2 months ago exactly, The Youngest Boy got another trip to the ER.
This time it was different.
This time his status card moved from a Level 3 (reserved for such afflictions as the common cold and Nursemaid's Elbow) to a Level 1 (indicating something serious) in less than 10 minutes.
This time, he almost didn't get to come home.
But, in true The Youngest Boy-style, and a whole lotta good doctoring - He bounced back.
Parents - do yourselves a hugantic favor and learn the signs of an appendicitis. Err on the side of caution and take your kiddos in. My little guy wouldn't be on the couch crying every time he laughed if I had just listened to him. At some point in the 5 days of complaints of pain with fever, vomiting, and diarrhea his appendix swelled so largely that it burst and then became infected. That infection then filled his body and damn near killed him. After 5 days in the hospital, he came home on a picc line. Prior to the hospital trip, he couldn't stand, eat, or drink and looked like death. I've been scared in my life. I've been terrified in my life. Nothing I've ever been through has ever held a candle to this moment. The infection was very tough but my little The Youngest Boy is pretty tough too. He fought back while ordering every item on the room service menu and cracking hilarious jokes in an uncomfortable hospital bed. Making the best of every second and finding the joy in every moment.
Darling Husband and I were bedside for the first 48 hours. Then, the remaining days , it was just me. We did our best to calm fear, provide assurance, and comfort. We couldn't afford to both take time off, so Darling Husband had to go. The Youngest Boy remained in good spirits for most of it. Though, there was a lot of pain and a lot of uncomfortable procedures. I can't imagine a second away from him. I would have felt like a failure. Darling Husband and The Oldest held the fort down at home. They cared for The Middle Son and Mini-Me and did grocery shopping and managed a visit that lifted our spirits high. For Darling Husband, it was never a question. He came through and didn't let us down. Some incredible friends brought food and boredom busters. The Youngest Boy's class made him cards that his best friend brought over to him.
On the first morning of The Youngest Boy's' admittance, I did the legally obligated thing and I notified his "father" (a term I will permanently use loosely and with aversion and contempt). I tried his number. Of course, no answer. Texts to no fruition. Then, I messaged his niece. An hour later, he called back. I explained what all was going on.
"Well, keep me posted."
Seriously? Keep yourself posted, asshole. It's your son. Make the effort. But no. This is how he works. Always has been. It's someone else's fault that he can't be here. Everyone gets the blame but him. Usually me. And you know what? I WILL OWN IT. Damn straight we're divorced. Damn straight I wouldn't let him use me. Damn straight I wanted better for myself and my kids. And we got it.
I honestly don't care what his side is. He doesn't get one. The Youngest Boy is the only one who has a side in this. He was scared and things were touch and go for a while. And where was his "father"? 1,312 miles away. He only knows that he loves his daddy. He just knows that he wanted all of us next to him knowing that we care. He is just an innocent little boy that can only see the light and goodness in other people. He is so pure hearted and loving that he doesn't see what an astronomical piece of shit he is. He has called a few times to talk to The Youngest Boy and Mini-Me. He knows better than to ask for The Oldest or The Middle Son as they have felt the inevitable burn of his irresponsibility.
Yesterday, he finally was well enough to have the appendix removed. We spent another night in another hospital room and my little guy starts another recovery. Again, spirits high and jokes plentiful. He's currently watching another YouTube video and playing Minecraft with his little sister. And another night that the phone doesn't ring. This time, it went unnoticed.
At 8 years old, he has suffered so much monumental disappointment with his "father" that he didn't even ask for him. He didn't notice the omitted phone call. I just can't imagine being able to live with myself after letting this marvelous blonde haired, blue eyed cherub down in such a profound way. Let alone having the audacity of making my Facebook cover a photograph of myself with my abandoned children. And to have the grit to accept compliments on my parenthood skills?
Tonight, I got out the thesaurus - literally - to see if I could unearth the term for this unwordable word. Notwithstanding my diligence - I am left empty handed.
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Saturday, October 13, 2012
I'm his momma - That's why.
In 1993/1994 I met some of the greatest friends - several (shout out to my Sca) are still in my life today. It was when I found my niche. In May of 1994 I became a statistic. I was pregnant. However, I was dealing with a weight problem. I was a whopping 85 pounds and had a quiet battle with anorexia. I lost that pregnancy., which was probably a blessing in disguise. I was just a kid. My doctor was a pretty blunt man and told me that I'd never carry children if I continued on the path I was walking.
Fast forward to August 1995. I was 17. I took a pregnancy test before my first day of senior year. Positive. Maybe I'm nuts but I was excited. Scared as shit but happy. This little life brought forth change. I put down the cigarettes, skipped out on binge drinking weekends, refrained from the weed, started eating. I was too scared to tell my parents until my 5th month. But I was taking care of myself. Something in my soul changed, deeply. I was a suicidal basket case and nothing short of nuts until that stick turned blue.
The Oldest entered the world on a Tuesday afternoon in April of 1996. 8 days after I became a legal "adult". I looked down at his beautiful, fresh face. He was quiet and content. The love was immediate and overwhelming. He became my every single thing. I knew that I had to give him better than what I had. That's my baby. My dark haired, grey eyed baby. There was just one issue. On his butt. A huge mole covering one entire cheek and upper thigh. At first, we made jokes about it. Said he'd never be able to moon someone and get away with it.
At The Oldest's 4 month visit his pediatrician expressed some concern over it. She recommended a dermatology consult which we scheduled right away. I remember driving there. My hands on the wheel, trying to find my way to this office. We signed in and handed over our insurance card. He was covered by my fathers General Motors plan. We were blessed for that. We got called back to an exam room. The nurse told me to take his clothes off and place him on the table. The doctor came in and immediately asked me where my mother was. Then he started speaking into a microcassette recorder. Never really looking at me again. Never acknowledged my existence again. I tried to make sense of what he was saying into that machine. Wanted to know, to understand, to communicate. He then said something that resonated with me - "these have a high propensity to become melanoma" followed by "mother has been instructed to follow up in one year." And he walked out. I re-dressed my baby, put him back in his car seat and went to the car. I remember thinking - "Did he just say that?" I know what melanoma is. It's cancer. It's skin cancer. I sat in the car and bawled. Didn't I do it all right? I ate. I took my vitamins. I stopped working with the chemicals at school (I was in a vocational program for Printing, Photography & Art). I did something wrong. And then my thoughts jumped to "What the fuck was wrong with that doctor?" A year?! HELL NO. I had a friend from school whose step father was a dermatologist and a damned good one. So I made some calls.
The visit with this doctor was much more thorough. He counted the hundreds of spots inside the mole. He noted it's indefinite shape and multiple colors. He measured. Took pictures. Told me it was the largest he's ever seen. That's when he got very frank. He told me that this was a dangerous mole that would probably become melanoma. He referred us to a plastic surgeon and advised that I not hesitate to make the appointment. A few months later - we were in another office, on another exam table, with another doctor. A few months later - we were at Children's. I cannot describe this to you without tears pouring down my face. My precious son laid there on a little bed while an IV was started. They gave him some medicine and shortly after he was out. He was put into a crib that looked like some kind of medieval torture chamber. The rails were higher than I stood. They wheeled him to the operating room. I watched as his cage disappeared behind swinging doors. I wish I could say that was the worst of it.
An hour later, his doctor came out and told me that part one was a success. Told me that I'd need to go down and learn how to dress his incision. I walked through the doors to recovery. Saw my baby laying there, peacefully. I felt relieved. He was okay! Then the nurse came to me with a large bagful of gauze and tape and ointments. She started to explain how to clean his staples and sutures. As she spoke, she drew back the bandage and I felt my knees shake. My head started to spin. And immediately I burst into sobs. I stared at 65 staples and 75 stitches that ran the width of his mole. A portion was left unclosed for "drainage". I can't tell you how terrified I was. Terrified for my little boy who just learned to walk. I pulled myself together to hear what she had to say. Hours later - I took him home. He was his normal little self. Happy. Bouncing. Cute. Tried to jump on the bed and do normal little boy things. By the time we made it to his follow up appointment - the staples and stitches shredded through his skin. The result of being a child. We scheduled his next surgery for another 6 months out.
In that timespan, I got married to his father. He had a good job as a steel cutter. He had good insurance. We added The Oldest to his plan immediately. The scar became keloid. It swelled and burned. He had a hard time sitting down. He screamed at diaper changes. I kept telling myself that this was for his own good. Then I'd hope he would grow to forget the pain. Those days were hard. There just aren't words. In the days prior to his second surgery, I got a call from the scheduling clerk at the plastic surgeon's office. Our insurance denied the pre-certification for the surgery. This was the first time I'd ever heard the words "Pre-existing Condition". Without payment upfront surgery could not be performed. I was now 20 (barely) working in a print shop part time. I didn't have the ungodly amount of money required. I was able to work out a payment arrangement. He underwent surgery #2. I made weekly payments of half of my wages to the doctor for over a year. The next December I got my monthly statement with a $0 balance. The doctor wrote off the remainder of our bill. This man is nothing short of amazing. He's been featured on numerous television programs including Ordinary Extraordinary. I owe him so much. However, the mole was too large to remove at once. The staples and stitches from the second surgery also tore through his skin. There was a ballooning technique discussed. In the end - we opted to keep an eye on it for changes for the rest of his life.
The Oldest is now 16. I couldn't ask for a better son. He's intelligent, funny, sarcastic, witty, kinda smelly, loving, and just all out incredible. He loves to cook. Makes his younger siblings pancakes. Loves a girl. Doesn't clean his room. Makes his baby sister watch Blue's Clues. I love him so much. He saved my life and I wouldn't want to spend a second of my life without him. He's a great big brother. Everything you could ask for in a son - it's right there. One day - his exam might come back bad. It's a fear that lives in my mind and weighs on my shoulders and sinks my heart. I'm petrified to take him to the doctor. Someday he won't be covered by my insurance. He won't qualify for Medicaid. And some executive sitting behind a desk may print a form letter explaining how they have to, regrettably, deny coverage of anything related to that mole and "pre-existing condition" smattered somewhere on the clean, crisp sheet of paper. We will have to figure out how to pay to save his life or hold his hand while he writhes in pain and suffers and slips away.
When you are all debating political horseshit - remember this. For me, it's real. When I hear "repeal Obamacare" this is what I feel. It's flawed. I get it. We can all find some problem we have with most laws on the books. That's why we amend from there. Take a rough draft, polish it up, and create something beautiful. Hopefully, this year will not be the year that a light is shined at the end of a tunnel only to be extinguished because of some political nonsense.
Fast forward to August 1995. I was 17. I took a pregnancy test before my first day of senior year. Positive. Maybe I'm nuts but I was excited. Scared as shit but happy. This little life brought forth change. I put down the cigarettes, skipped out on binge drinking weekends, refrained from the weed, started eating. I was too scared to tell my parents until my 5th month. But I was taking care of myself. Something in my soul changed, deeply. I was a suicidal basket case and nothing short of nuts until that stick turned blue.
The Oldest entered the world on a Tuesday afternoon in April of 1996. 8 days after I became a legal "adult". I looked down at his beautiful, fresh face. He was quiet and content. The love was immediate and overwhelming. He became my every single thing. I knew that I had to give him better than what I had. That's my baby. My dark haired, grey eyed baby. There was just one issue. On his butt. A huge mole covering one entire cheek and upper thigh. At first, we made jokes about it. Said he'd never be able to moon someone and get away with it.
At The Oldest's 4 month visit his pediatrician expressed some concern over it. She recommended a dermatology consult which we scheduled right away. I remember driving there. My hands on the wheel, trying to find my way to this office. We signed in and handed over our insurance card. He was covered by my fathers General Motors plan. We were blessed for that. We got called back to an exam room. The nurse told me to take his clothes off and place him on the table. The doctor came in and immediately asked me where my mother was. Then he started speaking into a microcassette recorder. Never really looking at me again. Never acknowledged my existence again. I tried to make sense of what he was saying into that machine. Wanted to know, to understand, to communicate. He then said something that resonated with me - "these have a high propensity to become melanoma" followed by "mother has been instructed to follow up in one year." And he walked out. I re-dressed my baby, put him back in his car seat and went to the car. I remember thinking - "Did he just say that?" I know what melanoma is. It's cancer. It's skin cancer. I sat in the car and bawled. Didn't I do it all right? I ate. I took my vitamins. I stopped working with the chemicals at school (I was in a vocational program for Printing, Photography & Art). I did something wrong. And then my thoughts jumped to "What the fuck was wrong with that doctor?" A year?! HELL NO. I had a friend from school whose step father was a dermatologist and a damned good one. So I made some calls.
The visit with this doctor was much more thorough. He counted the hundreds of spots inside the mole. He noted it's indefinite shape and multiple colors. He measured. Took pictures. Told me it was the largest he's ever seen. That's when he got very frank. He told me that this was a dangerous mole that would probably become melanoma. He referred us to a plastic surgeon and advised that I not hesitate to make the appointment. A few months later - we were in another office, on another exam table, with another doctor. A few months later - we were at Children's. I cannot describe this to you without tears pouring down my face. My precious son laid there on a little bed while an IV was started. They gave him some medicine and shortly after he was out. He was put into a crib that looked like some kind of medieval torture chamber. The rails were higher than I stood. They wheeled him to the operating room. I watched as his cage disappeared behind swinging doors. I wish I could say that was the worst of it.
An hour later, his doctor came out and told me that part one was a success. Told me that I'd need to go down and learn how to dress his incision. I walked through the doors to recovery. Saw my baby laying there, peacefully. I felt relieved. He was okay! Then the nurse came to me with a large bagful of gauze and tape and ointments. She started to explain how to clean his staples and sutures. As she spoke, she drew back the bandage and I felt my knees shake. My head started to spin. And immediately I burst into sobs. I stared at 65 staples and 75 stitches that ran the width of his mole. A portion was left unclosed for "drainage". I can't tell you how terrified I was. Terrified for my little boy who just learned to walk. I pulled myself together to hear what she had to say. Hours later - I took him home. He was his normal little self. Happy. Bouncing. Cute. Tried to jump on the bed and do normal little boy things. By the time we made it to his follow up appointment - the staples and stitches shredded through his skin. The result of being a child. We scheduled his next surgery for another 6 months out.
In that timespan, I got married to his father. He had a good job as a steel cutter. He had good insurance. We added The Oldest to his plan immediately. The scar became keloid. It swelled and burned. He had a hard time sitting down. He screamed at diaper changes. I kept telling myself that this was for his own good. Then I'd hope he would grow to forget the pain. Those days were hard. There just aren't words. In the days prior to his second surgery, I got a call from the scheduling clerk at the plastic surgeon's office. Our insurance denied the pre-certification for the surgery. This was the first time I'd ever heard the words "Pre-existing Condition". Without payment upfront surgery could not be performed. I was now 20 (barely) working in a print shop part time. I didn't have the ungodly amount of money required. I was able to work out a payment arrangement. He underwent surgery #2. I made weekly payments of half of my wages to the doctor for over a year. The next December I got my monthly statement with a $0 balance. The doctor wrote off the remainder of our bill. This man is nothing short of amazing. He's been featured on numerous television programs including Ordinary Extraordinary. I owe him so much. However, the mole was too large to remove at once. The staples and stitches from the second surgery also tore through his skin. There was a ballooning technique discussed. In the end - we opted to keep an eye on it for changes for the rest of his life.
The Oldest is now 16. I couldn't ask for a better son. He's intelligent, funny, sarcastic, witty, kinda smelly, loving, and just all out incredible. He loves to cook. Makes his younger siblings pancakes. Loves a girl. Doesn't clean his room. Makes his baby sister watch Blue's Clues. I love him so much. He saved my life and I wouldn't want to spend a second of my life without him. He's a great big brother. Everything you could ask for in a son - it's right there. One day - his exam might come back bad. It's a fear that lives in my mind and weighs on my shoulders and sinks my heart. I'm petrified to take him to the doctor. Someday he won't be covered by my insurance. He won't qualify for Medicaid. And some executive sitting behind a desk may print a form letter explaining how they have to, regrettably, deny coverage of anything related to that mole and "pre-existing condition" smattered somewhere on the clean, crisp sheet of paper. We will have to figure out how to pay to save his life or hold his hand while he writhes in pain and suffers and slips away.
When you are all debating political horseshit - remember this. For me, it's real. When I hear "repeal Obamacare" this is what I feel. It's flawed. I get it. We can all find some problem we have with most laws on the books. That's why we amend from there. Take a rough draft, polish it up, and create something beautiful. Hopefully, this year will not be the year that a light is shined at the end of a tunnel only to be extinguished because of some political nonsense.
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