Samantha is two years old today! YAY Sam!

We said goodbye to the first year last night in the Emergency Room. Samantha had a series of seizures this week. Last night we realized it was a urinary tract infection causing her problems. Not wanting her to have a bad birthday, we loaded her into the car last night to ‘nip this in the bud’ so to speak.

As the clock ticked towards midnight I became really antsy. Samantha cannot start her second birthday in the hospital. She just can’t. We needed to be out before midnight. I parked myself in the hallway with my arms crossed staring the nurses down. Finally at 11:45, we were sent home with antibiotics and discharge papers. Whew!

Today Samantha is sleeping comfortably (still) upstairs. She missed her pool-playdate birthday celebration but seems no worse for the wear. I however, am stuck with 36 birthday cupcakes. Come on by if your blood sugar is low.

The urinary tract infections defined our first year. As I sat in the E.R. telling the doc that I would like to cath her instead of the nurse because I “know where the goods are” I felt it ironic that we were here four hours before her birthday. Ah, what we learn in a year. I told Samantha that as we say goodbye to one year tonight, we are also saying goodbye to these nasty UTI’s….let’s hope her bladder listens.

Happy, happy birthday to beautiful, complex, determined, life-changing Samantha! We love you.

A couple people have pointed out that I switched from Sarah to Samantha in the last post. Sorry about that! In the final version, Samantha’s name will be changed to Sarah…I just forget to change it when I’m writing! This is why I need a good editor 🙂 Hope you all are well!

The Plus Sign

It was the first weekend of December 2006 when I found out I was pregnant with Sarah. The mountains had been hit with a huge storm and we were planning on skiing. The alarm went off at 5:00 in the morning. I stumbled to the bathroom to pee on a stick; our morning pregnancy ritual.

After my deed was done, I set the stick on the nightstand and collapsed back into bed. “I don’t care how good the snow is, 5:00 is early” I thought to myself. I waited the mandatory 3 minutes and turned the light back on. The test showed a minus sign; negative; no baby.

“Nope”, I said to my husband and curled back under the down comforter.

“Give it a couple more minutes,” he said.

I groaned and buried my head in the pillow; annoyed by his optimism. Unbeknownst to him, I had taken several throughout the week and they had all been negative. At $20 a pop, these little tests weren’t to be taken lightly. But I couldn’t help it. I was addicted, a slave to the pregnancy test. But Aunt Flo was due tomorrow. This, according to my husband was the right time to test. I left my neurosis to myself.

“Maybe next month,” I thought to myself and drifted back to sleep.

“Check it again.” My husband nudged me 5 minutes later.

I grumbled, turned on the light, and checked the test. There was the slightest line crossing over the minus sign….a tiny, faint plus…. positive?

“Do you see this?” I handed the test over to Bill. “Do you see the plus sign? It’s really, really faint, but can you see it?”

“Hmmmm…Yep, there it is.” He answered with a confident grin as though he knew we would get pregnant this month.

“Oh my God, we did it. We’re pregnant; holy shit.” I buried my head in the pillow and started to cry.

“Hey, are you ok?” Bill stroked my back.

“MmmmHmmm” I answered, muffled in the pillow and overwhelmed with emotion. “It’s just that…Jack…he’s going to have a brother or sister.” At that moment, I felt at peace with the world. We were going to be ok. This little baby, barely there, barely able to make a plus sign, was a testament that the universe was ok.

We skied that weekend. The snow was fantastic but it was one of the coldest Decembers in history. I felt like I was soaring down the mountain; this little creature safe and warm in my belly.

“We’re skiing.” I said to the tiny pulsing bundle of cells in my belly. “I’ll take you someday.”

We stopped at the bottom of the mountain; my cheeks red, my breath a little labored.

“Hey, you need to take it easy.” Bill said. “This little person doesn’t have any arms to help them hang on. They’re just bouncing around.” He started doing this little dance on his skies; arms and legs flailing about. “Hey mom, slow down….whoa…I can’t hang on.”

I laughed, leaned over and kissed him. “I love you. I’m so glad we’re doing this again.”

“Me too.”

******

The IV machine beeped loudly jolting me back from my lovely memory.

“I think it’s empty.” I said to Bill. “I’ll go find a nurse.”

Dr. Abbey came back in. “Everyone has called me back. We would like to do a CT scan of her head just to make sure there is no infection behind her eyes. We also want to take an x-ray of her chest to check for pneumonia and we’re ready to do the spinal tap.”

My head whirled. Spinal tap, pneumonia, infection behind her eyes, the brain is behind the eyes, I thought. They are checking for an infection in her brain. I silently thanked Dr. Abbey for her tact; for not announcing that a brain infection is an option they were considering. I couldn’t handle those words hanging in the room.

Two nurses were opening packets, setting gauze and iodine on trays.

“So,” Dr. Abbey said, “you can stay for the spinal tap but we really don’t recommend it.”

“I’m staying,” my husband replied.

“I think I’ll take a walk.” I said. I got up, leaned over and kissed my daughter. I walked out of the room, unsure of where to go next, leaned against the wall and cried.

The next couple of hours went by like a crazy dream. “Wake up” I kept telling myself; pinching my leg.

We carried Sarah from room to room as they did different tests. I sat outside the radiation room next to a video game…Zombie Wars…The game played creepy music over and over. I sat on a hard. plastic chair, my head against the wall, listening to zombie music. I would occasionally glance down the hall waiting for the undead to emerge from the corridors. “Zombies,” I thought, “would make a nice addition to this night.”

“We have a room for you.” Dr. Abbey proclaimed triumphantly. It was 9:00 at night. We had watched families filter in and out…lucky ducks, I thought. How smug they looked putting their jackets on, carrying their children out the door. But honestly, I didn’t want to take Sarah home. If they had discharged us I think I would have handed her back to the nurse. We ruled out Spinal Meningitis, an infection in her brain and pneumonia. Sarah remained a mystery.

“You will be in room 510. It’s the oncology floor.” Dr. Abbey said. Leukemia had not been ruled out due to her high white count. Oncology, cancer, sick little kids.

“A truly great man never puts away the simplicity of a child.”
– Confucius

This evening as I watered my garden I watched my nieghbor, Russ teach his son how to mow the lawn. They spoke loudly over the roar of the engine. Russ’s voice was composed and instructional. His son Logan excited, almost giddy, finally getting to do something he’s watched his dad do week after week for years.

The lawn….a right of passage. A source of teenage income and a grown up chore. Mowers have engines, blades and use gasoline. This is a machine! You have to be old to handle this one; double digits at least, age ten and up.

“We’re going to switch it into gear….see that? Alright, now the blade is down and you just walk in a straight line. Is the blade down? I don’t think you’re cutting anything. Pull the lever. There you go, make it straight.” Logan finished a row by himself, stopped at the tree and turned around towards his dad. They both started laughing.

I walked into our house. “Russ is teaching Logan how to mow the lawn.” I told my husband.

“I know, I’ve been listening. It’s a big day.”

I kept the screen door open so I could hear them in the summer air. I was such a voyeur but I got such a kick out of their father-son moment. Logan, now big enough to mow the lawn.

It’s the little events that make a life.

So I’m playing with the title….let me know what you think! XO-Me

The doctor came into the room. She was young, in her 30’s with a look of ambition and concern.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Abbey. I’ve looked at Sam’s lab results and I’m at little stumped. She’s seems very dehydrated. So we’re going to start her on an IV. I’ve called in a couple specialists for a consult. Her white blood cell count is really high indicating an infection. I would like to order a spinal tap. How long has she seemed sick?”

I suddenly second-guessed everything I had ever done; the glass of wine when I was nursing, maybe I should have pumped longer, then there was that time when she fell off the couch….

“She’s been sick with a fever since Tuesday. I took her to the doctor’s and they gave us an antibiotic. They said it wasn’t serious and she was ok to travel.” I answered. “We’ve been concerned about her weight gain and hearing for a while and we were just starting to get second opinions.”

“Any brothers or sisters at home?” She asked.

I looked over at my husband. Do we answer this? Do we go there? It’s probably important that they know. God, I hate this question.

“She had an older brother, Jack. He was stillborn at 40 weeks.

Dr. Abbey looked up from her notes. “I am so very sorry.”

The silence in the room was deafening but I could hear the blood pounding in my head.”

“Do they know why?”

“It was a cord accident.” I answered.

“Did they ever do an autopsy?”

“No, the doctors said it seemed pretty obvious that was what happened.”

“Hmmmmm” The doctor looked down at her clipboard and scribbled some more notes.

“No!” I wanted to yell “they didn’t do an autopsy because we shouldn’t be here. We should have had our awful tragedy, grieved and moved on with our life. We shouldn’t be in Children’s with our second child. We shouldn’t be answering these questions. Life should be giving us a green light. And it’s so very unfair it kills me, it makes me want to puke, to crawl in a little ball, to hurt something as much as I’m hurting!”

Instead, I shrugged, looked over at my daughter and searched for something to do to mask my pain. I should probably refresh my lipstick, I thought.

Three nurses barged into the room armed with needles, monitors and catheters. Bill moved out of the way as they gathered around Sarah looking for ‘good’ veins, hooking up electrodes.

“This looks like a good one.” One nurse said examining her arm.

“Be careful, they tend to roll on these little ones.”

They pulled out their needles and began poking. Sarah cried weakly in protest. Bill held her little body, leaning over her and shhing quietly.

I was going to be sick. “I’m going to call my parents and let them know what’s going on.” I left the room taking big gulps of air. Anywhere, I wanted to be anywhere but in that room.

The air outside was cold and crisp. Slowly my head cleared. I moved between the smokers outside for a break. I hadn’t smoked in years but yearned for a cigarette. I would have to settle for the second-hand smoke in the air.

I made two calls, my parents and work. I cleared my throat and smiled through the phone. “No, everything’s fine, just a precaution. I wanted to let you know. Right….. probably won’t be in tomorrow. Can you call the Office Mart account? We can probably close them by the end of the month. Great, thanks. Yep, I’ll keep you updated. Thanks.”

My dad and stepmom said they would be down later. They were having dinner with friends. Could they bring anything? “Starbucks” I said. “Make it a venti.”

I walked back into the waiting room. It was much busier than when we arrived. Kids who weren’t as critical chased each other between the chairs, others were cradled by concerned moms, covered in blankets. A little girl coughed loudly into the air. I felt a slight sense of relief at our timing. Bill couldn’t have handled coughing kiddos….antiseptic wipes would only do so much.

I opened the door to our room. The nurses couldn’t get a vein in her arms or legs so they went for her head.

Who puts an IV in a baby’s head? I thought. Sickos. Sarah donned a bright pink gauze hat which held the needle in place. Her tiny hands waved in the air. I felt so separate from her. I had carried her for eight months, felt her move and grow. We shared the same blood system, the oxygen I breathed had fed her little body. Now they put tubes in her head, they wanted to test her blood, not mine. I watched. I felt helpless in my daughter’s fight.

“They had to get her head,” my husband said. “They pricked her little arms and legs and finally went for her head. But she fought them. Didn’t you? Yes you did.” He looked down proudly at our daughter. “You gave those nurses the what for.”

Okay, first off, Team Sammer Hammer ROCKS! The scene was a little chaotic but a big group of us managed to meet up and have a lovely walk together. We lost Amanda, Ava, and Amanda’s Mom (so sorry!). We had a brief but desperate disappearance of BoBo Baby and finshed three miles in a record breaking hour and twenty minutes! I think a good time was had by all. We had a ‘personal’ photographer (thank you Bill!) so we will be posting pictures soon! Thank you, thank you, thank you….all of you. Ya’ll are good for my soul. Thank you also to everyone who couldn’t make it but wished us well….again, good for the soul.

I truly believe we are here to learn from each other. We might need to slow down and search for the lesson but we are here to teach in our own ways. I’ve been thinking about perspective; I sometimes lack it and it seems to bite me in the hiney when I least expect it. Perspective: a technique of depicting volumes and spatial relationships on a flat surface. Are we oringinally flat surfaces? Do we find volumes within our life through our relationships? Do we have volumes to learn?

We left the Epilepsy walk hot and tired. Samantha was pretty fussy and by the time we got home she was running a fever. I did a urine test which revealed her umpeeth urine infection. We got on the phone with Children’s hospital, arranged an appointment for Monday and devised a plan to get through the night. Monday morning, a long appointment at Children’s, another round of antibiotics and back home.

My good feelings from the walk were thwarted.

And then I read Niki’s blog post.

I met Niki at the walk. She and her boys were a member of Team Hammer. They joined as a sister of a dear friend of Heidi’s. I cannot urge you enough to check her blog out. Her voice as a parent containing two boys for three miles, watching families effected with epilepsy on the walk and taking the time to be thankful for her own life and her own blessings is priceless and provides us all..well me…perspective. Check it out at http://ordinaryfour.blogspot.com/

Because here’s the thing….I loose perspective. I forget how amazing it is that 1,400 people were all at the walk because they have been effected in some way by this crazy neurological disease. That these people can come out on a beautiful Sunday and enjoy the sun like everyone else. I forget what we have to be thankful for. I forget to loose myself in the preciousness of the moment. Thanks Niki, for reminding me to add a little cream to my coffee.

It’s sometimes hard to be Samantha’s mom, seizures, lack of smiles, hospitals, worry. But she has a gift to bring people together, provide a different view, by just being Samantha. And by giving people perspective, they give me perspective…we all learn from each other.

Again, thanks to you all. Here’s to finding spatial relations on a flat surface 🙂

XO-
Us

We filed into a small room with a nurse and a computer.

“So, what’s going on with Sarah?” she asked.

“We don’t know.” I answered. I felt flustered and defensive. Sarah didn’t have any identifiable symptoms. Buggy eyes…how do you explain buggy eyes? We had been worried about Sarah for a while. I felt so relieved to be here; like we were handing her over to people who could help her.

Was it just us? Was I a neurotic mother? When should a baby make eye contact? When should a baby smile? Sarah was a month early. Did that account for anything?

I had mentioned my concern to our pediatrician at her four month appointment.
“Let’s see if she will grow out of it.” He said.

She takes an hour to finish a bottle! She spits up! She doesn’t smile or make eye contact!

“I really think something is wrong,” I said. Our doctor recommended physical therapy. I felt like he was throwing a glass of water at burning house.

Sarah was now six months old. I looked down at my daughter. She was limp and lethargic. I felt like she was getting smaller and smaller; like she would just disappear from our lives.

“She doesn’t seem right” I told the nurse at the hospital. “We were up skiing and last night she was running a temperature. She keeps shrieking, like she’s in pain. We didn’t know what to do and we were passing through Denver. I thought we could just get her checked out.” My voice sounded so nonchalant; it wasn’t me. We’re sacred to death, fix her! I wanted to shriek. But I kept my control as Bill cradled our baby and the nurse took notes.

“Let’s get a weight and a blood pressure. Then the doctor will see you.” The nurse weighed her; 11 pounds. Six months old and she weighs 11 pounds. She had lost a hard earned 8 ounces in the last couple of days.

Another nurse had entered into the room. “Hi Peanut, aww, you don’t feel well do you?” The nurse stoked Sarah’s head. She looked up in a sickly daze.

“We need to get a blood and urine sample from her.” The nurse said. I nodded. Unaware of the needles, the poking and prodding Sarah was about to endure.

My husband stood over our daughter stroking her head and whispering to her. “Shh, it’s all going to be ok. I’m so sorry. It’s all going to be ok.” Watching him cradle her was too much. He doesn’t deserve this. We don’t deserve this. I fought the nausea creeping up my throat.

So, I’m having a day….I really am.

Samantha has been battling with a urinary tract infection and as a result I have to cath her a couple times a day to empty her bladder properly. The whole process- an infection that won’t go away, seizures, sticking a tube up my daughter’s ‘parts’ has hit me hard.

My bad days happen every once in a while…I have a pity party, take a hot bath and have a glass of wine, rally and then I’m back for more. So, I was having my pity party and then I got on the Epilepsy website and Samantha’s team page….and I started crying…and here’s why…..

Samantha has one of the biggest teams. People I have not even met are running/walking in her name. I feel so grateful that we have this support; that Samantha is surrounded by love and people who are cheering for her.

After I viewed our roster, I clicked on her team page and viewed the list of donations….The Bloom Family, Ms. Inda, Cindy from my writer’s group and Danette..who I am looking forward to meeting, have all made donations in Samantha’s name.

I guess what I am trying to say is that your concern, your support, helps us fight the good fight and keep my pity parties limited. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

So, this Josh Groban song has been in my mind. I thought I would share because it reminds me of you all…..

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.

Thanks for pulling me out of my party 🙂 See you next Sunday.

XO-
Us

Hi Everyone! I am starting to post snippets from my book, The Detour. Pull out your red pen and let me know what you think.

I sat in the emergency room at Children’s Hospital assessing my neighbors. Young mothers with runny-nosed toddlers, large families who didn’t speak English arguing amongst themselves…a TV in the corner droned old 80’s sitcoms. I sat down on a threadbare sofa.

“Don’t touch anything” my husband said. “Who knows what this place is crawling with.”

I looked down at my daughter. Her complexion had taken on a grey color, her eyes were wide. I had never seen eyes so wide. I could see the whites around her iris and pupils. Her head was moving back and forth against the baby carrier. Mechanically I pulled out some antiseptic wipes and laid them on the seat beside me.

“Here” I said pointing to the wipes.

“Thanks” Bill proceeded to wipe everything down in his immediate vicinity; hands, face, car seat carrier, arm rest of the chair.

“It’s not going to help” I wanted to say. “This whole place is infested with something invisible, untouchable, uncontrollable, beyond us.” I didn’t say a word but let him try and destroy the onslaught of bacteria that seemed to be seeping into our lives.

I had never felt so dirty in my life. We left the ski resort in a hurry; anxious to get Sarah down the mountain, to try and figure out what’s wrong with her, to try and fix her. I had stuffed my hair into a ski hat and pulled on yesterday’s sweater. I had a musky, unshowered smell about me and was trying desperately to remember if I had brushed my teeth.

I had smeared on a little make-up in hopes of covering up my worry. I smiled to myself at the irony….cover-up to cover-up emotion, foundation to strengthen our foundation. My shield against whatever was going on…. as long as my lipstick is refreshed, everything will be ok.

Bill handed me a Power Bar….peanut butter. It was sweet, sticky glue in my mouth. I guess I needed to eat something. I really wanted a cup of strong, hot coffee; or maybe a shot of something, a little Jack trickling down my throat, tingling my toes….ahhh self medication.

But no coffee, no Jack; just the three of us waiting with the rest. Damn.

“Samson? Sarah Samson?” The nurse called.

“That was fast.” I said to my husband.

“The benefits of good insurance.” He answered.

Baby C is doing very well! In fact he was able to go home last week. The doctors even threw out the word ‘miraculous’! This is huge….docs keep the ‘M’ word very close. The M word is good. The M word should be coveted, an M from a doctor is well…..miraculous! Thank you to everyone who shared concerns and to sweet Miss. Heidi who immediately wanted to know where to send the lasagna 🙂

My house is full of laundry, excess easter basket grass and dust bunnies. I’m not a great housekeeper but I usually try to keep my dust bunnies in check. Why is my house in such disaray? Because last weekend we were up in Beaver Creek, Tuesday I skied with dear ol’ dad and Cami AND we spent a lovely night at the Magnolia the weekend before that!!!! WOW! I did a count of my ski days for the season and I made it to ten. Ten! The last time my ski days were in the double digits was the year Bart and I got married; 2004. My life has changed a bit since 2004 but I was still able to make it to ten which is well….miraculous!

These days would not have been possible without the help of the Grandmas. They pitched in, changed diapers and bounced the baby while I bounced down the mountain.

So I wrote a poem….

Grandma, Grandma goo,
Grandma, Grandma gee,
Without you
I could not ski

Thank you, thank you do
Thank you, thank you dot
What would I do without Grandmas?
This, I know not!

Happy Spring!

Us