I love birthdays. I especially love my birthday. I love hanging out with my family. I love cake and ice cream. And I love opening presents. I also love the feeling that I have another whole year of learning behind me that I hope has made me a bit wiser.
This birthday was not the best birthday I have ever had. In fact, I can’t remember feeling worse on any other birthday. Ever.
It’s nothing that anyone did or did not do. In fact, I had tons of Facebook wishes. I was surrounded by good company. I checked out the new model home of my favorite builder. I drank champagne and had my mom’s cassata cake.
And a giant pain in my side.
I haven’t really talked about it too much here, but I have been going to physical therapy for over two months now. I have had this strange tingling in my feet, and after a lot of super sleuthing, it is due to a weak core and overcompensating back muscles. My physical therapist told me no Zumba and no yoga.
In the beginning I had a positive attitude. When someone says take a few weeks off from exercise, it’s not the worst thing . . . until I started to feel the mental effects of not exercising.
I feel that I get sad more often. I feel grumpier. And I feel pudgy. *sigh*
I was excited that I finally cracked the code on the combo that makes me feel balanced.
I was starting to feel hopeful because I had recently reincorporated yoga and more challenging exercises into my fitness/physical therapy routine. I had set a date to go back to Zumba at the end of the month.
Now, with this crazy pain in my side, I feel derailed. Despondent. Depressed.
Yesterday, instead of reveling in my birthday, I had to go to the doctor and get an ultrasound to determine if some internal organ is the offender of this major pain. And as a side note, I have done that whole drink-40-ounces-of-water-ultrasound test at least three times and never had I had the feeling that I was going to throw up while my back was cramping up. (The tech said I drank too much water, and my kidneys were in overload. Nice). Tomorrow I go to physical therapy to see what my therapist says.
I just want to be able to take care of me, my kids, and my daily business.
Enough already.
I am grumpy. Well, if I am being honest, it’s more like angry. And frustrated. Not to mention *outraged* that this happened on the one day I feel totally awesome celebrating me.
I am going to demand a redo. I hope my Mom is up to making that cake again.
How do you deal with personal setbacks?
Showing posts with label physical therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label physical therapy. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Into the Vault
If there’s one thing that I have learned about myself since becoming a mom, it is that I am The Queen of Putting on a Brave Face. I don’t really process difficult moments until waaayyy after the fact. It’s not that I don’t believe I should not show emotion in front of The Babes. That’s not it at all. However, in a crisis situation revolving around a Babe, I believe it’s best to not cry and become all frantic. Chances they are already scared and/or confused so I don’t want them to have to worry about me, too. I want them to feel safe to express what they are feeling in that moment.
I have had great practice with this for the whole first year of Marie’s life. She was diagnosed with macrocephaly (big head) and low muscle tone; we weren’t sure if she had cerebral palsy, hydrocephaly, or if she would need a shunt. She did need physical and occupational therapy. During this time, I soldiered on. I didn’t think about how I am going to deal with this. My objective was clear and concise: Do Whatever It Takes To Help Marie. If that meant driving her to Children’s Hospital that was 45 minutes away every two months, I did it. If it meant taking her to physical and occupational therapy twice a week, then I did it. If it meant that I had to take her to get an MRI, I did it. Lonnnggg story short, she was eventually discharged from her neurosurgeon, and she was fine.
I was not fine.
As Willeta from Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood says, “Everyone’s ticket comes to.” After lots of nights waking up only to cry and dry heave, I eventually broke down and spent a lot of money working through my feelings with my very gifted therapist. (Money well spent if you ask me).
I processed my feelings, put all the paperwork (about 4 inches thick), and placed it in The Vault. Never to be opened again. Or so I thought.
At Marie’s four year old checkup, the doctor said her tonsils were large. I eventually took her to see the same ENT as Thomas went for his ears. He asked me a bunch of questions regarding her snoring (like an old man) and apnea (no gasping, usually just start breathing again). Here’s how that conversation went with that ass hat.
So we got the sleep study done to determine whether it was obstructive or central sleep apnea, which is related to low tone and/or a rare brain disorder. It was scary watching her get all those “stickers” with “fun-colored wire” attached to her knowing the objective of the test. And it was even worse when they took them off. Marie was so brave. I was brave, too, because I was not going to let her see my nerve endings becoming frayed. The sleep study did show it was a mix of obstructive and central, and required that I needed to see a Sleep Study Specialist. But of course, being a specialist, I had to wait weeks and weeks. So I took Marie to see her Former Neurologist. And then to another ENT. And then finally to the Sleep Study Specialist.
All of that required me to open The Vault and get out all her therapy report cards, MRI scans, ultrasounds . . . and all my feelings were still right there. But being who I am, I just powered through each of those appointments.
A few weeks ago, my ticket did come to. I broke down and cried. It was so stressful to think that an issue I thought was resolved had reared its ugly head. But I also was surprised by how far I’ve come since those early days. Putting on that armor and go to battle for your kid is not easy, but I feel more confident in my role Child Advocate.
So, although, this story does not have a definite ending, it has taken a better direction. I closed my account with That Asshole ENT and kicked his insensitive, pompous ass to the curb. The Former Neurologist and Sleep Study Specialist said everything looks OK and that maybe even getting her tonsils out won’t solve apnea this mild. And the new ENT, he’s incredible. He offered a nonsurgical option first to see if we can shrink her anoids and tonsils. All of this is TOTALLY CONTRARY to which That Asshole ENT said which was get the tonsils our right away. Oh, and he never even mention all that business with The Sleep Specialist, business HE ORDERED! (I wonder if the three piece suit worn by That Asshole ENT is directly related to his call for surgery. Ironically (or maybe not), the new ENT, wears Dr. Seuss ties and button down shirts. Just a thought).
So that’s what we are doing. It’s easy to second guess myself as a mother. But my instincts to get away from That Asshole ENT proved to be right. So I am hanging up my warrior gear for now and trying to catch my breath.
Thanks for letting me vent about this. I needed to get this off my chest before The Vancouver Vacation. Now I have room for all the anxiety for this adventure.
So, Friends, what did you follow your instincts on that turned out to be spot on?
I have had great practice with this for the whole first year of Marie’s life. She was diagnosed with macrocephaly (big head) and low muscle tone; we weren’t sure if she had cerebral palsy, hydrocephaly, or if she would need a shunt. She did need physical and occupational therapy. During this time, I soldiered on. I didn’t think about how I am going to deal with this. My objective was clear and concise: Do Whatever It Takes To Help Marie. If that meant driving her to Children’s Hospital that was 45 minutes away every two months, I did it. If it meant taking her to physical and occupational therapy twice a week, then I did it. If it meant that I had to take her to get an MRI, I did it. Lonnnggg story short, she was eventually discharged from her neurosurgeon, and she was fine.
I was not fine.
As Willeta from Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood says, “Everyone’s ticket comes to.” After lots of nights waking up only to cry and dry heave, I eventually broke down and spent a lot of money working through my feelings with my very gifted therapist. (Money well spent if you ask me).
I processed my feelings, put all the paperwork (about 4 inches thick), and placed it in The Vault. Never to be opened again. Or so I thought.
At Marie’s four year old checkup, the doctor said her tonsils were large. I eventually took her to see the same ENT as Thomas went for his ears. He asked me a bunch of questions regarding her snoring (like an old man) and apnea (no gasping, usually just start breathing again). Here’s how that conversation went with that ass hat.
So we got the sleep study done to determine whether it was obstructive or central sleep apnea, which is related to low tone and/or a rare brain disorder. It was scary watching her get all those “stickers” with “fun-colored wire” attached to her knowing the objective of the test. And it was even worse when they took them off. Marie was so brave. I was brave, too, because I was not going to let her see my nerve endings becoming frayed. The sleep study did show it was a mix of obstructive and central, and required that I needed to see a Sleep Study Specialist. But of course, being a specialist, I had to wait weeks and weeks. So I took Marie to see her Former Neurologist. And then to another ENT. And then finally to the Sleep Study Specialist.
All of that required me to open The Vault and get out all her therapy report cards, MRI scans, ultrasounds . . . and all my feelings were still right there. But being who I am, I just powered through each of those appointments.
A few weeks ago, my ticket did come to. I broke down and cried. It was so stressful to think that an issue I thought was resolved had reared its ugly head. But I also was surprised by how far I’ve come since those early days. Putting on that armor and go to battle for your kid is not easy, but I feel more confident in my role Child Advocate.
So, although, this story does not have a definite ending, it has taken a better direction. I closed my account with That Asshole ENT and kicked his insensitive, pompous ass to the curb. The Former Neurologist and Sleep Study Specialist said everything looks OK and that maybe even getting her tonsils out won’t solve apnea this mild. And the new ENT, he’s incredible. He offered a nonsurgical option first to see if we can shrink her anoids and tonsils. All of this is TOTALLY CONTRARY to which That Asshole ENT said which was get the tonsils our right away. Oh, and he never even mention all that business with The Sleep Specialist, business HE ORDERED! (I wonder if the three piece suit worn by That Asshole ENT is directly related to his call for surgery. Ironically (or maybe not), the new ENT, wears Dr. Seuss ties and button down shirts. Just a thought).
So that’s what we are doing. It’s easy to second guess myself as a mother. But my instincts to get away from That Asshole ENT proved to be right. So I am hanging up my warrior gear for now and trying to catch my breath.
Thanks for letting me vent about this. I needed to get this off my chest before The Vancouver Vacation. Now I have room for all the anxiety for this adventure.
So, Friends, what did you follow your instincts on that turned out to be spot on?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Suck it, Marge!
Dear Marge:
This is Marie’s Mom, and if you don’t remember, she was a former patient of yours. She was diagnosed with macrocephaly at birth. When I was told that that was a big, fancy word for a big head, I didn’t think it was a big deal. The implications of that, along with a low tone diagnosis at 4months were when I realized that this was a big deal. That and the pediatrician recommended that she see a neurosurgeon for regular visits were a clue that something was not right. We discovered that she extra fluid around her brain (hydrocephaly) and was not sure if she would need a stint to drain it. We were not sure if she would have cerebral palsy because of her low tone. It was a very stressful time. At 9 months of age, she qualified for services. And that’s when you entered the picture as her first physical therapist.
She used to cry whenever you came over to work with her. You seemed to lack that gentleness that is helpful, if not necessary, to work with babies. It was hard for you to accomplish anything with her because she had a hard time not crying with you. You also asked me to leave the room since you attributed her crying to my presence, not your roughness and general crabby demeanor. Being a new mom, I stood in the kitchen peaking around the corner, watching my poor baby girl crying while you tried to execute your exercises. I endured that and a lot more because I was desperate for her to get better. However, what was most memorable about you is when you told me she would be destined to be a leaner because she would never have enough strength to always stand straight and that I would be lucky if she walked without braces and by the age of two.
Well, Marge, that little baby is now three years old. As she RAN into her classroom the first day of preschool, many things came to mind. Most were the normal things a mom of a “regular” kid would be thinking: I was so proud of her for being independent and brave. She looked so cute and happy. But then another thought ran across my mind, and it was, “Suck it, Marge!” I say suck it because here was this baby who you said wouldn’t walk until she was two and possibly with braces and she RAN into that room. And you know what? She RUNS everywhere, and she CLIMBES up the ladder to go down the slide. Oh, and she JUMPS, too! So, Marge, be careful what you say to new moms because it could wind up biting you in the ass. I understand you needed to be honest about Marie’s condition, but perhaps you could take some professional development classes on bedside manner because your ambivalence about her condition was heart wrenching to hear. And if I could, I would forward my therapy bill to you because you did a lot of damage with those comments and telling me to leave the room because my baby was crying because of me. She was crying because of you and your negative energy.
So, Marge, suck it! My baby girl is in preschool and doing great! No thanks to you, of course.
Yours truly,
Marie’s Mom
P.S. Tell Noelle her note about Marie’s “anti-social” behavior is coming soon!
This is Marie’s Mom, and if you don’t remember, she was a former patient of yours. She was diagnosed with macrocephaly at birth. When I was told that that was a big, fancy word for a big head, I didn’t think it was a big deal. The implications of that, along with a low tone diagnosis at 4months were when I realized that this was a big deal. That and the pediatrician recommended that she see a neurosurgeon for regular visits were a clue that something was not right. We discovered that she extra fluid around her brain (hydrocephaly) and was not sure if she would need a stint to drain it. We were not sure if she would have cerebral palsy because of her low tone. It was a very stressful time. At 9 months of age, she qualified for services. And that’s when you entered the picture as her first physical therapist.
She used to cry whenever you came over to work with her. You seemed to lack that gentleness that is helpful, if not necessary, to work with babies. It was hard for you to accomplish anything with her because she had a hard time not crying with you. You also asked me to leave the room since you attributed her crying to my presence, not your roughness and general crabby demeanor. Being a new mom, I stood in the kitchen peaking around the corner, watching my poor baby girl crying while you tried to execute your exercises. I endured that and a lot more because I was desperate for her to get better. However, what was most memorable about you is when you told me she would be destined to be a leaner because she would never have enough strength to always stand straight and that I would be lucky if she walked without braces and by the age of two.
Well, Marge, that little baby is now three years old. As she RAN into her classroom the first day of preschool, many things came to mind. Most were the normal things a mom of a “regular” kid would be thinking: I was so proud of her for being independent and brave. She looked so cute and happy. But then another thought ran across my mind, and it was, “Suck it, Marge!” I say suck it because here was this baby who you said wouldn’t walk until she was two and possibly with braces and she RAN into that room. And you know what? She RUNS everywhere, and she CLIMBES up the ladder to go down the slide. Oh, and she JUMPS, too! So, Marge, be careful what you say to new moms because it could wind up biting you in the ass. I understand you needed to be honest about Marie’s condition, but perhaps you could take some professional development classes on bedside manner because your ambivalence about her condition was heart wrenching to hear. And if I could, I would forward my therapy bill to you because you did a lot of damage with those comments and telling me to leave the room because my baby was crying because of me. She was crying because of you and your negative energy.
So, Marge, suck it! My baby girl is in preschool and doing great! No thanks to you, of course.
Yours truly,
Marie’s Mom
P.S. Tell Noelle her note about Marie’s “anti-social” behavior is coming soon!
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