had to be in an environment that had relatively low heat and humidity during the horribly hot days, but he didn't have an asthma attack. He had no breathing issues of any kind. I was rather happy and hoping maybe we were turning a corner.
About two days before we left to go up north to Nate's grandfather's cabin, the wheezing started again. 2.0 had trouble sleeping at night. The nebulizer came back out of retirement. We were giving him two to three albuterol treatments a day plus one treatment of Pulmicort in the morning. I thought it might be the change in the weather. When we got up to the cabin, it was very cold and 2.0 would have trouble breathing if he was out in it for too long. So we kept him wrapped up and warm and it started to pass. Maybe just a cold or an allergic reaction to whatever pollen is in the air at this time of year.
When we got home, 2.0's breathing was better. He didn't need a breathing treatment after we got home for a little while.
Tuesday night was when the fever came. It wasn't high, just 101 degrees. The pediatrician doesn't start to worry until he gets to 102. Wednesday morning, 2.0 was having trouble breathing and his albuterol was still in Wisconsin.
After the fever and the relentless wheezing, followed by a crackling sound in his right lung, 2.0 was diagnosed with pneumonia.
I've had pneumonia before. I remember having walking pneumonia when I was in middle school. It wasn't fun and it lasted a long time. Thankfully, we caught it early for 2.0 and he's now receiving strong antibiotics and steroids to keep his lungs open. His cough is less and he's eating, drinking water, and sleeping better. He hasn't had another fever since Wednesday night.
It's scary when your child is that sick. Kids end up in the hospital for pneumonia. But my little boy is turning the corner once again. At least I hope so anyway.
About two days before we left to go up north to Nate's grandfather's cabin, the wheezing started again. 2.0 had trouble sleeping at night. The nebulizer came back out of retirement. We were giving him two to three albuterol treatments a day plus one treatment of Pulmicort in the morning. I thought it might be the change in the weather. When we got up to the cabin, it was very cold and 2.0 would have trouble breathing if he was out in it for too long. So we kept him wrapped up and warm and it started to pass. Maybe just a cold or an allergic reaction to whatever pollen is in the air at this time of year.
When we got home, 2.0's breathing was better. He didn't need a breathing treatment after we got home for a little while.
Tuesday night was when the fever came. It wasn't high, just 101 degrees. The pediatrician doesn't start to worry until he gets to 102. Wednesday morning, 2.0 was having trouble breathing and his albuterol was still in Wisconsin.
After the fever and the relentless wheezing, followed by a crackling sound in his right lung, 2.0 was diagnosed with pneumonia.
I've had pneumonia before. I remember having walking pneumonia when I was in middle school. It wasn't fun and it lasted a long time. Thankfully, we caught it early for 2.0 and he's now receiving strong antibiotics and steroids to keep his lungs open. His cough is less and he's eating, drinking water, and sleeping better. He hasn't had another fever since Wednesday night.
It's scary when your child is that sick. Kids end up in the hospital for pneumonia. But my little boy is turning the corner once again. At least I hope so anyway.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Potty Training Time!
After three mornings of relatively dry diapers, Nate and I have decided that it might be time to introduce 2.0 to the potty.
Normally his diapers are very wet in the morning, so I was surprised to change diapers that didn't really need to be changed. Even when he gets up from a nap, his diapers are relatively dry if I change him before he's laid down.
So today we went shopping for a potty. The choices are ridiculous. There's potty seats and potty chairs in a variety of colors and themes. Some make noise, some don't. Some are padded, some aren't. I really liked the one that looked like a frog and becomes a stool for the sink after potty training. We settled on the Sesame Street potty seat because 2.0 started screaming "Elmo!" when he saw it and got very excited.
He fell asleep with it still in his hands on the way home from the store. It was adorable.
We're starting him off by sitting him on the potty seat with his pants still on, just so he can get used to sitting up there. After that, we'll see what we need to do. I'm planning on scouring the library for books on the subject this coming week.
I can't believe we're starting this process now. Once he's potty trained, he really won't be my baby anymore.
It will be nice to stop changing diapers though.
Normally his diapers are very wet in the morning, so I was surprised to change diapers that didn't really need to be changed. Even when he gets up from a nap, his diapers are relatively dry if I change him before he's laid down.
So today we went shopping for a potty. The choices are ridiculous. There's potty seats and potty chairs in a variety of colors and themes. Some make noise, some don't. Some are padded, some aren't. I really liked the one that looked like a frog and becomes a stool for the sink after potty training. We settled on the Sesame Street potty seat because 2.0 started screaming "Elmo!" when he saw it and got very excited.
He fell asleep with it still in his hands on the way home from the store. It was adorable.
We're starting him off by sitting him on the potty seat with his pants still on, just so he can get used to sitting up there. After that, we'll see what we need to do. I'm planning on scouring the library for books on the subject this coming week.
I can't believe we're starting this process now. Once he's potty trained, he really won't be my baby anymore.
It will be nice to stop changing diapers though.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Gentleness
I've been thinking about blog posts for about a week now and I just couldn't come up with anything until this morning. Needless to say, it's been a long few days.
As I'm sure everyone knows, 2.0 has asthma and since May, he hasn't had an exacerbation of the condition until yesterday. The pediatrician's office warned me that he might have some trouble with the asthma now that it's fall because of a recurrence of allergies at this time of year. This became true for us on Monday.
2.0 wouldn't nap. Normally he'll gladly go down for a nap when it's time, especially when he's tired. I knew my little boy was tired on Monday, but he wouldn't lay down for longer than 45 minutes and he fought me the whole way down. When it was time for bed, he didn't go to sleep until it was two hours past his bedtime. He was acting like he was having a panic attack, then threw a tantrum. Finally he slept; only to wake about an hour or two later and every hour or two after that until 7AM. That's when his father and I noticed the river of snot running down his face.
I listened to his chest and sure enough; I heard loud wheezing. The bottom part of his lungs weren't even filling with air. Time to pull out the nebulizer, the face mask, and the Pulmicort. My poor exhausted little boy fought that breathing treatment as hard as he could, but finally slept for over two hours and mostly through the night last night. Today he's been my happy little boy with the attitude I realize is from being almost 2 and wanting to do everything himself.
Nate had an interesting conversation with me after 2.0 went to bed last night. He told me that he remembered his Grandma Ward coming to check on him in the middle of the night when he was very little and how gentle she was with him. She'd come in his room and talk softly and gently soothe him back to sleep. It was a pleasant memory and he holds on to it fiercely to this day. Nate told me that he wants 2.0 to have that fond memory of his mother someday, coming into his room when he cries at night and gently putting him back to sleep.
There are times that my darling, sweet, loving, bright little boy drives me completely up the wall. When he wakes at night over and over and over again, I feel this little part of me rising up and threatening to take the softness from my touch and the gentleness from my words. It's this little part of me that whispers in the back of my mind "why can't you just go back to sleep on your own?". I clench my fists as I get up out of bed and shake off the fog of sleep to pick up my glasses from the nightstand and take care of the precious miracle that I begged God for.
But when I see him sitting up in his crib or standing at the railing with tears running down his face and his pacifier hanging from his mouth, I remember one thing:
He's awake because something in his world is WRONG and only Mommy can make it better again.
I hear my husband's voice too, in a memory of this very conversation about gentleness that we had when 2.0 was only a few weeks old and I struggled with post partum depression that made me unsure if I was even good enough to be 2.0's mom.
I want 2.0 to remember that his mom got up in the middle of the night and cared about him enough to swallow her own feelings so she could care for him. I want him to remember that no matter what, I always would come to comfort him. But most of all, I want him to remember that when the monsters in his imagination (which are real now but won't be later) came to get him, Mommy came and chased them all away.
Gentleness is what I strive for now, in every moment. No matter what.
As I'm sure everyone knows, 2.0 has asthma and since May, he hasn't had an exacerbation of the condition until yesterday. The pediatrician's office warned me that he might have some trouble with the asthma now that it's fall because of a recurrence of allergies at this time of year. This became true for us on Monday.
2.0 wouldn't nap. Normally he'll gladly go down for a nap when it's time, especially when he's tired. I knew my little boy was tired on Monday, but he wouldn't lay down for longer than 45 minutes and he fought me the whole way down. When it was time for bed, he didn't go to sleep until it was two hours past his bedtime. He was acting like he was having a panic attack, then threw a tantrum. Finally he slept; only to wake about an hour or two later and every hour or two after that until 7AM. That's when his father and I noticed the river of snot running down his face.
I listened to his chest and sure enough; I heard loud wheezing. The bottom part of his lungs weren't even filling with air. Time to pull out the nebulizer, the face mask, and the Pulmicort. My poor exhausted little boy fought that breathing treatment as hard as he could, but finally slept for over two hours and mostly through the night last night. Today he's been my happy little boy with the attitude I realize is from being almost 2 and wanting to do everything himself.
Nate had an interesting conversation with me after 2.0 went to bed last night. He told me that he remembered his Grandma Ward coming to check on him in the middle of the night when he was very little and how gentle she was with him. She'd come in his room and talk softly and gently soothe him back to sleep. It was a pleasant memory and he holds on to it fiercely to this day. Nate told me that he wants 2.0 to have that fond memory of his mother someday, coming into his room when he cries at night and gently putting him back to sleep.
There are times that my darling, sweet, loving, bright little boy drives me completely up the wall. When he wakes at night over and over and over again, I feel this little part of me rising up and threatening to take the softness from my touch and the gentleness from my words. It's this little part of me that whispers in the back of my mind "why can't you just go back to sleep on your own?". I clench my fists as I get up out of bed and shake off the fog of sleep to pick up my glasses from the nightstand and take care of the precious miracle that I begged God for.
But when I see him sitting up in his crib or standing at the railing with tears running down his face and his pacifier hanging from his mouth, I remember one thing:
He's awake because something in his world is WRONG and only Mommy can make it better again.
I hear my husband's voice too, in a memory of this very conversation about gentleness that we had when 2.0 was only a few weeks old and I struggled with post partum depression that made me unsure if I was even good enough to be 2.0's mom.
I want 2.0 to remember that his mom got up in the middle of the night and cared about him enough to swallow her own feelings so she could care for him. I want him to remember that no matter what, I always would come to comfort him. But most of all, I want him to remember that when the monsters in his imagination (which are real now but won't be later) came to get him, Mommy came and chased them all away.
Gentleness is what I strive for now, in every moment. No matter what.
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