After a night of worry and no sleep, C, my Mom, and I headed to our local Children’s Hospital for a chest CT. All the worry in the world can’t dampen my joy at hearing C’s pediatrician say “it’s nothing that needs treatment!”. In your chest cavity, between your heart and your sternum, is a gland called the Thymus. In childhood, this gland is quite large and is responsible for hormone production and regulation. At puberty, other glands take over the sex hormone production/regulation, and the Thymus simply shrinks.

In C’s case, his Thymus is located on the right side of his chest, behind his lung. What looked like a massive lung tumor on the Xrays, turned into nothing to worry about, really. I’m not entirely sure how common this is (the Thymus being in an odd location), but I can tell you that this is nothing compared to facing down an almost certain diagnosis of Cancer just shy of 1 week ago.

He was such a trooper. He laid so still for the CT scans and weathered the IV poke so bravely. Toys to play with and the ability to watch CARS, the movie, on DVD certainly helped that mood of his!

Counting my blessings even harder tonight.

In a single 5 minute phone call, I became the mother of a “sick” child.

“C’s chest xrays show a large mass in his right lung.”
“Here’s my personal cell phone number. Call anytime if you have any questions.”
“You need to bring family with you tomorrow.”
“It’s big and it looks, well, it doesn’t look very good.”
“Admitted to the hospital afterward if further treatment is needed.”

When your child’s pediatrician utters phrases like that, it’s very scary. I’m pleased to announce that I did not fall into a sobbing mess while on the phone, although I did want to.

After receiving that call yesterday afternoon, I began to pack. Small bag with books, crayons, and small toys for waiting, overnight bag in case we were staying—Check. Call C’s dad—Check. Call the grandparents—check. Email family and close friends—check. Inform C’s school—check. Text a bajillion people—check. Post on Facebook—check. Freak out—CHECK!

I will go into further detail in a later post but I will say that a chest CT scan that was performed this AM, although not normal, does not show any pathologic disease process. Instead, there is a congenital anomaly in his chest where a gland that should be near the center of his chest is actually in the right side on his chest. This gland is roughly 3″x3″ in children his age. On the chest xray it looks like a gigantic massive tumor.

The tests and whatnot are not all over. We still have consultations and things to attend and take care of. But the bulk of the worry—-the thing that could have taken my sweet boy from me—-is not an issue any longer.

Saying prayer of Thanksgiving tonight and feeling love and gratitude.

Must give thanks also to our Pastor, our church family, and the hundreds of friends & family who sent love, prayers, and healing to us. C and I are so blessed to have you all in our lives.

Recently, some judgements have been made about my parenting skills, decisions that I’ve made, and whether I’m entitled to have my own feelings by someone who was (key word ‘was’) on my facebook friends list. I had originally left a status update on FB that mentioned that I would miss my son’s “huggies and moochies” while he was visiting his father. This person left the comment that I should really consider N’s feeling more because he is away from his son on a daily basis and yadda, yadda, yadda.

Nice.

This, from someone who has no children? Who wants to give me parenting advice? From someone who has ZERO idea (at least from my point of view) what the thought process was, what our decision making process was, the personal communication between N and I, or other circumstances.

And although I owe no one, except my son, an explanation, I’ve decided to give one for the final time. I hope this person (who is now blocked) will read this and understand exactly what those comments meant to me and what a slap in the face it was to tell me that I’m not taking N’s feeling into consideration enough.

It is a fact that when I found out I was pregnant, I hadn’t been at my job long enough to have maternity insurance. Once you’re pregnant, guess what? They won’t give you any!!!!! So I was pretty well screwed. Without a savings account or a guaranteed income while I was out on maternity leave, I knew that money would get tight. Add in an unemployment the previous year and I had just finished getting caught up on everything that got behind while I was out of work.

It is not my place to disclose N’s personal finances, other than to say he was not in a position where he had a large savings account either. I tried to prepare for the coming baby. I signed up for everything that I could and received free samples of baby food, bottles, formula, etc. I got breastfeeding help. I tried to pay a few bills ahead so that I wouldn’t get so far behind when I was off work. I worked overtime. I stockpiled diapers and wipes when I could get them free or cheap. I traded for clothing in all sizes. I shopped clearance sales for cheap baby things. We were blessed to have had 3 baby showers, so between those and my crazy good shopping deals (got a $100 stroller for $27), we had nearly everything that we needed.

I had a few bouts of preterm labor at 30 weeks and again at 32 weeks. After that, my employer pulled me from the road doing active patient care and allowed me to work light duty, doing paperwork. That significantly cut both my hours and my earning potential, since I wasn’t getting any overtime anymore. I still managed to maintain my monthly bills but could no longer get ahead on anything.

With a somewhat complicated delivery that required a c-section, my hospital bills were astronomical. C also had pretty high bills—he had to be seen by a neonatologist and Even though I had insurance, I still had a deductible and coinsurance. I swallowed my pride and applied for Medicaid and WIC but was denied both, due to the fact that I made about $100 over the monthly allowed income. It seemed that everywhere I turned to for assistance couldn’t or wouldn’t help me.

Following C’s birth, I was only off work 3 weeks before I started to panic about money. I called my OB and begged her to allow me back to work, part time. While N did help when he could, a single salary simply can not support 2 households. I returned to work 3 weeks after my C-section, three nights per week for about 4 hours. While it was better than no income, it wasn’t hardly enough money to pay anything. I returned to the DHS offices and was able to get medical and nutritional assistance for both C and I. I was a single mom, working nights, exclusively pumping because I didn’t want to formula feed, and essentially raising a newborn alone. N had C while I was at work, but aside from that, I did most everything else.

With our immediate needs met, I tried to figure out how to pay about $3k worth of bills each month on $400 in income. Clearly, most weren’t going to be paid. There were many options considered and discussed jointly between N and I. Ultimately, taking into consideration many other factors, the best option was for C and I to move out of state to live with my mom. I was no longer working as a Paramedic and took a 30% pay cut. It was clear to me that I had to return to school to complete my Bachelor’s degree and allow me to change career paths.

For those who are the accusers, moving my son away from his father was never my first choice. If I had any other options, I would have exercised those options. As it was, I lost my house due to foreclosure and my credit is ruined. I wish with all of my heart that things were different for both my son and his father. However, none of those who think we made the wrong choice ever offered any kind of assistance.

My parents, divorced for over 20 years, flew out to Nashville together, spent 2+ weeks helping me pack and clear out my house. We dealt with flooding, celebrated C’s 1st birthday (early) during a tornado, and tried not to butt heads. My mom flew back with C and my Dad and I drove out with the truck.

In the year since we’ve moved, I’ve grown up a lot. Both as a parent, as a person, and as someone who is co-parenting with their child’s other parent. I’ve learned to be more gracious, more patient, more loving. I’ve learned to be more tenacious, to fight for the things that I need or want. I’ve learned to be an advocate for my child, speaking up when something isn’t right. I’ve made sacrifices, both financially and personally, to ensure that my son has the things that he needs. When his original day care situation turned bad, I placed him in the best center I could find, at nearly twice the monthly cost.

I’ve learned that secrets only enable people to hide behind them and not deal with things. While I don’t spill all the family secrets, I no longer mince words in order to spare someone’s feelings. What I’ve learned is that I can’t control how others react to what I do or say. I am only responsible for my own actions.

What I’d like to make clear without being yelled at for bashing my kid’s dad is this: N is as involved as he chooses to be in his child’s life. I don’t restrict the contact he has with his son like many other custodial parents do. He could call or Skype or iChat every single night if he chose to. While I never expected N to just pick up and move with us, that option has always been available to him and he knows that he would be more than welcome to move to be closer to our son. I care about him as a person and want him to be the father that he wants to be. But I can’t force him to act or do anything that he doesn’t want. I only provide the opportunity, he has to make at least the other 50% effort.

I live up to my end of the custody arrangement but I can’t force him to uphold his end. And I’m not saying that he doesn’t—-I’m just saying that I can only control my thoughts and actions.

My son deserves all of his family in his life. For those that want to be involved, I spend a lot of effort and time and expense to send out artwork, drawings, postcards, notes, updated photos, holiday presents, birthday presents/cards, mother’s day/father’s day gifts to family members because it is so important to me that C knows who his family is and that they are involved in his life.

So please, before you decide that I don’t take into consideration other people’s feelings—put yourself in my shoes, walk a few months with my financial outlook, and then decide whether I have the right to my own feelings or not. In teaching my son how to stick up for himself, I must first learn how to stick up for myself. I will no longer allow people to take advantage of me or call anyone a “friend” (regardless of who they are) once they choose to speak ill of me or my son, or his father.

And for those who’ve been supportive and loving and understanding, even if you haven’t always agreed with me, you deserve a giant THANK YOU. I’m grateful to those who’ve offered a shoulder to cry on, gave parenting words of wisdom, lessened my fears, listened to me complain or cry, assisted financially, and loved us unconditionally. You’ve all helped me along this journey in one way or another. I’m glad to call you my friend.

Mommy: “Boys have boy parts. It’s called a penis.”

Christopher: “Bopa?”

M: “Yes, Grandpa Bill is a boy and he has a penis.”

C: “Ramma?”

M: “No, Grandma Mary is a girl. Girls don’t have a penis.”

C: “Granmpa Teve?”

M: “Grandpa Steve is a boy.”

C: “Boy?”

M: “Yes, honey. Christopher is a boy and you have a penis, too.”

I could continue on ad nauseam but I think you get the drift. We did the entire immediate family line including N & me and both sets of grandparents.

I dodged the discussion about the girl parts…I figure “don’t ask, don’t tell” is sufficient enough for now….

Lord, save me….Isn’t he a bit early to be wondering about body parts?

I don’t talk much about my career as a Paramedic, mostly because not many people understand the horrors of things I’ve seen. And because this really isn’t the right forum for this. Slowly but surely, sharing a call here or there will unburden my soul from images no one should see. My assignment for Eng 111 this week is to write my resume. As I’m sitting here trying to remember all the places I’ve worked before retiring from EMS, I remembered one of the earliest 911 calls I went on.

I had recently moved to Tennessee and was in Paramedic school. The sum total of my EMS experience had been a convalescent service out in California. We schlepped Granny to dialysis and doctor’s appointments, the bread & butter of convo services. And boring for those desiring more out of their EMS licenses. Exposure to “real” calls, emergencies, had been limited.

My shift was almost over and the director and I were shooting the breeze. This was a very small rural county, they ran 2 24 hour Paramedic staffed units and a BLS unit during the day for the aforementioned doctor/dialysis schlepping. I was getting ready to leave for my EMT-IV module (where I learned to start IVs) and had a few minutes to spare. Both units were on calls when the Sheriff’s department called looking for a paramedic unit to respond to a house fire. The director and I responded to the scene. Once there, we quickly determined that there was more than *just* a house fire.

The fire was started by our patient, a solemn and mildly overweight woman. She had a history of mental illness and recently spent some time in the inpatient section of one of the big city psychiatric hospitals. In fact, she had only been home a few days. In that span of time, she decided she was going to commit suicide. She got a can of Kerosene, stood in the bathtub naked, poured the liquid on herself, and lit herself on fire. The resulting explosion was unexpected, she said, “I was expecting it to burn like gasoline, not explode.” After she realized that she didn’t die, she put clothes and shoes on and went outside to walk the dog. I can’t remember now, nearly 10 years later, who called 911 but at the time it didn’t matter. In nearly the same breath, she looked me square in the eyes and said “I don’t want to die”. When I asked how much pain she was in, at first she denied any. I told her it was OK to tell us, that we’d get her pain medicine as soon as we could. Finally, after a long pause, she said in a very quiet voice, “it hurts”.

I can’t remember her exact BSA but it was something like 60% full thickness burns and another 20% partial thickness burns. The first thing I was able to comprehend was that her hair was melted to her head and she had no eyebrows or eyelashes–they were burned. The next thing I noticed was that her skin was simply falling off her body in sheets. We quickly got her clothes off her, laid sterile burn sheets down on the cot, and sat her down. My partner started frantically trying to start IVs but nearly everything was burned. I’m certain he even tried her EJ (external jugular vein in the neck) but was unsuccessful. We requested the local EMS helicopter to fly her to the regional burn center—2 hours away by ground.

While waiting at the ER for the flight crew, reality set in for her. She realized that there was a good chance she was going to die and she was scared and upset. The ER staff worked feverishly on her, starting central lines, discussing airway control, giving pain meds, etc. We loaded her on the helicopter and I went on to class, stinking like kerosene and smoke from the fire. I’m not ashamed to admit now that I cried almost the entire 25 minute drive. It was the worst thing that I’d seen since stating work in EMS. Almost 10 years later, if I sit very still, I can play the mental tape from that call back in my mind’s eye and remember most everything that happened—although the minute details are fuzzy. I remember having to cut her shoes off her feet because they had started to swell. When I took her socks off, the skin came with them. As I tried to stop the burning and clean the kerosene off her, her skin just fell off.

If you’ve never smelt burnt flesh, consider yourself lucky. Those who have will more than likely agree that #1-it’s the worst smell and #2-it will never leave you. It was at least 3 weeks after the call before the scent of kerosene and burned flesh weren’t omnipresent in my nasal and sinus passages. Even now, I can still smell the oily kerosene mixed with burning flesh and it makes me want to gag. After 10 years in EMS, this call is no longer one of my “worst” but is definitely one that has left an indelible mark on my life.

The patient? She died from massive infection about 4-5 months after the incident.

***Identifying details may have been changed to protect patient privacy & confidentiality***

But you get what I’m trying to say.

Most days, I simply feel like I’m going through the motions. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m struggling to see with clarity my future. I don’t know.

I know that I’m doing things because I’m *supposed* to and not because I want to or because I am finding much joy in them right now. For instance, I have a stack of about 20 Easter cards to be mailed out tomorrow. They’re going to family, C’s Godparents, and a few close friends. Inside, there is a photo and some artwork that C made this weekend. I usually love helping him write and draw cards for family. It’s so important to me that his family stays involved. Not this time. I did it because I know it’s the right thing to do. And because everyone appreciates it.

And tonight, I’m turning in a paper that was due last night. It’s late, obviously. And for no apparent reason.

What’s wrong with me? This funk needs to pack itself up and ship out because it’s no longer welcome here. I did discuss with my doctor and since I’ve struggled off & on for about 10 years with hypothyroid issues, she wants a full panel of blood work done. I need to go this week to get that done. In fact, I’ve had the orders for about a month. I just can’t get the motivation up to go and do it.

*sigh*

Wait. What? A marketing package? Why should I pay for marketing when that’s their JOB?????

Needless to say, I passed on that agency and signed C with another agency that had no fees or “marketing scams packages”. I even kept the flyer from the first place, fully intending to call the State Attorney General’s office because I felt that they were skirting the laws for talent agents here—agents are not allowed to ask for any money up front, instead the law assigns them the right to collect a commission. When I declined to sign with this agency, I told the recruiter exactly why.

She urged me to “think about it” and “check with the Grandparents” for help coming up with the $800 fee.

*snort*

My son is awesomely adorable and he would make a great model, not that I’m biased or anything. But I can take him to a photo studio and get an over-the-top package for less than they wanted to charge. Hell, I can take him to Portrait Innovations and get a huge package of prints for $9.99 + tax. Yeah, I know that only makes him famous in our family but I would be OK with that.

I never heard from them again.

I accepted the other agency’s contract and took him there for some shots and to get him up on their online talent database–I still think it’s cool that I can find my kid’s photo on an agency’s website!–Now, we just wait for a call, one that may never come, for an audition.

This afternoon, I received a call from the first agency. I had actually forgotten about them and wasn’t paying attention when I answered the phone, I thought it was the current agent. The voice on the other end of the phone said they have a new scout who’s reviewed C’s profile, photos, and video and can we come in on Saturday to meet them. Well, once I finally figured out who they were, I had to decline due to the terms of the other contract. I informed her that I wasn’t paying a fee, to which she hastily replied, “you mean the package? This has nothing to do with the fees. We’ve reviewed your son’s file and the new scout has some opportunities for him that we’d like to discuss.”

Well. There you have it.

I’m happy with where he’s at right now. When the contract is up, we can go shopping if it’s needed. Otherwise, why rock the boat? It’s not like he’s going to make ten million bucks in the next few years. In fact, the odds are that he won’t get *any* jobs because of his age and because we’re in a secondary market (LA is a primary market).

Today, I took the boy to get his Easter photos taken. I really like the studio but hate strongly dislike the photographer. I’m not sure who’s children she photographs on a regular basis, but there are very few toddlers that I know who actually sit still and smile perfectly at the camera on command. I’ve noted her name and when we go back for 2 yr photos in a few months, I’ll be un-requesting her. She missed at least 20 good shots because she wasn’t ready when he was. Most of the photographers that I’ve dealt with who’ve spent anytime at all working with children just snap away because the shots are there when they least expect them. Anyhow, there were about 4 good ones to choose from, so it was a relatively cheap and painless process.

After that, we high-tailed it over to Stride Rite for new shoes. Anyone who knows me well KNOWS that I don’t care much about brand name clothing and regularly shop second hand stores, consignment sales/stores, etc for clothing for C. Shoes, though, are another story. He’s in between sizes right now, in part because he has EXTRA WIDE feet. And his feet are really thick (top to bottom), so it’s very difficult to fit shoes to him. His school also doesn’t allow open toed sandals during the summer and since his feet sweat so much, I needed to find some summer shoes for him. To my credit, they were having a sale and I got him two pairs. Yikes. These babies better last ALL summer and then some for the amount of money that I spent. I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much on shoes before.

That was basically it. We zipped by the photo place to pick up our prints and then went through a drive through for lunch (gag).

A few posts ago, I wrote about some of his tummy troubles and I’m pretty sure I never followed up with the results. Based on a strict lactose elimination diet, that cleared up his symptoms 100%, he was diagnosed with lactose intolerance. My personal opinion is that it is a severe intolerance at this point in time. Will it get any better? That remains to be seen. His dad still has troubles, although it’s my understanding that it’s not as severe.

Ok, back to lunch…So I picked the least innocuous thing on the menu and ordered it for him without cheese, figuring that I was safe. HA HA HA HA. Nope. After his nap, he woke up with the worst gas, terrible diapers, and a bleeding diaper rash that started just like *that* (snaps fingers). You know…I never thought that I’d be the one to violate his food guidelines. I feel bad. His poor bottom looks like a meat grinder ran it over. Right, so I’m probably exaggerating just a bit, but still.

And he’s been fighting something all week. Off and on running a low grade temp, not even high enough to keep him home from school. He’s been a super clingy-to-momma type kid this week. He’s been gnawing on his fingers, so he’s obviously working on his molars. And the nose faucet has started up again. I fully expect to have to take him to the Saturday hours at his doctor’s offices tomorrow.

So without further confirmation from the doctor, based on our visit a few weeks ago, C has been diagnosed with a severe lactose intolerance. He can’t have ANYTHING with dairy in it, not even anything using any kind of dairy product as an ingredient. BOOOOO. Some foods we are having to buy gluten free because that’s the only way it comes dairy free, as well. Do you know how expensive that stuff is??? I bought him some soy cheese this week so that we could make pizzas together and a small bag of shredded cheese was like 4 bucks. A 4 pack of soy pudding was close to $5. I’ll have to scout out some new shopping places for his special foods or I’ll go fricking broke buying this crap for him—-and obviously he needs the elimination diet for a while longer with how he reacted to lunch.

What else? Well, this semester is almost a month away from being OVER!!! I’m having a tough time with my research papers. Yes, papers, plural. Looks like I can overlap the topics & research somewhat, so that will save me some time, but GAG.

Received formal notice of acceptance to NAU this fall as an IN-STATE resident for tuition purposes. Praise the LORD. That is what I was waiting for this whole time. Saves me about $12,000 a year in tuition and allows me to take a semester or so longer so I’m not burned out when I graduate. I’m still nailing down my degree decisions, I need a bit more time to decide the most advantageous method of completing the most degrees in the shortest amount of time humanly possible. And I totally rocked the financial aid. Well, so most of it is loans, but I’m in great shape for the fall.

I think that is about it. I’m about to have my milk laden waffles and go to bed. I still feel nauseated and dizzy and my beloved diet coke hasn’t helped at all.

Peace.

The pnp got set up that night in hopes that he might get used to the toddler bed over the course of a week and be able to then transition into it. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Yeah right. So, we put together the crib again and go his room set up again last night. He was so excited, running around the room and yelling, trying to climb into the crib, etc. No night time struggles, and he barely moved at all last night. I wish we could leave the toddler bed in there. But I refuse to buy a mattress for it when the reality is that he won’t use it for very long. I’ve tried craigslist and some consignment stores but their used mattress aren’t much cheaper than buying a brand new one. I’ll keep looking though and hope that we can find something that will allow for a more gradual transition.

This reminds me that just because I can do something *to*for*with* him, it doesn’t mean he’s ready. Although very interested in the potty, he’s stubbornly refused all gentle encouragement to potty train. So, he’s not ready and I won’t push him. His school takes him to the potty but I don’t believe that he’s ever even peed while on it. He will do things when he’s ready and all on his own timeline.

He was such a good boy! He didn’t care for the clippers at first, but Denise (the hair cutting lady) showed him on my hand and his that it didn’t hurt. I think he was more anxious about the noise than anything else. I told her what I wanted and she got to work.

It was quite a bit shorter than I had asked for in the back. Note to self: have them use a longer blade next time. Then she worked on the top and trimmed it up.

He had to be a little helper:

When it was all said and done, the bird’s nest in the back was gone and the top was trimmed nicely. I didn’t realize that he actually had a red tinge to his hair until I saw it in the envelope. He’s back to having a full head of blonde hair and I no longer have to wave my magic wand to get the back part to lay flat!

My boy had a head full of soft and silky hair when he was born. Then it all fell out and grew back about three times. Sometime last summer (August, maybe?) it started growing like a weed. I never thought I’d have to take him in for a cut this soon…Time to invest in my own clippers so I can cut his hair myself!