Perhaps My Expectations Are Too High

Before I get to my rant of a post, I do have some incredibly good news.  First, check out this link.  (Go ahead, I’ll wait).

How. Cool. Is. That?!  I am so honored that Skinny Scoop spotlighted me on their website.  I definitely did my happy dance!!

You know what else would make me do the happy dance?  If you voted for me here.  Skinny Scoop is having people vote for their favorite mom blogger.  Please please please PLEASE vote for me!!  I would be ever so grateful. 

Ok so on to the rant.

Marie had her tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy on Friday.  I slept horribly the night before, but I wiped the sleep from my eyes and put on a game face.  And was able to keep it on for most of the day. 

Listen, I was already a wreck, but the day’s events, aside from the surgical procedure that my poor daughter was to endure, is what actually broke me and my hardcore game face.  

So before I  break it down bullet point style, I would like to preface with the fact that I have much respect for the medical profession and would love to join forces with them if I was more proficient in math and handling of bodily fluids.

• I was uncomfortable that the staff kept asking me what procedure that we were having done.  I am sure there is a very good reason why for this, but to me, it communicated uncertainty. In a hospital setting, I prefer confidence. 
• I was upset that the nurse forgot Marie's weight right after she was done weighing her.  She asked us.  Logically.  I didn’t feel right about the number.  Thankfully, I asked another nurse to confirm her weight and the measurement was adjusted.  You know, for safety’s sake when administering the anesthesia.

• The waiting room was a disaster.  People were treating it as their personal office space.  This lady was talking as if she was the only person in the whole room.  I could tell you everything about her Godless church members just showing up when they need something.  I also feel pretty confident that I could walk into her office and find exactly where her special stapler is (I would not be surprised if it was a red Swingline stapler).  (Bonus points for those who can tell me what I’m talking about) I *may* have become so frustrated that I began talking over her while giving her dirty looks.  It boggles my mind that her behavior was accepted and tolerated.  Why?  Why is it that the majority of society is OK with this self-centered behavior?  Perhaps a post for another time.

• Also, this couple was trying to run their website, yet had no idea how to operate a computer.  (As in they didn’t know how to close the tabs).  They were asking each other how this thing works.  Harrington said it best with this observation: “People need to get a license before they drive their computers off the Apple lot.”

• The surgeon neglected to tell us that Marie should eat nothing red, as to not confuse it with blood if she were to throw up.  I reminded him and he was all, “Oh, yeah.  Nothing red.”  I will give you one guess what color Popsicle the nurse gave her after her surgery.  I can also say that I learned of this because she threw up.

• After more than an hour of waiting, I decided to ask where my daughter was.  I was told that she was recovering from surgery.  They would find her nurse to ask if we could see her.  I don’t’ know, but an hour of waiting without hearing if my kid was OK was about thirty minutes too long for me.

• When we finally were able to see Marie, the nurse said she was having a hard time recovering.  No other explanation was provided.  So I decided to probe, and she said that the nurse who was with Marie was too busy to talk.  Then she offered the supervisor.  When I did get to speak with the supervisor, she explained because Marie was thrashing around and trying to pull out her IV that the nurse could not leave her alone. Finally, the nurse suddenly appeared and confirmed this.  The supervisor said that the “take away” from all of this was maybe someone else could notify the parent while the nurse stayed with the child.  Um, that seems pretty obvious, right?  And for those keeping score, this is when I lost my game face.

• The next day, Marie had a fever.  After waiting for over 90 minutes for the doctor to get back to me, he said it was normal and probably due to dehydration.  If that was normal, why wasn't it on the discharge papers?  It should be noted that “not using a tampon” was on her discharge papers.  (You guys know that Marie is only five, right?) 

• When I talked to the nurse on Monday about her leaking nose, she went over a whole slew of discharge information which was not on the papers.  Her surgery was done at a regular hospital, not the children’s hospital.  But still, should the discharge papers resemble the same information?

Or are my expectations too high?

If My Acne Could Talk

Marie is scheduled to have her adenoids and possibly her tonsils taken out this week.

This is a long time coming.  We have been monitoring her sleep apnea since this nasty incidenthappened almost two years ago.

Since then, she’s been on meds to reduce the swelling of her adenoids and tonsils.  She’s been off her meds to see what happens.  She has been sick pretty much the whole winter.  (And when I look back at all the pictures since she was three, she has had a little red mustache starting from Christmas until after Birthday Season).

I have taken her to a special orthodontist to ensure her excessive mouth breathing isn’t causing any issues with her teeth.  She has also had to go to the dentist to scrape the buildup off from her teeth caused by excessive mouth breathing and the steady flow of antibiotics.

Enough is enough, and the ENT thinks it’s time for surgery.

Usually, I am pretty cool about these things.  I put my feelings into a vault so that I can be the reliable source of comfort to my child.

But to be honest, I. Am. Freaking. Out.  I am not sleeping well.  I am panicky and snappy.

I may think that I am fooling everyone that I look calm about this “minor procedure” (which, anything involving an anesthesiologist and a surgeon with a knife is never minor to me), but I don’t think so.

One look at my face and the teenage-like acne that has sprouted all over is a clear indication that I am not fine.

Seriously, if this acne could talk, it would say a lot.

It would say that this “minor procedure” (did I mention it’s outpatient?  How ridiculous is that?!) is bringing up a lot of scar tissue.  When Marie was born, she was born with macrocephaly, which is fancy for “big head.”  Although that doesn’t sound threatening, it did results in a slew of head ultrasounds, an MRI, and lots of physical and occupational therapy.

And lots of therapy for me, too.

For the first 18 months, we didn’t know what was wrong with her.  That’s a long time to live with your child’s health up in the air.

I can’t say that I ever totally worked through those feelings.  I have a better understanding of my feelings, but something like that changes a person forever.  I would say there is a little place inside me where those feelings stay all wrapped up in a box sitting on a shelf.  I don’t really think about them all that often.

Until something like this happens.

And it’s not like I can just check out for a while until I feel less agitated with worry.  Oh, no.  The show must go on.  I must wake up.  I must get lunches made.  I must make sure Marie gets ready for school.  I must make sure Thomas doesn’t watch too much TV to ensure his brain doesn’t turn to mush.

As if a plain ol’ day of motherhood wasn’t draining enough, add something like a “minor surgical procedure” into the mix and suddenly, drinking a cup of coffee seems like too much of a chore.

It’s exhausting, really.

Just ask my acne. 

If you have any words of wisdom about powering through a tough time like this, I would greatly appreciate them.