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Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Where have I been?
Where have I been? Nowhere good. But I can't blog about it. You should see my journal though. Ha!
Next appointment for Liam is May12 to check his clot size.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Next appointment for Liam is May12 to check his clot size.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, April 22, 2011
Ancestry
My sister Marilyn wrote this email to me:
Just read your blog... You are tough. Maybe because you have to be, but that is the same as Mom and Dad. Dad had to grow up in the [Great] Depression. Mom had to hide under tables during world war II [while being bombed by the Allied forces]. You have to give your son shots. And if tequilla helps numb things for a moment, then so be it.
She reminded me from whom I come.
I got this.
Just read your blog... You are tough. Maybe because you have to be, but that is the same as Mom and Dad. Dad had to grow up in the [Great] Depression. Mom had to hide under tables during world war II [while being bombed by the Allied forces]. You have to give your son shots. And if tequilla helps numb things for a moment, then so be it.
She reminded me from whom I come.
I got this.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Sláinte
Tonight I couldn't do another shot. Not of liquor, but of Lovenox, to Liam.
I made the mistake of looking at him when he's screaming when I give him the shot. Usually I just watch his legs, and make sure the medicine is going in. Yesterday I looked at him.
He was looking right at me. Staring at me. Do babies have thoughts complex enough to register what he saw?
He recognizes the shot itself, the needle. If he sees it, he gets agitated and scared and kicks his legs even harder and starts to cry. Now I prime the needle with my back to him. And tonight, after a rough shot this morning, I couldn't do another shot.
You know what's worse than giving your 4 month old a shot into his thigh? Hearing him scream from the other room while someone else does it. That sound is louder than if I was holding him. Why is that do you suppose?
So now I've decided I have to do it. I have to be the one to give him the shots, even if he stares at me and knows it's me.
I remind myself that there is a cure, there is a fix. I remind myself that it's not as bad as having cancer, which two people close to me - very close in relationship and within 3 years of my age - currently have. I remind myself that we have support and love and my SF girls and my friends who walked in instead of walking out and my sister Marilyn is trying to get us free medication through an organization. I remind myself that he's 4 months old and I don't remember when I was 4 months old or even 12 months old so he won't remember looking at me.
But I'll remember. I'll remember him looking at me and I'll remember him screaming and I'll remember the times I fucked the shot up and he kicked it out and I had to re-shoot him while he was screaming and kicking. And I'll remember how once, one time I did a 90 degree angle instead of 45 degrees and I put that bloody needle through his skin twice at the same time, like a sewing needle, and the medicine shot out onto my arm while he was screaming screaming screaming. I'll remember each and every sob and scream and how his tears taste and how when I hold him after the shot, he still shakes and cries as loud as he can because me holding him isn't enough to make the pain and anger go away even just a little bit.
And that is why I have instituted a new policy at Casa Liam. For every shot he gets, I get one too - except mine is tequila. It's not healthy, it's not a good coping mechanism, but it tastes good and numbs it for a second or two.
I made the mistake of looking at him when he's screaming when I give him the shot. Usually I just watch his legs, and make sure the medicine is going in. Yesterday I looked at him.
He was looking right at me. Staring at me. Do babies have thoughts complex enough to register what he saw?
He recognizes the shot itself, the needle. If he sees it, he gets agitated and scared and kicks his legs even harder and starts to cry. Now I prime the needle with my back to him. And tonight, after a rough shot this morning, I couldn't do another shot.
You know what's worse than giving your 4 month old a shot into his thigh? Hearing him scream from the other room while someone else does it. That sound is louder than if I was holding him. Why is that do you suppose?
So now I've decided I have to do it. I have to be the one to give him the shots, even if he stares at me and knows it's me.
I remind myself that there is a cure, there is a fix. I remind myself that it's not as bad as having cancer, which two people close to me - very close in relationship and within 3 years of my age - currently have. I remind myself that we have support and love and my SF girls and my friends who walked in instead of walking out and my sister Marilyn is trying to get us free medication through an organization. I remind myself that he's 4 months old and I don't remember when I was 4 months old or even 12 months old so he won't remember looking at me.
But I'll remember. I'll remember him looking at me and I'll remember him screaming and I'll remember the times I fucked the shot up and he kicked it out and I had to re-shoot him while he was screaming and kicking. And I'll remember how once, one time I did a 90 degree angle instead of 45 degrees and I put that bloody needle through his skin twice at the same time, like a sewing needle, and the medicine shot out onto my arm while he was screaming screaming screaming. I'll remember each and every sob and scream and how his tears taste and how when I hold him after the shot, he still shakes and cries as loud as he can because me holding him isn't enough to make the pain and anger go away even just a little bit.
And that is why I have instituted a new policy at Casa Liam. For every shot he gets, I get one too - except mine is tequila. It's not healthy, it's not a good coping mechanism, but it tastes good and numbs it for a second or two.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Spark
It takes a village. I am not used to the village.
I was raised to be self-sufficient. My father grew up in the Great Depression in Detroit and my mother grew up in post-World War II Germany. They are bootstraps kind of people. And I am anything but.
About 5 years ago, I met a group of women online, all of whom had a child born in September 2006. Luckily, Brody arrived 7 weeks early, and I wound up in this group on IVillage.
After about 2 years, we moved away from IVillage, and friended each other on Facebook. By sheer accident, a few months ago, a group of the 66 of us was formed on Facebook of just the SF (stands for Sunflower, which is what we call our September 2006 babies) moms go. It’s secret, and no one sees our posts but us. (We’ve googled to make sure). It’s …. It’s like a permanent happy hour. We confide our secrets, share our joys, vent our frustrations, celebrate our victories, discuss sex, illnesses, in-laws, mahjong, knitting and money, and even, on occasion, share parenting tips and advice. We are from the US and Canada, and we are composed of all incomes, ages, marital statuses, sexual orientations, educational backgrounds, religions, and political parties.
And although several of them have met in real life, I’ve never met any of these women in person.
Naturally, I posted to the group the bad news about Liam’s growing clot.
And then someone suggested opening an Etsy store, selling homemade, handmade items, and giving Liam the proceeds. And then a sub-secret Facebook group was formed, called Little Liam Loves, just like the name of the Etsy store. That was two weeks ago.For two weeks, they have made and donated their works of art, emailed pics to a centralized email, then the 3 designee administrators of the shop then post the items, and keep track of sales in the spreadsheet open to everyone in LLL. The Grand Opening was yesterday, and there are 78 items for sale. As a result of their promotions, already 21 sales have been made, including random donations to a paypal account these women set up. They even created a thank you card jpeg at the end of this post to be printed out and mailed along with the items purchased.
I love these friends of mine. I am blessed for reasons I do not understand. For goodness sakes, I stumbled upon this group of women purely by the randomness of our children’s birth month, which, by the way, Brody was not even scheduled to be born in. And yet, there they are, behind us, holding us up, devoting their time, energy and resources, not to mention money. The posts in the LLL group average 5 an hour. Ideas for new products, new promotions, compliments on the items for sale.
But here’s the thing.
I’m not the only one of the group struggling right now. In our group are women going through divorces, illnesses, financial calamity, new babies. Hell, Dante’s mom is part of this group. She’s 39 weeks pregnant and sewed this amazingness in like a day.
The hell? Why me? Why would these women do this for us?
I just feel unworthy. It boils down to that. It’s uncomfortable to me to be the recipient of this much…..muchness. I can’t reconcile how I feel.
I’m so completely indebted to and humbled by these women that it’s almost spiritual.
I was raised to be self-sufficient. My father grew up in the Great Depression in Detroit and my mother grew up in post-World War II Germany. They are bootstraps kind of people. And I am anything but.
About 5 years ago, I met a group of women online, all of whom had a child born in September 2006. Luckily, Brody arrived 7 weeks early, and I wound up in this group on IVillage.
After about 2 years, we moved away from IVillage, and friended each other on Facebook. By sheer accident, a few months ago, a group of the 66 of us was formed on Facebook of just the SF (stands for Sunflower, which is what we call our September 2006 babies) moms go. It’s secret, and no one sees our posts but us. (We’ve googled to make sure). It’s …. It’s like a permanent happy hour. We confide our secrets, share our joys, vent our frustrations, celebrate our victories, discuss sex, illnesses, in-laws, mahjong, knitting and money, and even, on occasion, share parenting tips and advice. We are from the US and Canada, and we are composed of all incomes, ages, marital statuses, sexual orientations, educational backgrounds, religions, and political parties.
And although several of them have met in real life, I’ve never met any of these women in person.
Naturally, I posted to the group the bad news about Liam’s growing clot.
And then someone suggested opening an Etsy store, selling homemade, handmade items, and giving Liam the proceeds. And then a sub-secret Facebook group was formed, called Little Liam Loves, just like the name of the Etsy store. That was two weeks ago.For two weeks, they have made and donated their works of art, emailed pics to a centralized email, then the 3 designee administrators of the shop then post the items, and keep track of sales in the spreadsheet open to everyone in LLL. The Grand Opening was yesterday, and there are 78 items for sale. As a result of their promotions, already 21 sales have been made, including random donations to a paypal account these women set up. They even created a thank you card jpeg at the end of this post to be printed out and mailed along with the items purchased.
I love these friends of mine. I am blessed for reasons I do not understand. For goodness sakes, I stumbled upon this group of women purely by the randomness of our children’s birth month, which, by the way, Brody was not even scheduled to be born in. And yet, there they are, behind us, holding us up, devoting their time, energy and resources, not to mention money. The posts in the LLL group average 5 an hour. Ideas for new products, new promotions, compliments on the items for sale.
But here’s the thing.
I’m not the only one of the group struggling right now. In our group are women going through divorces, illnesses, financial calamity, new babies. Hell, Dante’s mom is part of this group. She’s 39 weeks pregnant and sewed this amazingness in like a day.
The hell? Why me? Why would these women do this for us?
I just feel unworthy. It boils down to that. It’s uncomfortable to me to be the recipient of this much…..muchness. I can’t reconcile how I feel.
I’m so completely indebted to and humbled by these women that it’s almost spiritual.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
My son
Brody bested a bully today. Well, ok it's another little 4 year old in his class. So this kid, Skyler, is a bit of a little shit. He calls Brody "baby" all the time and I don't think he plays nicely with Brody, ignores Brody and takes his toys, etc. Brody told me about him and we have been working on what to say. I told him that whatever Skyler says, just say "Takes one to know one."
So Brody just told me today that Skyler called him a girl "Brody's a girl, Brody's a girl" in that taunting voice. So Brody said, "takes one to know one," and Brody said Skyler got mad and said he was gonna tell the teacher on Brody, but Brody said he (Brody) became Bolt (from the movie) and stood in Skyler's way and blocked him from telling the teacher. I always ask Brody what his favorite part of the day was and he says, invariably, going outside. Today? He said standing in Skyler's way so he couldn't tell the teacher was his favorite part of the day. He had the most amazing and proud look on his face. I love that kid.
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So Brody just told me today that Skyler called him a girl "Brody's a girl, Brody's a girl" in that taunting voice. So Brody said, "takes one to know one," and Brody said Skyler got mad and said he was gonna tell the teacher on Brody, but Brody said he (Brody) became Bolt (from the movie) and stood in Skyler's way and blocked him from telling the teacher. I always ask Brody what his favorite part of the day was and he says, invariably, going outside. Today? He said standing in Skyler's way so he couldn't tell the teacher was his favorite part of the day. He had the most amazing and proud look on his face. I love that kid.
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Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Searching for grace
I am grateful. For:
Medicine that can help to dissolve blood clots.
Insurance that covers some cost of the medicine.
My mom and stepdad who are helping a great deal with the cost of the medicine.
Miguel, at Walgreen’s Home Infusion, who was kind, calm and thoughtful to a frantic mother when I had almost lost hope of finding a pharmacy that could compound Liam's medicine AND for anticipating our need for a payment plan and approving us without asking.
Erin, the social worker who is applying for grants for us.
My friend Linda who wrote to me, “Liam trusts you...You have to remember that. He loves you no matter what. So if it ends up being you still giving the shots, you can rest assured that he still loves you and trusts you and will always be happy that you comfort him, even if it is you that causes the discomfort in the first place.”
Friends of mine, a large gathering of “online friends” I only know because we happen to have children born in September 2006, generous, supportive, intelligent women I have never met in person, who have created this shop, and are donating all of their creations to sell, and giving us the proceeds to pay for the medicine.
Liam, for his smiling eyes.
Brody, for his overflowing heart.
Jeremy, for insisting on group hugs.
Jo and Alisha for telling me about EMLA cream.
Alina for giving us her gift card to pay for it.
Cathy for showing me what real courage and unending grace look like.
If you told me in March 2010 that in a year, I would have another son, who is basically healthy, smiles all the time, and loves nothing more than being held my me, but that he would have a blood clot on his aorta, and that it would cost us $5,000 to treat, do you know what I would have done? (a) thought that you were insane because it was impossible; and (b) cried tears of joy and wonder at the miracle I was about to be given.
I keep returning to this:
Medicine that can help to dissolve blood clots.
Insurance that covers some cost of the medicine.
My mom and stepdad who are helping a great deal with the cost of the medicine.
Miguel, at Walgreen’s Home Infusion, who was kind, calm and thoughtful to a frantic mother when I had almost lost hope of finding a pharmacy that could compound Liam's medicine AND for anticipating our need for a payment plan and approving us without asking.
Erin, the social worker who is applying for grants for us.
My friend Linda who wrote to me, “Liam trusts you...You have to remember that. He loves you no matter what. So if it ends up being you still giving the shots, you can rest assured that he still loves you and trusts you and will always be happy that you comfort him, even if it is you that causes the discomfort in the first place.”
Friends of mine, a large gathering of “online friends” I only know because we happen to have children born in September 2006, generous, supportive, intelligent women I have never met in person, who have created this shop, and are donating all of their creations to sell, and giving us the proceeds to pay for the medicine.
Liam, for his smiling eyes.
Brody, for his overflowing heart.
Jeremy, for insisting on group hugs.
Jo and Alisha for telling me about EMLA cream.
Alina for giving us her gift card to pay for it.
Cathy for showing me what real courage and unending grace look like.
If you told me in March 2010 that in a year, I would have another son, who is basically healthy, smiles all the time, and loves nothing more than being held my me, but that he would have a blood clot on his aorta, and that it would cost us $5,000 to treat, do you know what I would have done? (a) thought that you were insane because it was impossible; and (b) cried tears of joy and wonder at the miracle I was about to be given.
I keep returning to this:
When you walk to the edge of all the light you have
and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,
you must believe that one of two things will happen:
There will be something solid for you to stand upon,
or, you will be taught how to fly.
~Patrick Overton
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