I started last week with high aspirations! I had a lot that I wanted to accomplish. I was really excited about getting a handle on the office. My hope was to spend 15 minutes a day on it, but the truth is I spent about 15-20 minutes on it three times in the last week.
I have had several moments as a mom where I under react to something and then feel awful and guilty about it. Most recently this happened early this past week. Jeremy came home from school and seemed okay. He has taken to setting up elaborate train systems throughout downstairs. I like it for two reasons. First, it keeps him busy for long stretches of time and doesn't involve watching TV. Two, I bought a large bag of train tracks for $15 at a resale several years ago. I hoped he would play with them then, but I'm patting myself on the back for such a strategic purchase and for holding on to them.
I do applaud his creativity and ambition. Most of his creations resemble the train systems of major metropolitan areas. He makes up stories for his different trains and leads them all on adventures.
The problem is that the tracks drift into the kitchen. I hate having toys in my kitchen. I spend so much time in there cooking and baking that I don't want anything on the floor that I might step on. Doug (aka Baby Destructo) has been known to dismantle the tracks, walk off with them and deposit them in random locations.
I usually don't make Jeremy deconstruct his creations for a few days. I know he'll play with them and that's fine with me. But I was having people over on Monday night and I needed to have a sense of order. When I asked Jeremy to pick up his train tracks, he said, "but mommy my thumb hurts." I am a grizzled veteran when it comes to evasive maneuvering. I found it interesting that his thumb only started hurting when I asked him to clean up. I dismissed the statement and pushed harder for a quick clean up.
Tuesday morning I received a phone call during Doug's occupational therapy session. I just recently updated my iPhone and lost all of my contacts. I didn't immediately recognize the phone number and so I sent it to voice mail. After the therapist left, I had an hour before the next therapist arrived. I was going to check my voice mail but got sidetracked.
My friend April brought Bekah home from preschool just as Doug was completing his developmental therapy appointment. I worked to feed everyone lunch, then got Doug down for a nap. In a rare moment of rest, I sat down with Bekah on the couch. I was going to exercise but my phone rang again. It was the same number from the morning. I answered it and discovered it was....my son's school nurse. Jeremy's thumb had actually been involved in a door-smashing incident on Monday afternoon. It was quite swollen and although he refused an ice pack (he hates ice packs, along with any analgesic medicine or really medicine of any kind), he seemed to be treating it gingerly.
Jeremy has an incredibly high pain tolerance level. It's part of his sensory diagnosis and it can actually be dangerous because it doesn't allow us to diagnose and treat things in a timely manner. A couple of years ago, quite by chance, I discovered a lump on the back of his head. It was quite large and seemed warm. It turned into an infection that required emergency care and IV antibiotics. He has a Patrick Dempsey amount of hair, but he never mentioned it to me because I don't think it ever really bothered him.
In fact, when I went to retrieve him and take him to the doctor, he was more upset that I was taking him away from playing in centers than that he might have a broken bone. It took me about 10 minutes to get him out of the school and into the van.
Our three-ring circus descended on the pediatrician's office and stayed for what felt like forever. It included three trips in the elevator--up, down and up again--an x-ray and horseplay in the waiting room. Oh, and sweating. I don't know what it is about his doctor's office but I break out in a flop sweat whenever I'm there for more than 15 minutes. I'm sure it has to do with stress more than anything else.
The official diagnosis was a broken thumb. We were referred to an orthopedic doctor and sent home. The next day, when I went to pick Jeremy up at school for the appointment, I found out he had pushed a girl down in the playground. He had dark circles under his eyes and seemed exhausted. Our three-ring circus then descended on the McHenry County Orthopedics office. The wait there was much shorter than that at the pediatrician's office (thankfully).
The doctor decided to cast Jeremy for precautionary measures. He was afraid that if he didn't, Jeremy might hurt it worse. The cast will be on for 3 weeks and then that will be that. I was so incredibly anxious about Jeremy getting a cast but he really handled it like a champ. He only balked briefly but I was able to talk him through it.
We left the doctor's office and headed off for a celebratory donut. I pulled into the parking lot at Jewel and parked so I could finish a conversation with Brian. Bekah came up from the way back and informed me thatt there were 2 sleeping boys in the van. Sure enough, Jeremy had passed out in his seat. (I was expecting Doug to fall asleep because the doctor's appointment and his naptime overlapped. He was incredibly tired.)
We re-routed to Country Donuts and headed home. I put Doug down for a nap and let Jeremy sleep in the van. Meanwhile, I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes. I had some far-off notion when Jeremy came in from the van but otherwise had a refreshing cat nap.
I wish I could say the craziness stopped there but Jeremy had his six-month check-up at the dentist the next day. Yep, I pulled him out of school early three days in a row. I didn't want to do it but I figured if I got the dentist appointment out of the way we'd be doctor-free until he got his cast off. Unfortunately, we would not be so lucky.
I noticed a few weeks ago that Jeremy had an adult tooth coming in behind a baby tooth. I posted something about it on Facebook and was reassured that this was normal and would probably resolve on it's own. I tried to goad Jeremy into wiggling the baby teeth but got the sense that either it creeped him out or he got distracted.
Jeremy's dentist is old school but I like her. She's firm with him and we only see her twice a year so that's okay with me. She doesn't really understand his diagnosis but again, she sees him for like an hour all year. She doesn't need to be an expert. The appointment went as I expected--Jeremy cried the entire time and got a bloody nose. That's what happens frequently when he gets all worked up. I went back briefly to help stop the nosebleed but then left him in capable hands.
She informed me that she would need to pull the two baby teeth that were in the way. She called it "God's cruel joke," that someone with such a phobia of the dentist would need so much extra work. (He has had several cavities but is one of the healthiest eaters I know, eschewing junk food for fresh fruits and veggies. Bekah, on the other hand, never met a cookie or cake she doesn't like but has had no cavities and rejoices when it's time to go to the dentist.)
It was an exhausting way to end an emotionally exhausting week. We are scheduled to go back on October 10th. I am going to try and find someone to watch Doug so I can focus all of my attention on Jeremy. I am going to keep Jeremy out of school that day and do everything I can to make him more comfortable. Though I felt awkward, I did let the dentist know that she will have to give him a higher than normal dosing of nitrous. Jeremy metabolizes medicine really quickly and so it is not very effective unless given in high doses. When he had that infection on his head, it had to be lanced but of course he was not interested in cooperating. The ER doctor gave him a dose of ketamine (appropriate for his height and weight) and assured me that he would fall right asleep. Nope. Even after a second, identical dose, he remained awake and mostly alert for what they were doing. His eyes creeped me out a bit but otherwise he seemed normal.
I feel like, as his mom, I need to let his medical providers in on this. They need to know how to does him. At the same time, I feel awkward, as a mom, saying "hey, give my kid more medicine." It feels like I sound Munchausen-esque. I did tell her, though, so she is at least aware and can adjust accordingly.
I'm exhausted just re-telling the events of last week. The whole point was that I felt awful for not believing Jeremy on Monday when he told me his thumb hurt. Or not answering the voicemail that the nurse left me. Or for not realizing he was in so much pain on Wednesday that he was up from 3:30 AM on.
I have to remember two things, though. I am human. I may appear to be a superhero but mostly I'm just a human being who makes mistakes and errors in judgement. The counter to this is that I'm mommy. There's very little I can do to remove the love my kids have for me. I try not to abuse this power by being manipulative and cruel but I also cherish the tremendous grace the power allows me. It's a constant reminder about how small I am in comparison to the universe. Which is odd when the reminder is coming from someone 46 inches or under.
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