Homeward bound!
Yesterday the docs told Mom she could go home on Wednesday! Can you say elation? Evidently, though, Alaska Airlines thinks she needs just one more day in the hospital as all the flights were full on Wednesday. Thursday it is!
Tater went back to the doctor yesterday because his new inhaler (the ducky!) worked for a while but alas, the cough came back. So, they upped the steroids and gave such helpful suggestions as:
1) Store the big dust collectors (stuffed animals and books) in a playroom, not his bedroom. –Dude, we only have two rooms…his and ours.
2) Remove the old carpet in his bedroom, or the whole house, to minimize dust. –Dude, we rent.
On Thursday, we meet with an Asthma Education Specialist so here’s hoping that she may actually have some suggestions we can use. Until then, I’m off to surf the web for helpful hints. If you’ve got any…please advise!
Wherein mispronunciation becomes hilarity
This weekend has been too full to ever completely write about without boring the pants off of even those who love me. So we’ll just do some tidbits:
Saturday’s WBC Count: 0.4
Sunday’s WBC Count: 2.7 (Can I get a HELL YEAH?!?)
I know I’ll never understand the magnitude of what it’s like for women who receive chemo when they lose their hair. But, I came as close as I ever want to on Saturday when I trimmed my mother’s hair (what was left of it) down to a half-inch. It was difficult to focus when all I could think about was how it used to feel when she braided my hair.
This was quite possibly the worst weekend, behavior-wise, that Tater has ever had. Daddy and I are wondering if the cash prize that comes at the end of the Terrible Two’s will be enough to make it worth it. What? There is no cash prize? I quit.
The only solace we found was tonight when Tater finally found interest in something: cotton balls. He spent about 20 minutes before his bath arranging them and telling us about all the wonderful things he was doing with the “cockin balls”. Say it out loud, have yourself a giggle. We did.
Bald is beautiful
Daily WBC Count: 0.2
The losing of the hair has commenced, hence the title of the this post. Luckily, Dick and I bought Mom some totally cute lids (that’s “hats” to all you old fogies) to wear so she will like, totally fit in on Myspace.
And speaking of beautiful baldness:
That’s all I got.
Chugga chugga choo choo
Daily WBC Count – In confusing medical jargon as stated by Mom’s oncologist: Still hovering in the toilet!
Since my last several posts have been on the serious, sometimes morbid, side….let’s lighten things up a bit shall we? I present to you “Thomas and Tater”!
Oh…and yeah…I didn’t know how to use the video feature on my digital camera until just last night. Sue me.
False positive
Daily WBC Update: 0.3 (Note: Apparently, Sunday’s count was a false positive and “it happens”. Ahhh, leaps and bounds in scientific testing.)
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“So, Mom, have they let you eat yet?”
“Yeah, the pneumonia’s gone but I can only have pureed food. Let me ask you this….do you know what pureed pot roast looks like?”
“Actually….no.”
“Poop. Poop on a plate. I told them not to bring me anything pureed that wasn’t supposed to be pureed, like applesauce and smoothies. I won’t eat that shit.”
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Oh, and Babers? Calm down, I use the name “Dick” as a term of endearment. I didn’t want to go broadcasting your real name to the entire internet world and Babers seemed a little too schmoopy.
If you want to be called something else, start your own fucking ‘blog. But, I love you. 
Neutropenia, WBCs and other messy things
Dick and I spent the weekend at the hospital with Mom & Don and found it to be quite an educational experience. It’s amazing how much you can learn when you are not the person in those fantastic gowns getting poked and prodded every 10 minutes. So, try to keep up with me, y’all!
Mom is doing much better after the chemo but last week was a rocky road (read that: hell in a hospital bed). She contracted pneumonia and the doctors were convinced it was aspiration pneumonia, which in layman’s terms means they think she inhaled something (food or beverage most likely) which caused fluid to build up in her lungs. Unfortunately, the prevention of aspiration pneumonia consists of NOTHING by mouth. No food, drink, medication…NOTHING (NPO, they called it). This started last Tuesday. By Saturday, Mom was pissed.
They finally moved her out of critical care on Friday because her oxygen levels were back up in the normal range but she was still hungry and had cotton-mouth so bad, you’d think she had smoked an ounce of the sticky-icky. The respiratory therapist insisted that the NPO order be enforced until she was evaluated by the speech-language therapist…who didn’t come in on weekends. Things were looking pretty grim and Mom’s first words when we arrived were: “If they don’t let me eat soon, I am going to get up and WALK THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
On Sunday though, the oncologist brought the best of news. Mom’s white blood cell (WBC) count had doubled overnight. She went from 0.25 to 0.5 and even though she was still neutropenic (layman’s terms: so vulnerable to germs that you don’t even dare fart around her), things were looking up. Normal WBC count is anywhere from 4.0 to 12.0 so if she continues doubling cells each day, she will reach “normal” by Wednesday!! Considering that they told her she wouldn’t even start producing WBCs at all until Wednesday, this is damn good news!!
Apparently, all those prayers and dances and good wishes are working so keep ‘em coming! Even after she regains her WBC count, she still has much healing to do. I am going to try to do a Daily WBC Count here to track her status so if you’re interested in her recovery, check back often. If not, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. 
Existence
“I don’t know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn’t.”
Those of you who caught the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching episode of Grey’s Anatomy last night understand the power and emotion in that quote. Replace “dad” with “mom” and you’ve uncovered my biggest fear, the thought that keeps me awake at night and haunts me every day.
I feel sorry for people who don’t or can’t have relationships with their parents like the one George had with his dad and the one I have with my mom. There truly is no better feeling than having your mom be your best friend (except maybe having another best friend like Jen). But, how are you supposed to deal when you outlive the person who has been the one constant in your life? How do you go on with a huge part of your soul missing? How do you exist without the person who made you who you are?
I guess the only answer is…you just do. I know the day will come that I will have to face that existence and the best that I can hope for is to:
- Exist in such a way that honors her and everything she worked so hard to teach me.
- Pass on those lessons to my children and hope they do the same.
- Take comfort in knowing how lucky I am to have a part of her in me.
- Face my struggles with the same courage and strength that she faced hers.
And, last but certainly not least…
- Laugh. Whether they think it’s funny or not, just fucking laugh.
The race is on…
Last weekend, my hubby (let’s just call him Dick for short) officially entered the Husband of the Year race. As you know, I had my wisdom teeth extracted (if you can call it that, i call it forcefully torn from my flesh and bone creating hollow blood filled sockets of death!) and I was in quite a bit of pain. The day after was the worst of all.
On Saturday, Dick let me sleep in as long as I wanted and even kept the Tater from rushing in at 6:30 a.m. and greeting me with “I’m awake, Mommy. Put your pants on and go downstairs!” When I finally managed to pull myself off of my drool-and-blood soaked pillow, I was in quite a bit of pain as it had been a full six hours since I had downed the pain medication that makes me feel like I’ve just smoked crack and shot up heroin at the same time. Not that I would know what that felt like but I hear it’s a pretty rockin’ time!
I made my way to the kitchen and took some of the said medication then threw myself into my recliner where I slouched half-sleeping half-whimpering. Dick promptly rushed upstairs and I thought to myself, “That bastard is going to go take a shower and get ready for the day completely ignoring the fact that I am fucking dying here.” He didn’t.
Instead he returned with the footspa that I hadn’t used since I was pregnant and my feet resembled the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man’s (hi, Aidan!). He filled it with hot water and put it at my feet, gingerly placing each foot in the spa and putting a towel down for when I was done. At first, the cynical me thought “How the hell is a footspa going to stop my teeth from aching, Dick?” But, then I looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes, along with that little glint he gets when he knows he’s done something incredibly sweet and is expecting me to gush all over him. It was sweet and I did gush.
I know it’s not quite turning down playoff tickets, but it did make me melt. And, those kinds of moments make me want to marry him all over again.
Adding insult to injury
We finally found out that Tater does, in fact, have asthma. His cough didn’t get any better on the nebulizer so back to the doctor he went. She prescribed an inhaler that comes with a spacer and a mask shaped like a duck. He loves it and it only takes a second (compared to nine minutes on the nebulizer). He keeps asking for it, “I wanna do my ducky!”
It looks like this (only Tater is cuter!):
AND, as if removing four teeth wasn’t enough, I now have dry socket and an infection in one of my extraction sites. The treatment for this is antibiotics and some disgusting paste to fill the hole that tastes like cloves and burns my throat. Methinks it would have been easier to just keep my wisdom teeth.
In other news, it FINALLY started raining today (EFF THE SNOW!!) and American Idol starts tonight!
Empty nest…already?
It’s been a long weekend. Beginning with all four of my wisdom teeth being pulled on Friday and ending with dragging Tater, kicking and screaming, home from Uncle Bill and Aunt Lori’s house on Sunday. What’s a mommy to do?
The pulling of the teeth was not something I shall soon forget. I was very worked up beforehand about the pain because this was the first dental procedure (besides a cleaning) that I have ever had. Truth be told, there wasn’t much pain…and the pain that was there? Totally bearable. So, why the unforgettableness (yes, that’s a word..this is MY blog!)? THE SOUND. Why didn’t anyone warn me about the sound? I’m now convinced that sound is blasted over every speaker in hell. Gah.
So, Friday and Saturday were spent recovering and experimenting with dosages of pain medication so I could dull the pain without feeling like a nauseous zombie. I can say with much certainty that I will NEVER, EVER form an addiction to prescription pain killers. Why any asshole would WANT to feel like that is beyond me (coughcough-youknowwhoyouare-coughcough).
On Sunday, we went to visit Mom and Don at the hospital and because Mom is on chemo, we decided to leave the snotty, coughing Tater with Uncle Bill and Aunt Lori. Oh yeah, did I mention that Tater LOVES Uncle Bill and Aunt Lori?
The visit went well, Mom is doing good, last day of chemo is today, very little nausea, snuck her some Wendy’s for lunch. We watched the Seahawks lose to the Bears in overtime 
and then we went to pick up Tater. And, so it began. When we got to Bill & Lori’s, Tayce had just woken up from his nap. I came around the corner and flashed him a big smile and said “Hi, baby!”, certain that he would be thrilled to see his mommy. I was wrong.
“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME! I want to see Bill and Lori! I want to see Bill and Lori! I want to see Bill and Lori!”
We visited for a while, the whining mentioned above continued and then we literally carried Tater, kicking and screaming, to the car. The entire ride home, various versions of the above whining were repeated all the while tears were streaming down his face and snot down his nose (see example below!). My favorite variation was, “I don’t LIKE my house! I want Bill & Lori’s house!” Me too, bubba, me too.
I’ve known since before Tayce was born that Uncle Bill and Aunt Lori would be the ones Tater would run to when he was pissed at me and daddy. I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.
