Parenting | Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

Posts Tagged ‘Parenting’

The Story of Diney

Wednesday, July 8th, 2009

I love the boy, but there’s a reason that I refer to Rachel as the creative one. And that reason would be the same reason that Keenan has a white sheet he’s been holding onto since he was three that he named sheety and, most importantly, why he has a dinosaur named…you guessed it…diney.

Diney, now being nearly twelve years old, doesn’t look like much, but he has a history, a really important history. When we first moved in with S, I had to explain it…share the story. Keenan, naturally, came down with a freakishly high fever that lasted for about three days and since we were in between houses, the first thing he wanted to be sure was moved was Diney.

See, when Keenan was first born, he spent six weeks in the hospital, four in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and two on the pediatric floor. He was early, and small, but worse, with no immune system to speak of, he managed to contract a serious illness. By the time I arrived for my daily visit, he had stopped breathing numerous times already. The doctor pulled me aside and told me that they didn’t know what was wrong, they were running tests, and they weren’t sure if he would make it.

I had already lost one child, a daughter, stillborn at 27 weeks. Part of me wanted to give up, cry, rage at the injustice of it. The stronger part of me, the better part, refused to accept the possibility of him dying and decided to fight. Really, I had been afraid the entire time that he might not make it, suddenly I was fully committed, all in. The first thing I did was decorate his space.

The gift shop has a wide array of stuffed animals. All of them dwarfed a two pound baby, all but a magenta colored t-rex that stood maybe six inches tall. That, I purchased and placed in front of his incubator where I imagined he might see it once he was able to lift his head. Keenan was fussing, a red writhing, wrinkled mass of skin and bones. I leaned close and whispered, “It’s okay, Keenan. Mommy is here.” He lifted his head, opened his eyes and quieted down as though he knew I would make everything okay.

The blood cultures came back, identifying the cause of his ailment, a yeast infection in his blood stream. He was being treated and slowly improving. Soon enough he was able to go home, but had to return often for various treatments. Premies have many medical issues. By the time he was a year old he had survived double inguinal hernia surgery, three surgeries for Retinopathy of Prematurity (ROP) that untreated would have left him blind, numerous exams under anesthesia, and monthly six hour long intravenous treatments intended to strengthen his immune system. Diney was by his side for every moment of it.

At three, he had to have his tonsils and adnoids removed. I offered to give up his appendix then, thinking he’d finally be about out of spare parts and we could avoid future operations, but the doctors refused. (And totally didn’t get my humor, by the way.) Sure enough, Diney was there for that, too.

So it was no wonder that when he was in elementary school and they asked the kids to bring in items the last week of school to share for show and tell, he wanted to bring Diney. This magical little dinosaur slept with Keenan every night, so while I was reluctant for it to leave the house, I was honored that it meant enough to be shared with his classmates. Thus, Diney went to school on Tuesday.

Tuesday night, the panic set in. Keenan couldn’t find Diney anywhere. Eventually, he remembered that he had taken Diney out of his bag on the bus ride home and quite possibly left the little guy to fend for himself. We tried to reassure him that we’d talk to the bus driver and Diney would be returned, but we were under the gun, school was very nearly over and our window of opportunity rapidly closing.

The next afternoon, his father waited to speak to the bus driver, who assured us that the dinosaur was not on the bus when she cleaned it the previous afternoon, but that she would speak with the middle school kids who rode the bus after the elementary kids and see if anyone saw it, since it was such a special dinosaur. Well, another nearly sleepless night passed. And on Thursday Keenan once again returned without the dinosaur. We had about given up hope.

Friday afternoon, Keenan descended the bus steps, triumphant. Apparently, the bus driver made good on her word, speaking to the middle school kids, trying to relay the importance of this simple looking stuffed animal. Finally, one of the kids cracked and admitted that another one of the kids had thrown it out the window during the ride. So, on Thursday, the bus driver made the middle school kids ride with their heads out the window while she drove really slowly. (I’m sure that made the afternoon commute in Charlotte, NC very pleasant for so many people.) And amazingly enough, after three days on the road, Diney was found.

With tears in my eyes, I wrote a letter to the CMS bus garage, letting them know what a special person they had driving for them. Let’s face it, she went above and beyond for a little boy. And that is something that deserves recognition and praise.

Yeah. I believe in miracles. I believe they come in all shapes and sizes, from the recovery of a sick baby to the recovery of a special toy. And I believe that most people are really good and really care.

Tags: illness, Parenting
Posted in Parenting | No Comments »

My Bubble Boy

Tuesday, July 7th, 2009

It isn’t enough that I live in the bubble, but the boy should be living in a bubble. As I recall, it all began about a year and a half ago. Suddenly, Keenan woke up one morning with one side of his throat protruding grossly. Seriously, it looked like a goiter. Worse, he couldn’t open his mouth from all the pain and pressure. No talking. (Why couldn’t it have been Rachel?) No eating. (It should’ve been me.) No explanation.

Naturally, as with all freak ailments, it happened on a Saturday, which meant the doctor’s office was closed. Even worse was that we had tickets to the Panther game that night. (You have no idea how much I love football. Give it a few months.) And J was going out of his mind at the thought that we might miss the game. After resisting the urge to ring his selfish neck, I did something far more productive and took Keenan to the closest Urgicare. The best explanation they came up with was Lymphitis and a script was written. Within hours he was improving. Within a couple days he was normal. And within six months he had another flare up.

We could never seem to pin the flare ups on anything in particular. I had to pick him up from school one day. He was participating in some science exercise where they were pushing oranges on the floor with their noses, when suddenly *poof* his throat blew up. Hi ho hi ho, it’s off to the doctor we go.

By the time I made that trip to the doctor, they were hating me. Observe:

nurse: Why are you here today?

me: Keenan has lymphitis.

nurse (turning to me with a frustrated look because I’m just another self-diagnosing amateur in her book, and saying with a distinct edge in her voice): What are his symptoms?

me: Swollen lymph node. Same side as always. Can’t speak. Can’t eat. The usual.

nurse: The doctor will see you shortly.

Ahhh. And then the doctor arrives.

Dr: What brings you here today?

me(mind you, at one point we were there practically bi-weekly): Well, the boy has lymphitis again.

Dr(giving me the same disgusted look as the nurse): I’ll be the judge of that.

After a thorough examination, he refused to admit that I was right. As Michael would say, it must have chapped his chicken. It’s not like I was trying to do his job. I still needed him for the script. Right?

We finally had Keenan tested by a specialist, only to discover that he is allergic to EVERYTHING. Everything, you ask? Yes, EVERYTHING. In fact, he’s allergic to air (pollen, dust mites, dust, mold, mildew). The testing grew even more specific, just to be sure that he was, in fact, allergic to every tree. Yup. His arm looked like one of those depression maps, especially near his bicep where I could’ve sworn I saw Italy. Oh, and the pets? He’s allergic to all of them, especially cats. Good thing we have two of those.

The specialist had a talk with us about what to do to help him prevent these reactions. The moment he mentioned the pets, Keenan’s eyes overflowed. (And since he has such enormous brown eyes rimmed with long black eyelashes, it was quite the spectacle.)

Keenan: Mom, are we going to have to get rid of the animals? *sniffle*

me: No, baby. We’ll get rid of you first. They’re lower maintenance.

Knowing me as well as he does, that sparked a laugh and a smile. Success!

Which brings me to today. This morning, as I’m getting ready for work, I received two text messages from the boy, sent from his bedroom across the hall.

Keenan: Help! I’m having an allergic reaction and I can’t speak.

After I recovered from the initial panic, I mused that he could’ve come and knocked on the door since it didn’t affect his legs at all. So, I’ve put in a call to the doctor. I know they can’t wait to see us again. And this time, I’ll behave. As best I can. For those that know me…not very reassuring, huh?

Tags: child rearing, illness, Parenting
Posted in Parenting | No Comments »

Meet The Boy

Friday, July 3rd, 2009

It has occurred to me that the postings are slightly skewed. I do tend to write a lot more about Rachel. And if you met Rachel you’d understand. Loads of personality. She has a way of dominating a conversation, a way of stealing the spotlight. And Keenan doesn’t seem to mind being the wallpaper in her life.

My guess would be that it’s because she includes him. They get along amazingly well, even when everyone swore that they wouldn’t. Believe it or not, people thought Rachel would grow to resent him for all the attention he required as an infant. (He was a thirty week premie that weighed in at a whopping 2 lbs 10 oz. at birth.) Instead, the poor kid never stood a chance. He’s had two mothers from the start. And now because of it, he often behaves as Rachel’s man servant, which annoys me greatly.

Keenan will be minding his own business, doing his own thing, which usually means video games, when Rachel will yell for him. He’ll patiently drop what he’s doing, and see what she wants. Too often, he hears, “Can you get me a drink?” Way too often. I’m looking forward to the day he stops indulging her.

Well, the boy is coming into his own. He’s starting to show his personality. And his favorite target is Rachel. He’s subtle. I’ve been calling Rachel a ‘heiffer’ for years. (She’s a size 3, so it isn’t that.) But he will run with it. If Rachel’s hogging the couch he’ll say, “Hey, moooove over.” We’ll laugh. She’ll pretend she’s getting a complex. The balance is restored.

I can’t wait to see how the little boy I never knew I always wanted turns out. He’s starting middle school soon. And in honor of the occasion, he’s growing his hair all summer. I’m adjusting to the mop on his head. Apparently it’s very fashionable, all the cool boys are doing it. I just hope he’s never too cool to hang with his mother.

Tags: child rearing, Parenting
Posted in Parenting | 1 Comment »

Doesn’t Make Me a Bad Mom

Wednesday, July 1st, 2009

Tuesday night is traditionally a Carmella’s night. (Carmella’s being the local pizza place/bar…mostly pizza?) And the reason it has to fall on a Tuesday? $1 slice night, baby!

We tried to do the family thing, meet Jay and Spring there, have a meal out in public together, just four adults outnumbered by five kids ages five to fifteen. Ahhh. It’s a well known fact that if you don’t get to Carmella’s before 6pm, you’re not eating there. We arrived at 6:30pm. Right. S made an executive decision and herded my kids back to the car while I said our goodbyes.

And we came up with plan B: Longhorn. Seemed like a good idea at the time. We don’t take the kids out in public much. I thought it was because of money, but now I’ve reconsidered.

For the next hour, everything I said began with ‘Rachel!’ Keep in mind, she’s FIFTEEN! It was ‘Rachel, don’t steal food off your brother’s plate!’ ‘Rachel, stop hogging the butter.’ ‘Rachel, did you really just steal the last of the sour cream?’

By the time dinner was over, I was exhausted. I’m backing out of the parking space and she’s now making car noises: revving engines, changing gears, etc. And I lost it.

Me: For the love of God, shut up before I pull out a gun and tranq you!

The entire car went silent then, for a moment. Then everyone burst out laughing. Everyone but Rachel.

Rachel: Did you really just threaten to tranq me?

Me: Yup.

S: Think it would work?

Me: It’ll help me. It’s either that or a valium salt lick will be installed inside the front door.

S: I don’t think that would work.

Me: Oh, no, that’s for me.

Ah. And we look back on these moments and laugh. Doesn’t make me a bad mom, right?

Tags: child rearing, humor, Parenting
Posted in Parenting | 33 Comments »