Category: health

eyesight, health, humor, life in pictures, parenting

Dying to Get Started

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We are in the pre-op prep room waiting for them to take Full Speed to the OR. He’s had what they call ‘happy juice’ to calm him and he is loopy. The nurse comes to check to make sure his left eye is correctly dotted. He is snuggled in the boat on wheels they use to transport the patients.

The nurse peers over the side and looks at his eye. “It’s dilating nicely,” she says.

Full Speed misunderstands her. “Am I dying?” he asks.

“No, no, sweetie. She said ‘dilate’ not ‘dying’,” I say.

He cracks up like it’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard. We all laugh and the tension in the room floats away in a humorous bubble. It feels good to smile when in such a serious setting.

Laughter truly is the best medicine. I know my Mom would have completely agreed.

eyesight, health, mommyhood

Eye Surgery: Take Two

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silly face twoWe are on the eve of the second surgery so I am posting this the night before. The process leading up to this has been much calmer since we know exactly what to expect. Full Speed is becoming a seasoned pro at eye drops and honestly that is half the battle. Poor guy is still getting two drops twice a day in his right eye. “The yellow one burns, Mommy,” he says each time we do them. We have progressed from long ago when I would have to straddle him to keep his arms locked in place and peel his eyelids back to get drops of any sort in. Now, he sits pleasantly on our counter, tilts his head back and I plop the drops in without incident. Maturity and growth are a beautiful thing. That is good because soon we will be starting with a series of drops for several weeks with his left eye.

The afternoon for Full Speed’s pre-op appointment ended up dragging on for over four hours before all was said and done. The doctor did her best to configure a most likely eyeglass prescription for Full Speed that she wanted us to get to an optometrist ASAP. This is her best guess until the completion of the second surgery and subsequent eyesight tests are done on Full Speed. It was already four in the afternoon. Full Speed and I booked it to the optometrist’s and made it (everything closes early in Florida). The staff marveled at his prescription’s gigantic leap from – 30 to +7.5. The ladies were in such a titter that they forgot to measure his head for his frames before we headed out the door (mistake!).

Full Speed was already done with his day. He had lost patience even when we were with our doctor (whom he adores and calls his ‘girlfriend’). He was tired of sitting and waiting. He had sat patiently (kind of) while we picked out new frames at the optometrist’s. I could sense he was on the edge of losing it. The reason he held it together is because he knew he was going to have another date at Applebee’s with his Mom. So we get the frames picked out and leave all the fussing eye-people behind and make the drive over to Applebee’s. No sooner did we walk in the door, my cell phone rings. They need us to come back to get the forgotten measurements.

You should have seen the dark cloud that descended on Full Speed’s face. He was NOT happy. We head back and get the measurements needed but he is aloof with the fawning staff and at times, down-right rude (I completely understood because it was almost six o’clock at this point). Before we leave for the second time I pointedly ask, “Do you have everything you need? Because if you don’t and we have to come back, I don’t know what that will do to Full Speed.”

They assured me all was complete. We finally get to Applebee’s, have our table and drinks, and our orders were in. It had been such a long afternoon and a long time since a potty-break, so we left our drinks and headed to the bathroom. When we return to our table our drinks are gone. They bussed our table and we hadn’t even consumed anything. Not even a drop of our beverages. It doesn’t help that our waiter is a good ten years younger than me, brings me the wrong order and has to keep saying ‘sorry ma’am’ over and over. I felt like I was one-hundred and twenty seven years old!

Eventually Full Speed and I went on to have a lovely date. He even told me that he looked forward to it all day. “I couldn’t wait to have a date with my favorite woman in the whole world. You, Mommy.” I’m quoting him exactly. That’s worth all the ‘sorry ma’ams’ in the world.
bathtime

It is now close to bedtime and I just gave Full Speed his last allowed food until the surgery is complete. He picked Oreos. I would have let him have pretty much anything he wanted. T.Puzzle is at Grandma and Grandpa’s so all is quiet. Full Speed is playing with cars and we are waiting for Mad Dog to get home (I said Full Speed could wait up for him if he was good and let’s face it, after all the nonsense today, he earned it).

I’m going to bed tonight with many prayers of thanks in my heart. I am thankful for the excellent medical care that we have access to and the hopeful certainty Full Speed will come through the other side of surgery with much improved vision in his left eye. I thank my loyal readers for their support that continues to inspire me. Most of all, I thank God (or whoever may be out there) for giving me an amazingly spirited, gift of a child (and a spare to boot). Good night!

health, humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, terrible twos

I Like to Move It

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Today is all about T.Puzzle. It’s his turn for some serious one-on-one time with Mommy. This special treatment is because he has been quite allergy-prone in the past. When he was eighteen months old we found out he was allergic to eggs and a couple months later learned of his severe, dog allergy (we had to remove our beloved dog, White Fluffy Dog  from our house it was so bad).

The time had come for his periodic allergy check-in at the Children’s Clinic. We arrive and Madagascar (the animated kids’ flick) is playing in the waiting room. He looks at it a nanosecond and promptly starts to sing ‘move it, move it” and shake his booty from side to side. It’s his favorite song in the whole movie. Maybe his favorite song in the whole universe the way he has committed so passionately to singing it. He also says it in two-year-old speak so it sounds more like ‘mow it, mow it’. Any way you slice it, it’s freakin’ adorable.

The nurse calls us back after a few moments and asks that T.Puzzle remove his shoes. The happy part is that Mommy had actually found his missing spidey croc so his shoes matched today. The unhappy part was that T.Puzzle was less than pleased to part with them. He was pretty miffed at the nurse for requesting such an unreasonable thing of him.

She then asks him to step up onto the scale. It’s only an inch off the floor. You would think the way T.Puzzle is teetering on it back-and-forth in fear that it was hundreds of feet from the floor. Yeah, I get that he has some depth perception issues but an inch? Really?

I can’t get him to stand still and he is fast approaching a level 7 meltdown. The nurse is not offering anything except judgment and we are getting nowhere. Eventually, there is a loud, curious noise that escapes from one of the other exam rooms. I have no idea what it was, but its sudden strangeness was enough to make T.Puzzle freeze. We were able to get his weight and cut our losses at that. The nurse didn’t feel like attempting to get his height. Five minutes with T.Puzzle in all his glory and I could tell that was more than enough for her.

We are shown to the exam room and the nurse quickly exits as if there is a fire never to return. When the doctor, who is kind and caring, arrives I warn him that T.Puzzle is two and that ‘defiance’ is his middle name. I told him that T.Puzzle’s ever changing mood might make him difficult to examine. The doctor said he could handle it (he has a three year old son who apparently puts him through the wringer, too).

I place T.Puzzle on my lap and proceed to hold my breath. I hope that whatever level tantrum he reaches at least it stays under a five.

The doctor moves in with his stethoscope and…..,

T.Puzzle let him. He let him look in his ears. He let him look in his eyes with a bright light. He even sat calm as could be when the doc tilted his head back and stuck that long, skinny looky-in-your-nose thing up of each of T.Puzzle’s tiny, tender nostrils.  T.Puzzle didn’t even bat one of his extremely long, extremely gorgeous eyelashes.

I had a realization. Not only does T.Puzzle like to play with the truth as it pertains to the details of his life, he likes to manipulate his behavior so that I am forced to do the same. He behaved like an angel because I said he was going to act like a devil. Now Mommy is the liar.

Frick, 2 – Mommy, 0

health, humor, mommyhood, parenting

Orange You Someone I Know?

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Since Full Speed’s surgery he hasn’t been allowed on the playground at his school. At morning recess time he heads down to the three year old classroom while the rest of his class goes outside. For the second recess in the afternoon, I have been picking him up beforehand so he doesn’t have to feel like he is missing out twice in one day. So far it’s working out great. This is good because he has a least three more weeks of no outside play assuming all continues to go well with the second eye surgery and recovery.

When I picked up Full Speed today, I was early of course and the class was running a little late. They were in the midst of finishing their afternoon snack of pretzels. Full Speed  wanted to stay longer because they had made jello with orange soda that morning and they were going to eat the finished, chilled product now. I wanted him to partake in the jello madness so T.Puzzle and I hung out with Full Speed’s class for a few minutes.

Full Speed was as proud as a peacock to have his Mommy there during snack. I appreciate at this age having Mom around is super-cool. It will be a sad day when I inevitably became super-uncool. So, I soaked in his excitement and talked with his friends.

At their tables they have their names spelled out so they know where to sit. I started to refer to them by name and they were amazed. I said, “Jacob, your jello looks delicious.” Jacob’s eyes grew wide with wonder.

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

“Well, it’s written right here on your table. See?” I leaned over to point out his name and proceeded to spell it out loud. “J-A-C-O-B.” As I said each letter I pointed to it.

I still had them all stumped. I guess when you aren’t technically a reader yet, anyone that reads, spells or says your name without really knowing you is mysterious.

“You can SPELL my name, too? How’d you do that?” he couldn’t believe my magical powers.

Eventually, I gave in to their adorable delusion and told them I was in fact psychic and knew things that no one else did. I proceeded to go around the room and work everyone’s name into a classroom discussion about orange jello. They each laughed and giggled as I said their names. Very, very cute.

Ultimately, I predicted that everyone would eat their jello and it would be delicious. Not surprisingly, I nailed it.

Garden

eyesight, health, mommyhood, parenting, self-discovery

Eye Am Thankful

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So far the result of Full Speed’s surgery has been spectacular. It doesn’t seem real. I am having trouble imagining the possibility of much improved vision.

baby in glasses
Full Speed was first diagnosed with extreme myopia (which means he was off-the-charts nearsighted) when he was 20 months old. The subsequent journey and various doctor’s appointments from geneticists to surgeons has been a test of courage and faith. I have always held out hope in the back of my mind that his vision would be good (excellent even). I have prayed endlessly that he would have 20/20 vision. I have cried and then I have prayed some more. Eventually, I started to take my cues from Full Speed. He began eye-testing with letters when he was two years old. He handled every appointment (well, there were some deep in the heart of the terrible twos that I think I’ve blocked from memory) the best he could. As he matured, he came to respect doctors and followed their directions with ease. He is so comfortable in hospital/doctor office settings now it’s almost like doing anything else we might do during our day.

I also have learned to evaluate Full Speed’s condition based on his functioning. His functioning is awesome. He has mastered all his physical milestones and then some and is right on track intellectually. I began to realize that extreme myopia later diagnosed as ectopia lentis et pupillae with lens subluxation (dislocated lenses) looks pretty amazing if you ask me.

yellow belt kick

I had this strange moment when Full Speed was three years old and he was testing for his first Tae Kwon Do belt. As I sat in the testing room with family and friends I had this sort of out of body experience. I saw clearly for the first time that if all Full Speed was ever allowed was minimal vision, he was going to kick life in the ass and be a huge success. I learned a new prayer that day. The prayer was a thank you for the vision provided to my son for it is exactly what he needs to be who he is. That was the day I started to learn acceptance. I accepted his coke-bottle lenses whole heartedly (I mean come on, they are freakin’ adorable!). I accepted that regular eye check-ups (sometimes done under anesthesia) and doctor’s visits were a part of our lives. I accepted that while some of his eye care may be a challenge (patching his left eye on a daily basis), it’s just what we do.

Flash forward and here we are with another major eye surgery under our belts and on the cusp of much improved vision. I know whatever happens Full Speed will have exactly the amount of vision he needs to be whoever he will be (which is incredible in my slightly biased opinion). I will certainly be thankful if that is anywhere near 20/20 vision.

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