A Christmas Toast

       You know what's annoying about Christmas?  No, not that.  Or that either.  Or that.  Shuddup already, it's my blog.   What's annoying about Christmas are all those cutesy awful song parodies that are everywhere.  I don't mind the good ones.   Christmas is meant to be merry and sometimes merry=silly, so why not a good bit of parody or satire?  It's cheesy ones that stretch the idea thin and  sound awkward that bug me.   But after eight days of FP in the hospital.  Followed by two days of frantic prepping and shopping and packing to leave for another eight days. A five hour car ride. Followed  by DinkyPants, Hippie Pants, Feisty Pants, and Goo then getting yet another frigging tummy bug.  I am a bit frazzled.  Frazzled enough that, now, Christmas nearly being all wrapped up (snort, see what I did there?) I am in just the overtired, burnt as toast mood to truly appreciate a good (bad) parody.  So here you are, Merry Christmas.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

12  dozen cookies designed to stick to my hips (that I ate anyway) 

11 batteries needed

10 days of antibiotics

9 cousins visiting

8 days of FP's IV

7 goldfish swimming (early Christmas present for Feisty Pants)

6 goldfish survivng

5  kids hyped up on candy

4 kids who then got a tummy bug (the candy looked terrible a second time)

3 days with no sleep

2 cranky parents

1 Feisty Pants who refused to wear pants.

 

And to all a good night.  Hope your holiday found you healthy and happy.  And may all your New Years be merry and bright.

 

Wheeee?

               In case you've never had the fun vacation of a kid in the hospital, it's best describe as a roller coaster.  Or a bi-polar episode, maybe.   Lows, highs, and a bit of whiplash.  Let me illustrate the last 48 hours.

Tuesday:                       

                When I woke up this morning,  I fully expected feisty pants to be home by this afternoon.  So I didn't go in to the hospital (her father has been staying this time).  I stayed home and cleaned and tried to catch up on things so that when she got here we could have a fun evening watching whatever FP wanted. But at 10 am no doctor. Same at noon.  And 2 pm.  By five, when the doc did come in, the nurses had noticed a pattern of low sat rates and funny heart rates.   So no discharge.  And I could have blown off the house and spent the day with her. Sigh.  Instead, here I am waiting for tomorrow with only Google and WebMD to keep me company.  Now I am concerned about her brain tumor/ebola/prostate cancer. Great.

            But that's kind of the way it goes with a feisty one.  All the every day trials and tribulations seem magnified because it's more complicated juggling life when you have to add dozens of doctors appointments and medications and therapy sessions.  Then factor in physical logistics,  emotional logistics (some feisty kids find every day situations overwhelming in a myriad of ways), and, my favorite, sleep deprivation.   Now, just to be thorough, throw in all those fears that come nag at you at three am.  What if she is getting worse?  What if they want to ship her out?  What if we have to skip Christmas this year?   How much snoring and farting can an 11 month old dog do at 3 am, anyway?  (Maybe that last one is just at our house.)

 

Wednesday:

                      So after trying to keep busy and get some holiday stuff done (What day can be a complete waste if it ends with washing chocolate out your hair?) I tried to get up early and rush in to stare at my kid and worry in person.  Only to find her looking normal.  Her sick version of normal, but normal nonetheless. Sat rates still suck, but holding on the O2.  Cranky as hell, but that won't change until the say the magic word (discharge).  Heart rate down a little bit.  Still a very sick kid.  But not dangerously so.  And still willing to argue a little bit with the doctor.  (Nuh-uh, she is too ready to go. Just that no one asked HER.   And btw, owowowowowow her IV site is just KILLING her, maybe they should take it out???)   So, now I can breathe. 

                      And, that's also the way it goes with a feisty one.  Just when you're ready to face whatever.  You've girded your loins and screwed your courage to it's sticking place.  Put on your best brave face and waited for someone in scrubs to ruin your day/week/year/life.  They don't.   You catch your breath and reboot.  And get a little break in the storm.  And the day seems blissfully uneventful. And my three am demons get a little smaller and less loud.  If only I could also dampen the sleeping noises (and smells ) of Cheweverything Pants.
                          

In which the Monster finally blinks

           Which philosopher was it who said, "if stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back into you"?  Prolly Nietzsche or one those fun dour ones.  I get it's mostly a poetic way to say, " stop dwelling on the negative there, Debbie Downer."  But damn, it sure feels like we've been staring into the abyss alllll weekend long.  Sigh. Feisty Pants is actually doing much better.  Better enough that they are discussing paroling her soon.  Which means she is also now better enough to complain 24/7 about being tortured and imprisoned, umm, er,  I mean hospitalized.

          So, hopefully, we will be home in time to have a somewhat organized Christmas. And find the cat, who has escaped and is sulking under our back porch because the only two humans he likes haven't been home since last week. Maybe actually finish a cookie. Or wrap a gift. My in-laws will be doing the holiday after the holiday, thank heavens, so I might actually be prepared by then. (This is, at least, the lie I am telling myself.) My folks are used to me and will just roll their eyes and think, "We'd knew she be all hurry up and never done".  Everyone else will have to roll with it if we show up in dirty sweats with half made gifts,  looking like refugees from  some very smelly disaster.  

           I used to try to still be as close as possible  to whatever passes for normal when Feisty Pants was younger.  Foolish of me.  I was tired and over stressed and just made myself ( and everyone else around me) miserable when I never met an impossible illusion of what I thought was organization.  Now, eff it.  We try to show up.  On time. And be somewhat reasonably presentable. Preferably with no weird biological substances in our hair .  Doubly preferably with no one screaming. Triply preferably with none of the screaming being aimed at me. Anything else is a fun goal but we make no promises. And anyone who does not understand is just gonna have to deal with it and/or suck it. I don't care which.  This year my Christmas gift is having her home and anything else is simply details.  So if we are too messy, too loud, too chaotic, too casual, just consider us the embodiment of Christmas present.  The children who accompanied that spirit were poor homeless waifs so we already look the part.

And the Monster looks right back...

           So I haven't posted in a week and half.  Mostly because I am Busy with a capital B, gifts and cards and baking,  but also because I was a bit lazy I think.  But today, sigh, oh today, I will have hours to post.  Mostly because I am sitting in an ER waiting for the ambulance to bring in Feisty Pants from school.  Ambulances seem quick, but there are forms to fill and sign and their top priority is getting the patient to the hospital safely, so it takes longer than you think.

            Feisty Pants seemed ok, but with a slightly runny nose, this morning.  Not unusual for her. But within an hour of getting there, her sat rate dropped and her temperature spiked.  To effing 105.  So the school called us, then 911.  We grabbed a taxi and are now sitting here in the ER waiting room doing just that. Waiting. I hate waiting. It's always so much worse in my head than in real life.  And Feisty Pants is adventure enough without my imagination/anxiety adding it's two cents. She can go from fine to omg call the paramedics in a few hours.  Today she beat that record.  Fine to oh shit in an hour  flat. I am sure she has scared the nurse and her teacher too.   They haven't seen her pull such a 180 turn before.              

            Well now it's hours later. I was interrupted by the arrival of the Feisty Pants express. And as I expected,  a very stunned nurse. She had never seen Feisty Pants pull the omg trick before.  Sigh. We have. Too many times.  Today's version was fine to fever of 105 in an hour. So far they have done the x-rays and the blood cultures.  They have filled the forms and started the IV.  Started the antibiotic and given something for pain and fever.   Then gave something to "help her relax and maybe sleep" HA. HAHAHA.  Not going to happen folks. FP hates ambulances and hospitals and medical personnel.  Right now she is not even too sure about Goo and I. And so we spent the morning listening to her complain.  About her pain. About the needles.  About the fact that we couldn't leave. Six hours later and she is still complaining.  I don't blame her one bit.  I'm ready to pull up a seat and help her sing the blues.  Her father has been awake 24 hours and is singing his own blues.  We are in a good place.  They are doing all the right things.  She will mend and the fact that she has strength to bitch nonstop is a great sign.  But I gotta be honest.  Today sucks. Watching your kid be sick and in pain never ever ever gets better.