A conversation

It started out simply enough.

Jeremy was cleaning the kitchen after dinner. Brody and I were in the living room. I read out loud to Jeremy that Sarah Jessica Parker was expecting twins, via a surrogate.

We talked about it for a minute and then he said, "Yeah, we have to sort of think about what we're doing, if we ever want more kids."

And here he told me a year ago he was done. Which I remind him he said. And which he denies.

In any event, I explain, it costs $1700 to have initial testing at a reproductive immunology clinic in California, and then probably $400 a month in medications while pregnant (even with insurance, Lovenox ain't cheap) and another $500 a month in testing fees to test my blood every month pregnant to make sure my natural killer cells (the ones that kill the pregnancy) don't spike. And if they do? IVIg treatment. Also not cheap. And the fees are this much because my insurance will not pay for out-of-network treatment/testing/doctors.

Jeremy revealed that he thought that all the treatment we did before and during Brody, including a trip to Mexico for lymphocyte immunization therapy (LIT) would basically still be in effect. Nope, I said, it stops after you stop taking the meds and basically wears off.

"Well," he said, "I always sort of wondered if all that treatment wasn't what caused Brody's problems."

Ouch.

Still, I always knew he blamed me for Brody.

Which is what I say to him, in a completely normal tone of voice. (This entire conversation was in a normal tone of voice. Which I find odd, but there it is).

What? he said. What are you talking about? I don't blame you.

Well, I explain, if it wasn't for me having recurrent miscarriages and having three big auto-immune issues, (categories 1, 3 and 5) then we wouldn't have needed the treatment, and you blame the treatment for Brody.

I go on. If it wasn't for me having this, we would be right now planning another child.

He clearly regrets what he said.

Probably because of my stupid tears during which I explain that no other family did any of the treatments we did while pregnant with their Vacterl child, and, by the way, Brody is healthier than most Vacterl children.

He really really regrets what he said.

And we are left with an economic reality. Too much money for me to get pregnant, and too much money for us to adopt.

That's why we have a plan to be out of debt in five years, he says.

I'll be 43 in 5 years, and Brody will be almost 8, I say.

That's perfect, he says.

I roll my eyes. It's not perfect. Not by any stretch. We can't afford to adopt because of the treatments we are paying off. Not to mention the $30,000 in outstanding medical bills from after Brody was born.

I always wanted two, or three, children. Brody would be such a good big brother. I want more children. At least one more.

Jeremy reveals during this conversation that he has researched waiting children in Colorado. He shows me the webpage with all of their faces. He fancies a sibling group.

I tell him that in order for that to occur, the state requires that one of us be a stay-at-home parent.

Which we can't afford because of all of our debt.

There are no good answers.

Jeremy is still hopeful and trying to make me feel better about this....situation. He says he is not sure that he even wants another child. I call bullshit on him, because he tortured his sister, mother of one, for years to have another child so her son wouldn't be an only child. That was before he had one of his own and realized the responsibility of it all, he says.

Not to mention, he says, Brody might resent a child we adopt, or have biologically, who does not have his medical concerns.

I tell Jeremy that I think Brody might resent us if we don't give him a sibling because of his medical issues. Which is what it boils down to, right? Well, the cost of my medical issues and the cost of his medical issues.

At some point during this conversation, Jeremy, and then Brody, climb into my corner of the couch and we are huddled on top of each other. With no good answers and no good options and nowhere closer to another child than before.

Nostalgic Quoting

I am a collector of quotes. And am doing so again to help celebrate my niece's graduation from law school in May.

During that process, I ran across a quote I found in 2005.

I found it in an email I wrote in 2005. I still don't know who said it. But when I emailed it to my friend, I wrote that it gave me chills when I read it for the first time. At the time, I was pregnant for the third time and full of hope again, and, little did I know, about to have my third miscarriage.

Here it is:

We must plant a seed of the thing

that we desire for our life

as though it were ours now.

Affirm this:

that which I seek is now seeking me.

That last line slays me every time.

Tears and chills and hope, oh so much hope even when it seemed like there was no right to be anything but nothing, but hoped backed by a determination that we would not give up in the seeking, that we were not alone in the seeking.

I would eventually print the quote out and look at it every day while pregnant with Brody.

He was trying to get to me as much as I was trying to get to him.

Do you have any quotes that have stayed with you?

Thumb pictorial

I have so much to say and am too tired to say it.

So here are some photos to tell the story for a bit while I recover. Brody is well, but tired. His thumb, his THUMB, is pink. Glorious, circulation-full, pink. We are happy.

Brody in the play area behind the hospital on Wednesday:

Thursday, after surgery. He wanted a yellow thumb and cast, but we settled on purple. Luckily, the thumb stayed pink.

Surgery was 10:30 - 2:30. I think he got back to the room around 3:30, and he did this until the next morning:

The next morning, Friday, around 18 hours after surgery:

Saturday. Brody asked me to take this because he loved this dinosaur in the hospital lobby. He also informed me, "Mommy, I wanna say cheese." He couldn't say it though, because he was apparently looking adoringly at his new friend.

Saturday afternoon we flew back to Denver. Sunday morning, we went to the park to play. And for the first time ever, he navigated the stairs himself and went down the slide. So many times that I had to stop him because it was getting windy and cold, and he needed to go down for a nap.

A story in pictures

Even though we just had this 3 days ago, Denver's forecast this week is

Which means that Brody and I are glad for this

Oh, and Salt Lake City, where we will be Wednesday - Saturday, will look like this:

Gratitude

For my sister Donna, who made me a piece of art to wear around my neck for good luck. Recall that when a pony ate my sapphire, my good luck charm (consisting of my birthstone and Brody's birthstone in a piece of jewelry) was gone. Now it's back, in the form of a silver pendant with Brody's birthstone and mine. If I could take a photograph of it that would do it justice, that would show how really stunning a pendant Donna made, I would post it. I love big silver pendant necklaces, and I love Brody's birthstone with mine. And I love the fact that now I have an heirloom, made by Donna's own hands for me.

For my sister Marilyn, who is watching Brody today so I can work. And who gave me some liqueur for the flask for the hospital visit.

For my friend Stacy, the one who tricked me, who is watching Brody tomorrow so I can work. (I took off two days last week, and I do not have leave left, and we are "quarantining" B away from public places and daycare in advance of the surgery).

For my friend A, with whom I enjoyed a lovely lunch and shopping on Sunday. I've known her since kindergarten and now that we live in the same state, and are going through similar issues, it's just comforting and fun to have her in my life again.

For my husband who, although he annoys me at times, and I him (I know it's shocking to even imagine I could annoy anyone), is a very good father, who took care of the dead animal this morning, (squirrel, not duck, by the way, but the head was missing), found my toothbrush, untangled my necklace I thought hopelessly tangled after I tried to untangle it for 20 minutes, kissed and hugged me for no reason at all this morning, and is already regretting that he is not flying out for the surgery this week.

I never did mind the little things

Brody is fine.

I am a state of jumbled nerves. Really, how is it I can face down a jury, albeit it with a fair amount of nausea, but my own mostly happy life has me on the edge.

Thursday, we had a vision and hearing screen. Brody's vision is excellent - hell, he can spot a school bus at 2 miles.

But she couldn't read the hearing, because .... wait for it..... there was fluid in his ears. A possible ear infection.

Also, Brody's teachers, cognizant of our surgery in 7 days, report that there have been 3 cases of strep in Brody's room at school. Just in his own room.

Brody visits the third doctor in four days, our beloved pediatrician.

"Well," he says after looking in Brody's ears, "This is the kind of thing that could clear up on its own, or it could turn into an ear infection."

silence.

"When is surgery?"

"Seven days from today."

silence.

"Alright, I'm writing a prescription for an antibiotic. If it wasn't for surgery, I wouldn't be doing this."

"If it wasn't for surgery, we wouldn't even be here because except for a cough, he's not acting sick."

Then a blizzard hits Denver. I stay home unexpectedly. With no actual paid time off left. A quandary for a different day.

On a positive note, the left front tooth, while still jammed up, is still white. I noticed that the right front tooth looks weird, but, I think, maybe that's because of the other front tooth being, you know, screwed up.

Saturday passes, and Sunday passes. Brody comes into the living room today and tells me he's scared of the baby spiders in the kitchen.

Hell. We have ants. We seem to get them in the spring. I go buy ant traps.

"Brody's tooth is loose," reports my husband.

sigh. "Is it unjamming and falling out?" I ask.

"No, the other one."

Hell.

I check the right front tooth. It is. Loose, that is. This is the one that got a hard fall last fall. I don't even have the heart to check the jammed up tooth to see if it's loose too.

Fine. Screw it. He'll loose both front teeth. My sister in law, niece, nephews, did. Everyone I know almost has a story about baby teeth falling out early.

We're in our bed playing with Brody and it hits me. You know why he's going to lose his front teeth? Because he plays like a puppy. Head first into and onto everything, and chewing and biting everyone and everything, and his head is his third arm.

Still, he's laughing and smiling and I'm thinking, okay, I've got this. I have my arms around this problem. He'll be toothless in a few weeks, and it's okay. We can feed him pureed food or milkshakes if we need.

Then I remember something in the back of my mind about anesthesia.

Specifically, I remember that the anesthesiologist is always asking, the night before a surgery, if Brody has any loose teeth.

Hell.

I google it. It can stop a surgery, particularly if it's a front tooth issue, for intubation. Don't wanna aspirate a tooth in a lung.

Or the anesthesiologist can stitch it in so it's safe for the surgery.

Hell.

Our Shriners anesthesiologists are very good and also .... non-risk taking. This is elective surgery, they say, why risk it?

It's not that loose. The only reason we knew was because for some dumb reason my husband was poking around Brody's mouth, checking all of his teeth or something. I will not even entertain the thought....nevermind.

I tell this to Jeremy, about anesthesia. He replies, "Stop googling."

I can't. Google gives me most of my information about most things, from the FMLA to hair styles that flatter my oval square round face to witnesses I'm researching.

I am now in the bedroom again, and notice the dogs aren't there, in their usual places of repose. I wonder where the dogs are. They were muddy earlier, and it's 9pm and they are still outside. Why? Hmm....

I go downstairs to let them in.

Mocha, the shepherd lab mix, proudly trots up.....carrying what appears to be a dead baby duck missing part of its lower body. If you take my meaning.

I inhale sharply, Mocha drops the dead thing on our patio and comes inside, and Kahlua, the chocolate lab, follows Mocha into the house.

Hell.

At least they weren't muddy anymore.

My only hope at this point is that Jeremy removes the dead thing from the patio before Brody sees it in the morning. Or that a coyote comes and takes it away.

But I don't want a coyote on my patio, right? Even if it means removing a dead thing?

It doesn't matter anyway. It's out of my control.

Hyperbole in the Vacterl age

As the readers of our carepage know, Brody fell Monday night. He fell about 2 minutes after I arrived at his school to pick him up, and he fell while I was filling out a form to order some pictures of him.

I saw him when his teacher brought him out to the main lobby area of the school. He had blood everywhere. And he was crying in a spine scratching way that was not normal, not scared, not mad, but this visceral keening cry that scared the hell out of me.

I reached for him, and tried to calm him. He would try to talk but more blood came out of his mouth.

The first thing I examined when the teacher said he fell was the arm with the pin in it (right arm). No blood, no pin sticking out.

Then I went to his mouth, and dread already rising, I saw his teeth. And they looked not right. Aside from the 1/2 inch gash on his lip, his teeth were rearranged.

It made me nauseous to look at it. I put his head on my shoulder again until he was quiet.

I called Jeremy to see where he was. Something I learned - if I can't explain it in a calm manner to Jeremy, it's bad.

At this point, it was after 6pm. Dentist closed. Pediatrician closed but talked to a triage nurse who said we had to go to the emergency room.

At that point, Brody was calm. Talking, laughing. He drank a whole bottle of milk.

We were not. I went to the ER, but Jeremy stayed home because he had promised his boss something the next morning. J sent me a long, sweet text about how it would be alright.

Then an hour later he wrote asking me to tell him what was going on because he was very upset and couldn't concentrate and couldn't work.

The short story on the front tooth is it's still shoved halfway into B's gumline, swollen, and he doesn't like me touching it but he can eat and laugh and play. It's not loose. We went to the dentist, and he said wait and see. It might fall out, it might not.

The real issue is....this threw us for a loop. I say US because usually one or the other of us, J and me, balance each other out. I comfort him when he freaks out, and he comforts me when I freak out. We each have our pressure points. Mine is the kidney. J's was the head. We go back and forth on B's hands and arms.

You'd think after 11 surgeries and living for 2 1/2 years with a medically complicated child, we wouldn't blink twice at a fractured tooth. A tooth pushed into his gumline? No big deal.

And yet. And yet and yet and yet.

We got home from the ER at a reasonable hour, and Jeremy was desperate to cuddle Brody. Brody was having none of it. Brody, at 9pm, wanted to play hockey and run around the house.

We finally got B to bed, and Jeremy sighed and said, "This just sucks. We can't catch a break."

"I know, but it will be okay. He's fine. There was a lot worse at the ER tonight."

"I know that, but still," J said. "Why is it us? Why this too?"

And the problem is that we weren't balanced. I felt the same way. We had no reasonable person.

And so I've analyzed what, exactly, we were and are feeling. And it's this: we feel like if we have a child who has multiple medical issues, then we should be exempt from all other trauma associated with childhood. It's not nice, and doesn't particularly display us as saintly people, but there it is.

That's why this seemingly innocuous episode affected us so much. We believed - on some elemental level that we didn't even know existed - that we were immune. I wrote at one point that we were not immune from more serious illnesses, like cancer, just because our child has Vacterl. But we never even gave a moment's thought, I mean we just assumed we were immune, from regular, less serious illness and injury.

And the jammed up tooth threw us for a loop.

I felt like an ass being so upset on the carepage. I didn't know how to characterize or express our level of upset over something so common, so ridiculously inconsequential in the universe, as a busted, loose, lost front tooth.

And what pisses me off so much about the entire thing is that I had this same feeling before Brody was born. I assumed I was entitled to a perfect child. I lost 4 other pregnancies, for chrissake. We spent thousands of dollars and years trying to have a child. We were entitled to a perfect one, right?

Wrong. The strange and miraculous thing is, I don't feel that way anymore about Brody. I don't think he is less than perfect. I believe it is an honest to God miracle that he is here, and that the Universe gifted us with him because we are, well, a favorite of sorts with the Universe.

The point being, at one point I did feel this weird karmic entitlement, and so it surprised me that I would not have learned more from that expierence and, well, basically, have my emotional and mental bullshit under better control at this point.

Which is all written to say thusly:

Dear Universe:
I got it now. At least I think.
Please let Brody keep the tooth.
Love,
Me
xoxo