Marie-esque

Lately, we've been suffering through sicknesses, below freezing temperatures, and now freezing rain. Yesterday mornig during breakfast Marie spontaneously sighed and said, "I miss grass. And wearing shorts."

Amen.

Intussusception: PCMC: Recovery

Part 1 
Part 2
Part 3
The Support
Part 4
PCMC: Enema and Surgery

{sigh}

Recovery was hard. Very hard.

After the surgery was complete we were taken to see Samuel. I can't remember if we walked with him up to his recovery room or he was already there? Whatever the case, we ended up in a shared recovery room. Having been spoiled with private labor and delivery rooms (the only other time I have stayed in a hospital) I was surprised by this.

We quickly noticed that there was only one "bed" in the room besides Samuel's and it was decided that Brandon would head home.

The nurse gave me the necessary orientation which was horribly tedious. I realize she was just doing her job, but my word! It was around 1 am, I was operating on fumes at this point and as she went on and on about things like the cafeteria and TV channels I kept looking at Samuel and thinking, "He's sleeping! Please just let me lay down and get some rest, as well." She did eventually head out of the room and I finally laid down to rest., but it didn't last for very long.

Time became irrelevant for me. Watching the clock would have been torture and I was too exhausted to comprehend the numbers anyway. What had already been a long night became a dreadfully long night and next day. Samuel would only sleep calmly if he was in my arms, so I sat in the rocking chair holding him. If I held perfectly still, he would sleep. If I tried to adjust at all, he would cry. The nurse was in and out at regular intervals and we talked a lot about pain management because he was very obviously still uncomfortable. We upped his morphine from scheduled doses to a drip through his IV. After a certain amount of time (when danger of blood clots had passed) we were able to add Loratab to his regular doses of Motrin. Even then, I could tell that he was still hurting.

Brandon joined me at the hospital late morning, but wasn't doing well himself. He had literally worried himself sick and was suffering from nausea and weakness. He slept on the bed in the room while I continued to hold Samuel in the rocking chair.

(We had the room to ourselves now, which was welcome. The patient that we were sharing with had been discharged that morning and the head nurse ordered that they not fill the bed again because Samuel was having such a hard time.) 

My saving grace was that my mom was on her way to us from California. I begged her to come to me first, not the kids. "I need a mommy hug," I told her. She arrived early in the evening. What a blessing my mother is. What a welcome relief, not just to be able to hand Samuel off to her, but to hug her and hear her voice and receive her reassurance. Brandon went home again that night and mom stayed up holding Samuel while I was able to get some much needed sleep. We were going on 48 hours now since the beginning of this and I was running on about maybe 5 hours of broken sleep. (That is where your prayers came in. My goodness. How was I even coherent let alone able to function enough to take care of my son?)What would I have done without my mother there? She reassures me that I would have made it, I would have had the strength, but I have my doubts.

William-ese

At breakfast this morning ...
WILLIAM: I hate that kind of cereal.
Oops. I mean, I dislike that kind of cereal.
I said hate. I'm sorry.
ME: That's okay, bud. Thank you for correcting yourself.
WILLIAM: I said a garbage word. I'm trying to stop myself saying those. I've noticed I've been saying those a lot and I need to stop. Jesus doesn't like it when we say garbage words.

I love seven year olds.

New Year

Last year we entered the new year with two goals. Have a baby and sell our house. Well, preferably we wanted to sell our house then have a baby, but it ended up being the other way around. And so went my 2012. Many things, big and small, that didn't quite turn out the way I wanted them to, trials and blessings all combined into one big mess of a crazy year.

Now as 2013 begins, it's hard for me to feel like I am at a beginning. We seem to be in the middle of a journey that started when we were prompted to put our house on the market at the end of 2011 and we're still in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.

We're still ...

...trying to find where we fit into our new neighborhood and ward.

...trying to find the best school for our kids.

...adjusting to life with 4 kids.
...attempting to survive our 2 year old.

...not sleeping through the night.

...living in ugly green paint.

...trying to organize after our move.

...trying to lose our "baby weight" (yes, Brandon too.)

I don't usually set year long resolutions, but January does always cause reflection and pondering. I suppose that my hope for 2013 is to just keep swimming. Keep calm and carry on. Keep on keepin' on. One foot in front of the other. You get the idea.

William turns 8 at the end of the year. He has already expressed his desire to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, which makes my heart happy. I look forward to reaching that milestone having made some great strides (strokes?) in our journey. Perhaps there will even be land in sight.

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. 

Andre Gide

Anne-ecdotes

Mom: No, you can't have a yogurt.

Anne: No, Mommy! You go ni-night and go to bed!

------------------------------

After putting on her new dress up dress she went to model it for Brandon.

Brandon: Oh, look. You're a Southern belle.
Anne: Uh huh.

She then goes to show my dad.

Grandpa: Oh, I didn't even recognize you. Are you Little Bo Peep?

Anne: No, I Jingle Bells.

Marie-esque

Marie was watching Tinkerbell and the Great Fairy Rescue. At the end the father gives his daughter a hug and apologizes for not believing in her and her belief in fairies. He says something along the lines of, "I've doubted you for over a year."

Marie came up to me and said, "Mommy, we have a better daddy than that. Her daddy doubted her for over a year." Her eyes started to fill with tears.

I asked, "Are you crying?"

Marie nodded her head, "I'm happy crying because we have the best daddy in the whole world. He believes what we say and never doubts us."

Intussusception: PCMC: Enema and Surgery

We were brought into PCMC from the ambulance and went through the necessary motions (for insurance purposes, I'm sure) of meeting with an ER nurse and then doctor. While in the ER a phlebotomist started a new IV. This guy was amazing. It was very apparent that he had done this many times before. What took three nurses several tries the night before, he accomplished with one stick and no assistance in a matter of minutes. Amazing. I was grateful for his efficiency.

I've faced ultrasound machines several times in the past few years, each time because of the joy of a tiny new life forming inside of me. It was always with blessed relief and reassurance that I looked at the screen and saw the little pitter patter of the heartbeat. And then to hear it! No song in the world has ever filled my soul the way the sound of my babies heartbeat's did.

That dreadful October night when we faced the ultrasound machine again, for a very different reason, all I could pray for was an answer. The ultrasound tech was matter of fact and straight to the point. In a matter of seconds we would know, there was no gray area. Either there was an intussusception or there wasn't. (Which led me to wonder why that wasn't the first test they did back at Davis, but that is not worth dwelling on at this point.) 

 When he pointed at the screen and said, "And there is your intussusception," relief poured over me. We had an answer. Brandon and I squeezed each other's hands. We might have even been tempted to jump up in down in celebration, but we knew that this was only the middle of the journey. There was still a lot of road ahead of us.

 The next step was the air enema. An enema of air was to be given while x-rays were taken of the abdomen. The air is intended to create pressure that should then reduce the intussusception. We were warned that this would be uncomfortable for Samuel. Imagine feeling bloated and gassy. Mutliply that by a few thousand and that is probably what an air enema feels like. I was prepared for him to be uncomfortable. What I wasn't prepared for was to see my small, helpless child arch his back and scream in pain, completely red in the face. Keep in mind that up to this point, in the past 12 hours, he was completely lethargic. The tension in the room was thick. You could slice it. The radiologist, the nurses, Brandon, and I, we were all helpless to do anything besides watch this tiny life endure this painful procedure. I don't think anybody anticipated the pain it caused him. I want to start crying just thinking about it again. The doctor proceeded in spurts. A few seconds of air, several x-rays to track the progress, and then a break. There was a clock on the x-ray machine. I was shocked as I watched only seconds pass by, it felt like minutes, hours even. The radiologist was concerned and obviously frustrated as try after try didn't completely reduce the problem. After what was only 1 minute total procedure time (with the breaks in between) he stepped back and announced, "There is nothing more I can do." To continue would have sent Samuel's body into shock. He walked out of the room to go consult the surgery team.

Minutes later we met the surgery team, the procedure was explained to us, Samuel was laid on a gurney,  I gave him a great big tearful kiss, and he was off to surgery. They would first attempt the reduction laproscopically. If necrosis was found then they would have to cut into the abdomen to repair the bowels and reduce the intussusception. Best case scenario we were looking at a 48 hour recovery period, but it could possibly be up to 7 days. After they wheeled Samuel away we were brought to a waiting room and instructed to answer the phone if it rang, that is how they would update us on the progress of the surgery. We sat and talked and ate some of the food a sweet sister in our ward had brought down to us. About forty five minutes later the phone rang. Brandon answered it. After talking he hung up and looked at me with a smile on his face, 

"They aren't quite done with the surgery yet, but they were able to reduce it laproscopically, and his bowels look pink and healthy."