Ambivalence is My Middle Name

It’s funny how I don’t feel like updating here anymore. Every day several times a day I think, “Hey! That would make for a great blog post!” and then? Seriously. I haven’t written a great blog post since never. Speaking of which, I started blogging August 2005.

I have no idea why I brought that up since it’s October somethingorother. Which also reminds me, I won’t be participating in NaBloMo or whatever it’s called.

Did I just hear a collective sigh of relief?

My daughter still hasn’t pooped in the potty but she’s not holding it for five days at a stretch, either. She keeps telling me “next time”. In an uncharactheristic move, she also pissed her pants while sitting on my glider-rocker. As I was stripping her down for a quick belly-button-on-down bath, I asked why she did it.

“It was an accident, Mommy! I’m sorry.” …. dramatic pause … I love you.”

I bought a couple tuttu skirts from Target thinking they’d be a novelty. However, Aitch has become so enamoured with them, I went and bought a couple more. She has worn one at least every day now. When it’s cooler, she’ll succumb to the addition of leggings, but it’s like trying to wrestle a cat into a pillowcase.

I went back for a three-month follow-up appointment with my PA. I need a refill of the paxil and ambien. The thing is is that I didn’t really want a refill of the ambien because I was anticipating my evenings just so I could TAKE the ambien. He said as long as I’m able to get up in the morning and feel rested that I’m taking it as I should. And then we talked more about my depression. Actually he asked why I thought I was depressed. I told him I wasn’t really sure, but that maybe it was the miscarriages and infertility or the pregnancy with Aitch that I was sure was going to end with a dead baby and then the loss of my job after ten years and then the cancer. Oh, and let’s not forget my son’s ADHD which makes him do things that make me so angry at everyone and everything that I’m sure my fury will result in one of those rare cases of spontaneous combustion and the only thing that will be left will be a pair of hopefully fabulous shoes and a singe mark on the ceiling.

I’m sorry. What was the question again?

He suggested, as many of you did, I seek counseling. I told him I would think about it, because you see I am still in denial. Enough so I didn’t pick up my refill of paxil and ambien. At least not yet.

Distress Signal

I received this message from a friend today and am paraphrasing it here.

This is an emergency post. I am writing because my dear friend’s husband was diagnosed with leukemia today. I am reaching out to you all because I know you have dealt either with cancer, infertility or both, and some of you have fairly extensive networks.

Her husband begins chemo on October 25 (this Tuesday). They need to find a sperm bank they can go to on Monday in the DC area. Please, if you have any leads to reputable places AND ideas about the questions she and her husband should ask, email them to me here: thismamasaid (at) gmail (dot) com or leave a comment.

I’ve also sent a message to Mel at Stirrup Queens as I plan to use all the resources I have at my hand to help.


My nine year old had his first ride in an ambulance last week complete with the city firemen collaring him and then strapping him to a backboard.

He was being a typical boy, showing off for his friends at daycare. They were sitting on a truck-shaped structure made up of welded iron bars. Doodicus was sitting on one of the rungs and decided he could defy both gravity and his utter lack of physical prowess and threw his body back in a failed attempt at a backflip. In doing so, he cracked the back of his head on a lower rung and fell to the ground. When he put his hands to where he hit, he discovered he was bleeding. A lot.

His screaming brought the immediate attention of the staff member and director who were supervising the playground. Once Staff Member saw the damage, she had Director call 9-1-1. Director also called Sparring Partner who was just finishing up at work (this all happened shortly before 5:00 p.m.). Sparring Partner arrived minutes later in time to watch the emergency responders strap my son into the ambulance, which he followed to the hospital.

About that same time, I actually was heading home from work to relieve Grandma from Aitch’s clutches. I sat and talked to her and about 5:15 I remembered my phone was on vibrate and went to turn in up as S.P. always calls on his way home wondering what’s for supper or to ask if I need anything while he’s still in town. I saw that I had already missed his call and there was a message, but I didn’t bother listening. I just called him back. That’s when he told me he was in the ER with Doodicus because he had hit his head.

Of course my mother agreed to stay and watch Aitch while I sped back into town to the hospital, my car flashers on and hitting 90mph. Foolish really, because how would getting there three minutes sooner make anything better?

I found him in one of the ER’s trauma rooms, still strapped to the backboard with a band across his forehead and one across the neck brace. S.P. looked to be holding one of his hands, but he was actually cleaning the blood from his fingers. Doodicus was calm, but upon seeing me walk through the door, began crying again, tears squeezed from his eyes and down both sides of his head and into his ears. I picked up his free hand and held it in both of mine and asked him how he was. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he replied and I smiled back, relieved he was lucid.

Before I had arrived, the doctor had already confirmed Doodicus could move his feet and legs, grasp with his hands and his coordination appeared to be unhampered and had just left the room. The only pain he seemed to be experiencing was in the back of his head. I told the nurse that he had to void so they all came back in and carefully released him from the backboard and collar. He couldn’t get to the bathroom fast enough, and while unsteady at first, he ambulated completely on his own with Sparring Partner at his elbow.

That’s when they finally had the chance to see what he’d done to his head. After carefully parting his thick hair, they saw the blood was coming from a 1.5 x 2cm wound from the back of his head. Not big at all, but heads and scalps bleed heavily. He would need staples to close it up.

No films were taken or deemed necessary. I still wonder if that was the better decision by the doctor, but it was obviously the right decision as Doodicus has had no resulting soreness. If anything made Doodicus anxious, it was the attempt to numb the wound, first with a topical and then the injections. The doctor (and the med student) had to excuse themselves after they finally numbed the site because Doodicus became hysterical and didn’t believe that he wouldn’t feel them STAPLING his HEAD!

I forgot to mention that Sparring Partner had left prior to the shots so that he could relieve my mom and let her drive home before it got too dark. It’s a good thing he wasn’t there as his patience would have been exhausted trying to convince Doodicus to just hold still long enough for the doctors to do their job so we could all go home. As it was, even I was getting short as he refused to follow instructions and flinched with every gesture towards his head. I’m an asshole mom. It’s easy to forget his needle-phobia and anxiety because I don’t have them; I wasn’t allowed the luxury by my parents. Need we refer back to the post where my dad pulled my teeth with farm pliers?

When the doctors returned (and Doodicus had calmed down again – about 20 minutes later), they told him they were just going to look again at the wound assuring him there were no staples involved. While the doctor parted his hair, the med student who was hiding the staple gun in his sleeve – literally – quickly *ka-chunk!* the first one into the scalp. By the time Doodicus realized what was going on and started freaking out again, the third one was in place and they were done.

It should be noted that before any of this took place, I had pulled aside the med student and told him NOT to mention shots or staples or stitches. Obviously he had either not told the doctor or the doctor pooh-poohed him thinking a nearly 10 year old boy who had injured himself showing off to his friends could easily handle the “fun” that is surgical staples to the back of the head.

I think Doodicus is healing well. I wouldn’t know since he pulls away with annoyance every time I try to look. He took antibiotics for several days and will have the stitches removed Wednesday by the pediatrician. He even woke up the day after the accident as chipper as ever and willing to go to school. Aside from having the nastiest hair from the antibiotic ointment and limited cleanliness, he is fine. He is also very, very lucky. WE are very, very lucky.

Jack Handy

Here’s my Deep Thought from several days ago that I’m just now getting around to writing:

Most of us, at one time or another, have had someone with good intentions say to us, "God has a plan."

Huh. OK.

And we’ve probably all have heard, "God only gives us as much as we can handle."

Fascinating. Do go on.

So does that mean that God didn’t believe that I could have handled a living – but disabled – child and that’s why his plan was for her to be miscarried at 15 weeks??

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Stool Pigeon

I wish I had something other than poop to report, but(t) I don’t. Actually I could talk about how 4th grade is going for Doodicus (not the best), or my mother’s health (not the best), or even my sex life (not the best), but(t) I might as well follow this whole Stooling issue behind us.

Behind us.

I crack me up!


Yeah, I guess not pooping is called Stooling. I had no idea, but it has a nice ring to it. That was on the instruction sheet I was given by the pediatrician Friday morning. I had made the appointment since Aitch hadn’t gone since Sunday, the night she was given an enema. I felt foolish sitting there telling him that my daughter wouldn’t poop but he explained that it was better to not wait. As I was starting to realize, and he confirmed, the longer she goes withOUT going, the longer she will continue to hold it in. He told me that after so much time, her bowels could expand so much that it could take years for them to return to normal size and function. During the exam, he said he could feel a banana-sized lump in her.

I’ve always hated bananas.

The short of it is that we are to give her an enema two or three nights in a row to make sure she is completely cleared out.

In the meantime, we are also to give her 1 1/4 ounces of mineral oil two times a day. According to my calculations that’s basically ten teaspoons a day. Yummmm-yum! Do you know what mineral oil mixes well with? Absolutely nothing. So far I’ve added it to milk, apple and cranberry juice, and chili. Looks just as appetizing in something warm as something cold. Any suggestions will be welcome.

The mineral oil is to keep anything from “sticking” and of course to soften things up. We are to use this system so that she can get use to the fact that it’s not going to hurt to poop. That’s where we think this all stemmed from: She had pooped in the potty at the very beginning of toilet training, but it was a rather large, painful stool. Aitch never used the potty again for anything but peeing since.

I’m looking forward to writing a post that doesn’t include poop, pee, potty. I can only guess you are, too.