Tag Archives: blind

The Night Was My Enemy

1 Mar

“Sometimes the hardest part isn’t letting go but rather learning to start over.”

― Nicole Sobon, Program 13

I called Oli’s doctor and told her our decision to try Melatonin. She suggested that we start at 3mg and see if it helps. The first night I gave it to her I was so hopeful that she would begin a normal sleep pattern. I crushed up the pill and mixed it in some applesauce at bedtime. As Oli closed her eyes I whispered a little made up song in her ear.

“Sleep sweet Oli. Sleep tonight. Sleep sweet Oli until it’s light.”

It worked!! For the first time in months she slept through the night. I would like to credit my little song and the mystical powers of my voice, but there was a reason I was whispering it to her and not singing it.

Melatonin was now my best friend.

It was wonderful seeing what regular sleep did for her. She had more energy, ate better, and put on some weight. She finally weighed 20lbs at 20 months old.

It helped me tremendously too.

Before we tried Melatonin I would occasionally have anxiety attacks when darkness fell. I worried every night about how many hours of sleep I would get. Was I going to be able to function at work the next day? If I was staying at home the following day I worried that my temper would be short and that I would be too exhausted to do anything productive with the kids.

The night was my enemy. It held all of my fears, inadequacies, demons, unfulfilled dreams and unanswered questions. It made me feel weak and useless. I would hold my playful baby in my arms at 2am and silently cry so she couldn’t hear my anguish. I would turn my head so my tears wouldn’t fall on her face. And I would pray in the dark. I prayed and prayed for peace. I prayed for comfort and then I would wrap her up in her blanket and hold her tightly to my heart. Oli’s link to my heart and the complete love I felt for her was the only tether I had binding me to this life. This place and my role as a mother. I held onto her and gave this tiny person the power to hold me down and keep me from floating away.

Once she started sleeping it lifted some of those anxieties from my shoulders and allowed me to take a much needed deep breath. I actually took deep breath.

I hadn’t done that in a very long time.

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My Old Lady, Gertrude

28 Feb

Tomorrow Oli has surgery…again. Every time she has to go through this I think, “For sure this is the last time. Surely she won’t need anything else done.” I think it Every. Single. Time. And then we have to do something else. Something comes up that only can be done under anesthesia.

Tomorrow’s surgery is no big deal. I know that it’s no big deal. They will not be cutting into her. Many, many people have gone through MUCH worse with their children. I know that too. Oli will only be having an ABR (hearing screen) done and possibly tubes put back in her ears.

But…I am terrified.

I have this wicked old lady, Gertrude that lives in my mind. (Wait….stay with me here.) She likes to whisper nasty, horrifying things in my ear. Remember worst-case-scenario-girl from previous blog posts? The one who is sure the power will fail during Oli’s surgery and her arm will end up falling off? Gertrude tells me these things. “Yoo-Hoo! Shaaannoooon! What if the anesthesiologist is a drug addict and gives her WAY too much medication and she never wakes up?” This is not all that far-fetched. When I had my tonsils out as a child my doctor was an addict and really did give me too much anti-nausea medication. Fortunately it was just that and not too much sedation. (A few years after my surgery he ended up giving a pregnant mommy too much sedation and sadly, she died.) I just couldn’t control my tongue for hours after surgery.

What?

Yes it was very, very bizarre. It would pull back towards my throat and then hang out like a dog. On the drive home my mom kept saying “Shannon. Stop that! It’s not funny.” I told her I couldn’t help it. After I finally convinced her that I wasn’t doing it on purpose she got kind of freaked out. (Hello! Her child had lost all voluntary control of her tongue!) She called the hospital and after looking at my chart the nurse realized that during surgery, I had been given WAY too much medication. The sticking out tongue thing eventually went away after a few hours. Thank God!! What if I had to live the rest of my life like that? What if I still had no control of my tongue? Has that ever happened before? I should Google ‘permanent loss of voluntary tongue control’.

Then I start thinking, what if that happens to Oli?

No. I probably shouldn’t Google it. I don’t want to know.

I’m just nervous. Nervous, nervous, nervous.

I’m scared because they will be putting her to sleep (obviously that alone provides a whole crap load of things for that old lady to work with), but I’m also scared of the hearing screen results. What if it’s NOT just fluid in her ears? What if that doesn’t explain why her eardrum isn’t moving? What if it’s something congenital? What if she’s NEVER been able to hear well out of that ear? I’ve spent her whole life providing a lot of information auditorily. What if I’ve been doing it all wrong? It would definitely explain a lot if it turns out that she really isn’t hearing well.

No matter what, I have to try and ignore the millions of bad scenarios that are racing through my head. (Shut up Gertrude!) I have to put aside my own fear and step up for Oli. And I have to just keep moving forward whatever the results of that test show.

“Don’t dwell on what went wrong. Instead, focus on what to do next. Spend your energies on moving forward toward finding the answer.” -Denis Waitley

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Was The Sandman Hiding In A Bottle Of Melatonin?

27 Feb

Taking ‘naps’ sounds so childish…I prefer to call them ‘horizontal life pauses.’- Unknown quotes

When Oli was 18 months old I crumbled under her terrorist acts of sleep deprivation and gave her a magical pill called melatonin. I had been hearing about this over-the-counter medication for months, but had been previously reluctant to try it. The only medicine I had given her before was Tylenol, Prevacid for her reflux and a low dose antibiotic to prevent kidney infections caused by her kidney reflux. I was scared to give my baby anything not approved by the FDA. Which like most supplements, it isn’t.

I was also apprehensive because I had read and heard mixed opinions about the use of it in children. Although no one came right out and said “If you give your child this medicine it will harm her.” I had read that its use was too new for studies on its possible long term implications to be available. So essentially I heard “If you give your child this it may harm her.” That was an enormous and terrifying maybe.

That was why it took me an entire year before agreeing to try it.

Eventually I came across articles like this:

“Studies of melatonin use in children have shown it could reduce the amount of time it takes to fall asleep and increase the duration of sleep in children with mental retardation, autism, psychiatric disorders, visual impairment, or epilepsy.”—-from cbsnews.com

At this point I didn’t know that she was autistic. She was too young for psychiatric disorders and did not have epilepsy yet. She was blind and could possibly have MR. That was enough for me to start looking more closely at reasons to try it.

(Did I mention that it had been a whole year since the elusive Sand Man had made regular house calls to Pahrump?)

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And I began to realize the very big importance of a very tiny gland that Oli just happened to be missing.

So I began researching articles like these: taken from Wikipedia

“Circadian rhythm

In humans, melatonin is produced by the pineal gland, a small endocrine gland[26] located in the center of the brain but outside the blood–brain barrier. The melatonin signal forms part of the system that regulates the sleep-wake cycle by chemically causing drowsiness and lowering the body temperature, but it is the central nervous system (specifically the suprachiasmatic nuclei, or SCN)[26] that controls the daily cycle in most components of the paracrine and endocrine systems[27][28] rather than the melatonin signal (as was once postulated).”

That was clincher for me. If she doesn’t have the gland that produces melatonin and she doesn’t have any light perception to help create a sleep-wake-cycle then how in the hell was she ever going to sleep without some kind of help?

Once that realization finally sunk in I jumped into my car and raced my stressed, sleep deprived, pajama clad butt to Walgreens. Like a woman on a mission I shoved aside little old ladies and received snooty stares from well rested patrons. Oblivious to the rest of the customers in the store I made me way to the supplement section and grabbed two bottles. My savior came in a little green bottle with a yellow lid.

I immediately encountered an unforeseen problem. There were two doses available at Walgreens. One that was 3mg and one that was 5mg. How much do you give an 18 month old? I had discussed trying Melatonin with her doctors, but we had never finalized the decision so we never talked about dosage. I took them both to the register feeling severely deflated. I wasn’t going to be able to try it tonight.

I paid for my purchase and climbed reluctantly back into my car.

Another long night was waiting for me…

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I Didn’t Sleep In 2008

26 Feb

Everyone should have kids. They are the greatest joy in the world. But they are also terrorists. You’ll realize this as soon as they are born and they start using sleep deprivation to break you.
-Ray Romano quotes

By the time my mom moved in with me in April of 2008 I think I had been slowly losing my mind.

True, it was partly because of my complete submersion into Oli-land and lack of full emotional participation in anything other than blind baby support. It was also due to a familiar term recognized world wide by new parents. And talked about, dreaded, cursed, and feared by the blind community.

Sleep deprivation.

When my girl was 6 months old she just simply stopped sleeping.

She was on her own little planet where there was no 24 hour day. Sometimes her day was 20 hours, sometimes it was 27 hours. There was absolutely no sleep schedule. She would go to bed at 7pm get up at 1am, be up until 9am, go back to sleep until 2pm, get up and stay up until 12am, sleep until 4am. . .every single day was different.

When I went to work with bags under my eyes, mismatched socks, and had forgotten to run a brush through my hair, the new moms in the unit would spot me across the room like a bug drawn to a light. They knew what I was suffering from and they were always ready to inundate me with solutions to Oli’s sleep problem.

“Put her to bed at the same time every night. Make sure she’s had enough to eat. Bath her with this soap and then apply this lotion. Play this song before bedtime…” The list goes on and on.

I listened and I tried anything anyone ever suggested to me. Nothing worked. The only thing I refused to try was putting a dab of alcohol in her bottle at night. But that may have simply been because I didn’t want to share and needed every last drop.

I read books on sleep, googled sleep solutions for blind babies, talked with other parents of blind children, asked her pediatrician, doctors who worked in my unit, and random strangers at the grocery store who looked just like me. A soundly sleeping infant in a car seat and a mother looking like she had just returned from war, hadn’t eaten in a week, showered in 2, or slept for 3. We would bond in the frozen foods section describing last nights battle in which our child always defeated us. Granted, their baby was only a month old and mine was turning one year.

Eventually by the time my mom arrived I had just given up.

I was totally convinced that Oli was never going to sleep again.

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Can You See Me? I’m Here In The Darkness. (Part 4)

24 Feb

I spent the last two days attending the Blind Cafe and then the 2013 TX Deaf-Blind Symposium. Because of these two events my perception of Oli and some preconceived notions of her abilities/disabilities have completely been swung around and turned on their heads.

Where I have focused a lot of my time on what she cannot do because of or what she will not do because of .I am now seeing exactly what she is capable of and what is possible if I give her the chance. Although I really felt like I had given her lots of opportunities to explore the world and chances to communicate, after talking with blind adults and listening to experts in the field, now I feel like. . . Holy shit! I still have been regarding her learning opportunities in terms of what I see as limitations because of her disabilities.

While I was sitting in the darkness at the cafe a striking realization came to me when the wait staff started answering questions. I hate to say that when I first see a person with a disability, I see a disability. I’m not supposed to see that right? Because my daughter has a disability? But I still do. I don’t like that about me and I really try not to. I realized that one of the things that was so wonderful about listening to the blind adults speak in the cafe was. . . I didn’t see a disability. I couldn’t! And it was great. All I heard were intelligent, funny, nice people speaking. And then I started thinking about what an advantage they have over all of the rest of us. They honestly get to know people in a fast, genuine, real way bypassing all of the visual judgemental nonsense that sighted people have.

Always aspiring to be one of those “good” people who doesn’t judge people by what they look like, what they’re wearing, or how clean they are (although I’ll bet blind people notice that one even quicker than me) I suddenly started thinking of Oli as. . .lucky. I stopped viewing blindness as something I would never want for her and although I still wish she wasn’t, I started looking at all of the good things about blindness. Like seeing people by way of her heart and judging them by the truth in their words and the honesty in their voices.

I had a moment when I was sitting in the dark, listening to the band play, that I was overcome by sadness. Silent tears poured down my face as I sat there thinking about how hard it was. Walking around not knowing where I was going, trying to find my food and not knowing what I was eating because nobody told me. Tasting food that I HATE and not knowing if I had a drink. Wanting to wipe off my hands and not being able to find my napkin. I felt helpless. I felt alone.

But as I sat there crying quietly so no one would know, I started to recognize that feeling. I remember spending a lot of my time feeling that exact same way in the first years of Oli’s life. Lost and alone, crying silently in the dark. I welcomed that feeling like an old friend and greeted her with open arms without even realizing who she is. Who she really is… is my own self pity. My own fear, ignorance, and judgement.

I opened my eyes, dried my tears and sat up straight in my chair.

NO! No more!

I will not allow this twisted friendship to continue! I will not welcome you into my heart! I will not pretend anymore that you will stay for a short visit and then let you live on my couch for years!

You Miss. . . are no longer allowed in my front door.

I am not helpless, weak, alone, unheard, unloved, or in this by myself. More importantly, this is not about me.

This is about Oli and she is none of those things either.

(Thank you for reading about my experience at the Blind Café! If you want to know more about it or want to know if it will be coming to a city near you go to www.theblindcafe.com The End.)

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Can You See Me? I’m Here In The Darkness. (Part 1)

22 Feb

I had the AMAZING opportunity to eat dinner last night at the Blind Café. Dinner and music in the complete darkness.

“Hold on to the shoulder of the person standing in front of you. Okay. Everyone ready to experience the Blind Café?” The woman at the front of the line leading us into the darkness has an advantage. An advantage that normally, in the sighted world she lives in, is a disadvantage. The woman in the black dress, holding a long white cane…is blind.

I quickly introduce myself to the woman in front of me and hold tightly to her slim shoulder.

The line begins to move. I walk behind a heavy white curtain and am immediately plunged into pitch blackness. As I took my first blind steps into the café my heart started pounding in my chest. I didn’t know where I was and I didn’t know where I was going. I simply had to trust the woman in front of me and hope that I didn’t walk into anything or fall over.

“Watch your head!” the woman in front of me suddenly shouts.

“What? Where?” I am ducking my head and swerving to avoid an unseen attacker.

“Left? Right? Where is it? What am I watching out for?”

No details are given. Those were the beginning moments that made me acutely aware of the importance of descriptive details when speaking to Oli about her surroundings.

We all follow in line until we reach our table. Our blind waiter begins to help each of us find our seat. We were told that our food would already be waiting for us on the table. I cautiously sit down and move my hands across the table.

What am I touching?

I have no idea.

There’s some squishy stuff to my left at 10 o’clock. There is a bowl of little balls and a short, fat, cone shaped object beneath the squishy stuff. The plate in front of me has a large, papery thing on it with a stick poking out of its center. Above that is more wet squishy stuff on little flat circles. Someone at my table said that there was bread in the middle of the table. I slowly reach my hand out and above my plate. I find more little balls. I move to the right. What is this? It’s slimy and wet. Now my fingers are dripping with a slimy oily substance. Where is my napkin? Did they give us napkins? Do we have utensils?

I search to the right of my plate and thankfully find my napkin. I also find a plastic fork. I contemplate using my fork to try and stab at some of my food and then quickly realize how pointless that seems. It will be way more efficient to use my fingers. Beside how will I know what I am eating unless I actually pick it up with my fingers? I find the bowl of little balls again and search for the cone shaped thing. I find it and decide to pick it up and smell it. My senses should be enhanced right? Since my vision is gone. Wrong. Total myth! I can’t smell it at all. It smells like something, but I have no idea what? It smells like my fingers and whatever that slimy stuff was.

After touching everything on my plate and probably everything on my neighbor’s plate too, I couldn’t tell where my food stopped and hers started, I decided to taste something. I find the squishy stuff on the flat circles and pick one up. I identified the circles to be crackers. I could feel the salt and circles. I raise it to my lips and take an apprehensive bite. Olives! Aaaccckkkk!! I HATE olives. The squishy stuff was some kind of spread. I don’t know what else was in it, but I could taste olives. I put the cracker down. Do I have a drink somewhere around here to wash the nasty olive taste from my mouth? I feel my way a little farther to my left, past my plate. I find a water bottle. Of course, I didn’t know it was water until I took a sip.

Moving on.

I’m really getting brave with my hands now. I find the bowl of balls again. I pick one up and pop it in my mouth. A grape. Yay! Win!

I pick up another ball. I think it’s another grape. Wrong. Olive! What-Is-With-The-OLIVES!! Tricky, sneaky, blind café.

FYI. An olive feels like a grape.

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Seth Was On The Teacups; I Was Still On The Tornado

21 Feb

“Home is where you are loved the most and act the worst.” ― Marjorie Pay Hinckley

I remember that first year of Oli’s life being full of incredible pain and sadness. I remember wishing that she was older so I could just get past all of those feelings. I thought that she would just hit some magical age and all of those feelings would just disappear in an instant.

“If only she was 6 months old…”

Then she turned 6 months. Nope. The pain was still there.

“If only she was 1…” Nope.

I couldn’t understand why I just couldn’t get over it?

Seth made a comment when Oli was about 6 months old that he was so glad the first 6 months were over because he felt so much better. The roar of our wild roller coaster ride had dulled to the excitement of the Teacups.

I looked at him and smiled.

“Yes. Me too. I feel the same way.”

I didn’t feel that way at all. Not one tiny bit. I felt exactly the same as the moment when the doctor said she didn’t have any eyes.

I…was stuck.

I feel like I missed enjoying Oli as a baby because I spent every waking moment worrying about her.

When she turned 1 and it was time for her to get her eyes I thought that, that would be the moment I had been waiting for. She would get eyes and everything would be right with the world again.

Nope. It didn’t happen then either.

Don’t get me wrong, it helped. Once her eyes were painted, I didn’t feel like I had to hide her in her car seat when we went out to avoid the stares and the comments.

It made it a little bit better, but it turned out that it wasn’t her appearance that was bothering me. She was beautiful either way.

The first couple of days after she got her first pair of painted conformers was a mixture of highs and lows.

(Her first pair fit perfectly and were not crooked.) The moment Beverly put them in and turned Oli around to face us was incredible. Suddenly my girl had perfect, beautiful blue eyes.

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She had eyes.

We couldn’t stop staring at her, turning her this way and that. Examining her face from every possible angle. Oli had a funny look on her face, feeling the emotion in the room.

“Oh, Oli. Look at you! Look at your eyes baby! You’re so beautiful!” I gushed over her and cried with emotion.

We got back into the car and started the drive back to Las Vegas. Oli was still in a car seat facing the back seat so I couldn’t see her face when I turned around to check on her. I found myself making up excuses to stop the car. Suddenly I had an attack of the munchies, the thirsties, and needed 10 bathroom breaks on the drive home. Of course I had to take Oli out with me. (Even though Seth was still in the car.) I would get her out of her seat, pick her up, and then spend 5 minutes just staring. It was an amazing day.

The next morning the rush of that high faded and I began my descent to another low.

They had given her a pair of eyes, but she still couldn’t see me with them.

My girl still couldn’t see.

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Why Are They Crooked?

20 Feb

“One of the reasons I blog is because I can’t afford
to pay for proper therapy.”

Once we finally arrived in LA it was one of those hurry up and wait moments. After what seemed like hours but, really was only 20 minutes, the receptionist called Oli’s name.

“Have a seat and Beverly will be with you in a little while.” she tells us.

A little while? I was practically bursting from my skin with impatience.

The ocularist, Beverly walks through the door a few minutes later.

We started out with Beverly’s partner, Steven Haddad but transferred to Beverly after a few visits. She was working more on different custom made conformers although Oli’s had never been custom fit. What I mean is, no mold was taken of her eye sockets and then a conformer made based on the mold, like it is now.

I would have preferred to stick with Steven.

Beverly was nice, but she would just never listen to us as parents. She was a rough spoken, tall, blond, older woman who liked to think that exactly what the prosthetic looked like or how it was positioned didn’t matter.

I didn’t really care at first when it was a little crooked and never seemed to sit straight. After a few appointments, I started to get annoyed.

“As long as it doesn’t bother her, it doesn’t matter that it looks like one eye is looking at the ceiling or that one is turned in. The point is that it is bigger and it’s in.” she would tell me.

Yeah, Beverly it does matter because it bothers me.

I didn’t want her eyes to look crossed or rolled toward the ceiling.

She never listened though. I should have been more vocal about it looking right.

After all, we were driving 6 hours one way and spending about $1000 on each eye.

I guess I just didn’t want to make a big fuss and trusted that she knew best because she was the professional. This was a common theme in the first few years of Oli’s life. I just trusted that everyone treated and loved Oli like I did. I thought that if they were teaching or caring for her they would give it 100% each and every time.

Now I’ve learned that, that isn’t always the case. Most of the time it is, but I’ve learned to trust that nagging feeling in my heart that tells me something isn’t as it should be.

I trust my abilities as her mother and know that I will always do what’s best for her and if it differs from what someone else is telling me, I have the right to say no.

It is my job to always give 100% because it’s not always the job of everyone else even when it should be.

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See how her right eye looks like she is looking at the sky.

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Real, Fake Eyes

19 Feb

“Never forget that anticipation is an important part of life. Work’s important, family’s important, but without excitement, you have nothing. You’re cheating yourself if you refuse to enjoy what’s coming.” ― Nicholas Sparks, Three Weeks With My Brother

A few days before Oli’s first birthday I woke up after only sleeping a few hours. The big day was finally here. The biggest day! She was getting her first pair of painted prosthetic eyes!

I could hardly contain my excitement. I couldn’t even imagine what she would look like. All of those feelings returned from when I was pregnant and would lie awake at night trying to picture her.

Before she was born I imagined her with big brown puppy dog eyes, long full lashes, and a sparkle that would melt everyone’s heart. Now I was imagining the same thing minus the long lashes and the sparkle. Little did I know how fantastically real, ocularist’s can make fake eyes. That sparkle was there, just painted on.

I rushed everyone through breakfast and we all piled in the car for the trip to L.A.

The drive seemed to take forever. Seth and I passed the time talking about what we each thought she would look like and what color we were going to choose.

“Brown. Or maybe blue. Kekoa has blue eyes. Or green like yours?” I couldn’t make up my mind.

“Blue. Kekoa and Thalia both have blue eyes and her little left eye looks like it is blue.” Seth makes the final decision.

“Blue it is.” I honestly really could have cared less by this point. All of those dreams of big brown eyes were receding from my mind and by the time she was 1 year old I just wanted her to have any kind of eyes. They could have been purple, red, or painted like cat eyes and I would have been absolutely thrilled.

Months and months of staring at blank eyes had made me realize how much I wanted to look at a pair of real looking ones. Although we had shed the ghastly pegs months ago, I was now anxious for the conformers to be painted.

I knew that I would love them, but I had no idea how much the prosthetics would change her whole face and appearance…

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Oli before she got her painted prosthetics.

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What Do I Know? I’m Only Her Mother.

18 Feb

“Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

After Oli settled down it was time to transfer her to a room on the pediatric floor for an overnight stay. As they wheeled her upstairs I am staring down at my daughter’s beautiful face. My mom calls her a china doll because that’s what her face looks like. Especially when she was a baby and sleeping. Her face was so peaceful. Chubby cheeks, little porcelain nose and a perfectly round head.

The nurse notices me staring at Oli as she settles her into her new room and comments on how beautiful she is.

I know that she is beautiful but I’m a little taken aback by a stranger saying it. I just wasn’t that used to it. She was very beautiful, but because of her eyes most people just didn’t say anything.

“Thank you.” I tell the nurse.

“Let me know if she wakes up and seems like she is in pain. She has some medication ordered for her, but I don’t want to give it unless she absolutely needs it.” the nurse finishes up and leaves the room.

I was thinking “Oh good. This nurse won’t make her wait forever when she is hurting.” I breathed a sigh of relief and settled onto the chair to watch TV.

A little while later Oli wakes up crying. I pushed the nurse call button and tried to comfort her as I waited. The doctor had warned me that she might be a little more uncomfortable because he didn’t put in a G-tube so there was no way for gas to escape. Because the top part of her stomach was now wrapped around the bottom part of her esophagus (a fundoplication) she could no longer throw up, but she also could no longer burp. The doctor told me that if the pain the reflux was causing her was worse than the gas pain then it wouldn’t be too bad for her and she would adjust quickly.

Looking down at her now, I started questioning my decision not to put in a G-tube.

The nurse finally comes back into the room and has to raise her voice above Oli’s wailing. “Yes?”

“Yeah, I think she needs some of that magic juice ordered for her. I think she is in pain.”

“Oh I think she’s okay. She’s probably just hungry.”

I stare at her incredulously. Ummmm, no. I think I know her. First of all I have taken care of this little person while she lived INSIDE my body for 9 months and second of all I have taken care of her OUTSIDE my body for 7 months. That is 16 months 17 days 10 hours and 15 minutes longer than you have taken care of her. Besides, I think by now I know the difference between a cry of pain and one of hunger.

“No. She’s not okay. You need to give her some medicine.”

The nurse gives me a disproving look and then leaves to get the medication.

I couldn’t believe that she was actually going to argue with me!

She came back in the room and gave her the medication. Throughout Oli’s 2 day stay this was an ongoing fight with this nurse. I’m not sure what the problem was?

By the next morning Oli was much better and didn’t seem to be in pain at all. I got to feed her Pedialyte first which she inhaled (as much as I would let her. I had to be careful that she didn’t suck in too much air). Then once she was tolerating her formula we took her home.

The surgery was a success and I was so happy that Oli was feeling better. The doctor was right. The gas pains didn’t seem to bother her at all. The only downside is when she gets the flu she isn’t able to throw up unless the pressure is very great. So instead of feeling crappy and just barfing everywhere and feeling better she dry heaves for hours. It’s no fun for her.

As for the nurses I’m not sure what the problem was. They really should learn to trust parents and understand that they know their children. I didn’t want my baby doped up either but I knew that she was hurting and isn’t that what the medication is for?

Somehow being just a parent is equivalent to being stupid in some doctor and nurses eyes despite your credentials. What do I know? I am just her mother.

Even though I have not eaten, slept, or breathed, unless she has first, from the moment she was born. I can’t possibly know more than someone who has met her. . .once. . .for 15 minutes. . .and can’t remember if she is a boy or a girl. . .

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