Mikayla: I do not like Aaric, he is the worst brother I have ever seen! (because he put a "book" she'd made into the shredder.) (and yes, mom, I told him to stay away from the shredder!)
Aaric, at 10 AM: When is Grandma going to get up!?? (she was at work!)
Xander: amamamamama. pppfffttt.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Recovering
(Yes, 2 in one day because I'm behind on things I'd wanted to write about, and have the time now, but these two are so unrelated that I wanted to separate them.)
Two Saturdays ago, we had yet another trip to the ER. I've spared you all the updates on Xander, but we're up to four UTI's now, so we've spent gracious plenty time in the ER and doctor's offices. This time, it wasn't Xander.
Mikayla and Aaric had been outside playing and Michael sent them up to rinse off in the shower. Aaric was showering and Mikayla was playing in the bathroom. We heard a crash and screaming.
Mikayla scares easily. She'll freak out and scream all the time. So Michael ran upstairs mainly to check on the mess that was made by this crash. I stayed on the sofa with Xander until around a minute had passed and she was still screaming. I decided that perhaps I should investigate.
And I was the first to notice the blood running down her back. Michael brushed her hair aside, and it was clear that the blood was coming from her head.
I've never realized just how traumatized I'd be from seeing blood coming from my child's head. I think it wouldn't have been so bad if the cut had been visible, but it was covered by her hair, and there was a lot of blood. So of course, I freaked. Michael put his EMT skills to good use and rushed her to the bathroom to start applying pressure. I rushed next door to see if the neighbors could watch Aaric for us. By the time we got to the car, her lips were white and her eyes were rolling back in her head, and we'd found out what had happened. She was swinging on the shower curtain rod and it fell, and the end of it hit the back of her head. I still hadn't seen the cut.
When we got to the ER, I carried her in and went to the desk I'd been directed to and said, "She's got a gash on the back of her head, she's very pale, and she's trying to sleep." The check-in lady herself didn't act very concerned, but she did rush us through. She made sure we were the next to get into triage. By then, Mikayla was throwing up, but the color had also returned to her face. The insane triage nurse not only needed to take her temperature (vomiting kids with a concussion are not the easiest to convince to hold a thermometer under their tongue!) but also wanted to weigh her. I just told him there was NO way we'd get her to stand alone on that scale. I mean, she could barely even hold her head up and he wants her to stand? He agreed to just list my estimate.
Next we were put in a trauma room. Every other time I've been to the ER, we've been in a "room" that contained a bed, a couple machines to monitor vitals, and walls made of curtains. This time, we were in a real room with permanent walls and a door. There were two beds with huge lamps overhead and equipment that was designed to save lives. Most disturbing to me, were the posters on the wall with instructions for what to do in case of airway failure and the chain of command in rescusitation situations. Now, is it just me, or are these things that the hospital staff should just know? I don't want the person who is working to get me breathing again to need to look up at the poster to try to figure out what to do!
So anyway, once we were in there, no one seemed to stressed. Her color was back and the bleeding had slowed. The nurse put the pulse ox monitor on her and made chit chat about how it happened and her lack of vaccinations.
The doctor came in, and he was strange. He didn't put on gloves as he separated bloody strands of hair to find the cut. He put a finger and thumb on each side of it and wiggled the skin around, telling the resident behind him that he was checking for debris. The resident asked if he would irrigate, and the doctor shrugged and said, "no, we just look around for debris..." Then he said they'd be back in a few minutes to do the staples. He did look at her face and ask her a few questions. She was not at all happy about it, but she was at least responding by then. I asked if he was going to do anything else to check for concussion and he just said, "nah, she has one." Apparently, if the kid gets hit in the head, they just assume it's a concussion and if the kid is acting semi-normal, they assume it's not too bad.
A few minutes later he stapled her up, which she was VERY much not happy with. Then of course we sat there for an eon to wait on the discharge papers.
Later that night, the reality of it all started hitting us. I hadn't thought about the color of her folder, but Michael noticed, and told me that there was only one color left after yellow, which is what she had. Then, I guess I knew already, but I more fully realized why we'd been in the trauma room. They weren't just being nice and giving us a comfier bed and more well lit room. We were there because if she had gotten worse, they would have needed some of that equipment. Then came the thoughts of how much worse it could have been. One inch lower, and it would have hit her spine instead of her skull. Instead of a concussion, we likely would have been dealing with a broken neck. A bit more force and it would have probably fractured her skull. As it was, everyone is suprised they didn't do any x-rays to check for it anyway. And if it had bled much more, she wouldn't have pulled out of the early stages of shock quite so easily.
After processing all of that, we were finally able to move on to being thankful at how lucky we were that it wasn't worse. She really was okay.
Michael had nightmares all that night. I slept well, but for a couple of days I asked her how it was and checked it for more bleeding way more times than necessary. Over a week later and I still keep replaying it all in my head.
But then I see her playing and feel so thankful that she's her normal self and not even in any pain anymore.
And then I have to go retrieve Xander from the stairs or any of the other many things I have to do on a daily basis to try to keep us all out of the ER for as long as possible. We're on day 10 with no doctor visits now (not counting going in for the staple removal, which her Nana did). Ten days with no doctors, and just hoping we can keep that trend for a while. At the very least, we go to the urologist in August. I just hope we don't need to see one prior to that. I like our doctor, but I've seen him way too many times this year. And I like our ER, but I'd like it better if I didn't see it so often. Mostly though, I'm just glad that all the kids are healthy and uninjured. For now.
Two Saturdays ago, we had yet another trip to the ER. I've spared you all the updates on Xander, but we're up to four UTI's now, so we've spent gracious plenty time in the ER and doctor's offices. This time, it wasn't Xander.
Mikayla and Aaric had been outside playing and Michael sent them up to rinse off in the shower. Aaric was showering and Mikayla was playing in the bathroom. We heard a crash and screaming.
Mikayla scares easily. She'll freak out and scream all the time. So Michael ran upstairs mainly to check on the mess that was made by this crash. I stayed on the sofa with Xander until around a minute had passed and she was still screaming. I decided that perhaps I should investigate.
And I was the first to notice the blood running down her back. Michael brushed her hair aside, and it was clear that the blood was coming from her head.
I've never realized just how traumatized I'd be from seeing blood coming from my child's head. I think it wouldn't have been so bad if the cut had been visible, but it was covered by her hair, and there was a lot of blood. So of course, I freaked. Michael put his EMT skills to good use and rushed her to the bathroom to start applying pressure. I rushed next door to see if the neighbors could watch Aaric for us. By the time we got to the car, her lips were white and her eyes were rolling back in her head, and we'd found out what had happened. She was swinging on the shower curtain rod and it fell, and the end of it hit the back of her head. I still hadn't seen the cut.
When we got to the ER, I carried her in and went to the desk I'd been directed to and said, "She's got a gash on the back of her head, she's very pale, and she's trying to sleep." The check-in lady herself didn't act very concerned, but she did rush us through. She made sure we were the next to get into triage. By then, Mikayla was throwing up, but the color had also returned to her face. The insane triage nurse not only needed to take her temperature (vomiting kids with a concussion are not the easiest to convince to hold a thermometer under their tongue!) but also wanted to weigh her. I just told him there was NO way we'd get her to stand alone on that scale. I mean, she could barely even hold her head up and he wants her to stand? He agreed to just list my estimate.
Next we were put in a trauma room. Every other time I've been to the ER, we've been in a "room" that contained a bed, a couple machines to monitor vitals, and walls made of curtains. This time, we were in a real room with permanent walls and a door. There were two beds with huge lamps overhead and equipment that was designed to save lives. Most disturbing to me, were the posters on the wall with instructions for what to do in case of airway failure and the chain of command in rescusitation situations. Now, is it just me, or are these things that the hospital staff should just know? I don't want the person who is working to get me breathing again to need to look up at the poster to try to figure out what to do!
So anyway, once we were in there, no one seemed to stressed. Her color was back and the bleeding had slowed. The nurse put the pulse ox monitor on her and made chit chat about how it happened and her lack of vaccinations.
The doctor came in, and he was strange. He didn't put on gloves as he separated bloody strands of hair to find the cut. He put a finger and thumb on each side of it and wiggled the skin around, telling the resident behind him that he was checking for debris. The resident asked if he would irrigate, and the doctor shrugged and said, "no, we just look around for debris..." Then he said they'd be back in a few minutes to do the staples. He did look at her face and ask her a few questions. She was not at all happy about it, but she was at least responding by then. I asked if he was going to do anything else to check for concussion and he just said, "nah, she has one." Apparently, if the kid gets hit in the head, they just assume it's a concussion and if the kid is acting semi-normal, they assume it's not too bad.
A few minutes later he stapled her up, which she was VERY much not happy with. Then of course we sat there for an eon to wait on the discharge papers.
Later that night, the reality of it all started hitting us. I hadn't thought about the color of her folder, but Michael noticed, and told me that there was only one color left after yellow, which is what she had. Then, I guess I knew already, but I more fully realized why we'd been in the trauma room. They weren't just being nice and giving us a comfier bed and more well lit room. We were there because if she had gotten worse, they would have needed some of that equipment. Then came the thoughts of how much worse it could have been. One inch lower, and it would have hit her spine instead of her skull. Instead of a concussion, we likely would have been dealing with a broken neck. A bit more force and it would have probably fractured her skull. As it was, everyone is suprised they didn't do any x-rays to check for it anyway. And if it had bled much more, she wouldn't have pulled out of the early stages of shock quite so easily.
After processing all of that, we were finally able to move on to being thankful at how lucky we were that it wasn't worse. She really was okay.
Michael had nightmares all that night. I slept well, but for a couple of days I asked her how it was and checked it for more bleeding way more times than necessary. Over a week later and I still keep replaying it all in my head.
But then I see her playing and feel so thankful that she's her normal self and not even in any pain anymore.
And then I have to go retrieve Xander from the stairs or any of the other many things I have to do on a daily basis to try to keep us all out of the ER for as long as possible. We're on day 10 with no doctor visits now (not counting going in for the staple removal, which her Nana did). Ten days with no doctors, and just hoping we can keep that trend for a while. At the very least, we go to the urologist in August. I just hope we don't need to see one prior to that. I like our doctor, but I've seen him way too many times this year. And I like our ER, but I'd like it better if I didn't see it so often. Mostly though, I'm just glad that all the kids are healthy and uninjured. For now.
Aaric, the sweetie pie manipulator
I wanted to scan the picture, but I left town before getting the scanner hooked up. So instead, I'm just telling the story and if I ever get it scanned, it'll be in the photo album.
Aaric had been banished to his room for a variety of reasons. I figured while he was there, he may as well clean. After the second day, I started over-focusing on the cleaning, forgetting that it wasn't the main purpose of his banishment. But I got sick of seeing him playing during his "punishment" and finally stuck my head in and told him that if I caught him doing anything other than cleaning again, I'd take away whatever he was playing with. A few minutes later I looked in and saw him with a crayon and a piece of paper. I snatched it up and stormed out and shut the door behind me. Then I looked down at it.
sary sary sary
sary sary sary
a thsunn tims
Im sary momye
i lov
Which translates into, "sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, a thousand times, I'm sorry Mommy. I love..." which is where I'd cut him off.
I thrust it at Michael and said something about it not being fair that he'd disobey me by writing a sorry/love note! The nerve!
May as well throw in a funny thing he said the other day. His birthday is coming up and we're in GA, so everyone is asking what he wants. He has no clue. The only TV he watches is PBS, and I'm a mean mother who refuses to take him down the toy aisle ever, so he has no idea what other toys are even available to him. There was something he'd mentioned one day and I said "absolutely not!" Clothes, especially socks and underwear, were mentioned and he said "absolutely not!" A couple days later, I was talking to someone else about what he might like and said, "Hey, Aaric, what was it that you asked for and I said no way?" He thought about it for a minute, smiled a little grin and said, "Clothes!"
Aaric had been banished to his room for a variety of reasons. I figured while he was there, he may as well clean. After the second day, I started over-focusing on the cleaning, forgetting that it wasn't the main purpose of his banishment. But I got sick of seeing him playing during his "punishment" and finally stuck my head in and told him that if I caught him doing anything other than cleaning again, I'd take away whatever he was playing with. A few minutes later I looked in and saw him with a crayon and a piece of paper. I snatched it up and stormed out and shut the door behind me. Then I looked down at it.
sary sary sary
sary sary sary
a thsunn tims
Im sary momye
i lov
Which translates into, "sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, a thousand times, I'm sorry Mommy. I love..." which is where I'd cut him off.
I thrust it at Michael and said something about it not being fair that he'd disobey me by writing a sorry/love note! The nerve!
May as well throw in a funny thing he said the other day. His birthday is coming up and we're in GA, so everyone is asking what he wants. He has no clue. The only TV he watches is PBS, and I'm a mean mother who refuses to take him down the toy aisle ever, so he has no idea what other toys are even available to him. There was something he'd mentioned one day and I said "absolutely not!" Clothes, especially socks and underwear, were mentioned and he said "absolutely not!" A couple days later, I was talking to someone else about what he might like and said, "Hey, Aaric, what was it that you asked for and I said no way?" He thought about it for a minute, smiled a little grin and said, "Clothes!"
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
I really am here.
I promise. Gotta get my scanner up and running and then I'll have a fun little story along with a picture. For today, just a couple things.
1. I found this poem just now. It should be renamed, "Kelly in 30 years." What a great opening line: When I am a grandmother I shall have a purple sling. I already have a cranberry batik, I say that's close enough to purple.
I've decided that I hate the TV. Actually, my particular hate here is harder to pin down. On the one hand, I think that all of the TV shows and commercials aimed at encouraging people to lose weight and get healthy are a great thing. If part of the obesity equation is that we have too many couch potatoes, then what better way is there to reach that audience? But I don't like the flip side. The flip side is that people with perfectly normal bodies get self conscious about their bodies for no good reason. Prime example:
Mikayla, giggling, as if she was just asking for a haircut, again: Mom, I need to lose weight!
Me, shocked, but figuring she really didn't understand what that even meant: Why do you want to do that?
Mikayla, still casual and laughing: Because I'm a little fat!
Yeah, I'll admit that every once in a while I pull up the growth charts and weight for height charts and see where the kids are at, just to stay mindful of it (they're both perfectly normal). I don't tell them about it though, and I certainly don't do anything to make them think they might have problems. I know that it came from the stupid Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers and Alli and every other weight loss program commercials.
I don't want to have to deal with body image issues with my 5 yr old! But what I DO want is to be able to watch TV from time to time. Maybe it's time for Tivo.
Xander. Well, he's just the cutest thing on the entire planet. I know none of you will admit it, because that would be rude, and one day your kids may google and find this and it would be sad if they saw that their mother admitted that someone else has the truly cutest baby on earth. But it's okay. I know you think he's the cutest ever, too. It'll be our little secret.
Pictures tomorrow. Or Thursday. Along with the Aaric story.
1. I found this poem just now. It should be renamed, "Kelly in 30 years." What a great opening line: When I am a grandmother I shall have a purple sling. I already have a cranberry batik, I say that's close enough to purple.
I've decided that I hate the TV. Actually, my particular hate here is harder to pin down. On the one hand, I think that all of the TV shows and commercials aimed at encouraging people to lose weight and get healthy are a great thing. If part of the obesity equation is that we have too many couch potatoes, then what better way is there to reach that audience? But I don't like the flip side. The flip side is that people with perfectly normal bodies get self conscious about their bodies for no good reason. Prime example:
Mikayla, giggling, as if she was just asking for a haircut, again: Mom, I need to lose weight!
Me, shocked, but figuring she really didn't understand what that even meant: Why do you want to do that?
Mikayla, still casual and laughing: Because I'm a little fat!
Yeah, I'll admit that every once in a while I pull up the growth charts and weight for height charts and see where the kids are at, just to stay mindful of it (they're both perfectly normal). I don't tell them about it though, and I certainly don't do anything to make them think they might have problems. I know that it came from the stupid Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers and Alli and every other weight loss program commercials.
I don't want to have to deal with body image issues with my 5 yr old! But what I DO want is to be able to watch TV from time to time. Maybe it's time for Tivo.
Xander. Well, he's just the cutest thing on the entire planet. I know none of you will admit it, because that would be rude, and one day your kids may google and find this and it would be sad if they saw that their mother admitted that someone else has the truly cutest baby on earth. But it's okay. I know you think he's the cutest ever, too. It'll be our little secret.
Pictures tomorrow. Or Thursday. Along with the Aaric story.
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