Monday, April 12, 2010

Hospital care pages. Catching up...

Mass General has a site called CarePages for people undergoing surgery to keep everyone up to date on progress. I thought about posting the first set of CarePage posts from Sam's first surgery -- a proximal femur osteotomy -- to correct his bilateral coxa vara, but felt it was too long. But because I've been so out of touch with my blog, I wanted to post this for those who might not have caught my hospital updates. Like the last time, it's hard to find time to blog with a 3-year-oldchild in a spica cast, and a 5-year-old child who isn't. The only links you'll find are in this introduction, but can link to information from older blogs if necessary.

Wednesday, April 7

Well, the time between Sam's cast coming off and right now has flown by. Sam got his cast off in just under four weeks, and began walking one week and four days after that. (The doctors said it would take around 3-4 weeks.)

He had a birthday on March 13, and now he's a big 3-year-old. Luckily, he's still a little young to quite get all of this.

He just went running by. He's getting faster. A few minutes ago he came jumping in. He was never able to jump at all before the first surgery.

We and the grandparents all chipped in for both kids' birthdays to buy them a playset that has a tall ladder/ rock-climbing wall and a big slide. We had a big party for the kids' birthdays (Maya turns five April 12, but we wanted Sam to be mobile for a party) and the slide and ladder were already set up. By the end of the party, Sam was scaling that thing in a second, screaming, "I'm doing it myself!" and hurling himself down the slide. His back was sore the next day since he can't really catch himself at the bottom, so the next day we arranged pillows at the bottom for him to topple onto. That worked.

He immediately began relying on his right leg the moment it would support his weight after the cast came off. This just reiterated that getting the surgery done was the right thing to do for him. He finally is starting to get the motion of a more typical walk in his right leg in the past few days, and I'm thrilled about that. It's taken this long A) due to the stiffness after being in the spica cast, and B) because he was getting used to his right leg now being about an inch longer than the left after they made that nearly right angle of his femur obtuse. His right leg used to be shorter, so he had to get used to the new lengths.

I hope that when they're both the same length, everything will be easier for him. It's just getting through the next month. Ugh. Mostly, knowing what's ahead and how to manage everything from pain to poop is a plus. But man, knowing what's ahead in terms of pain and dealing with that cast, and Sam's frustration, twists my guts in a knot.

So we get there tomorrow at 8 a.m. I have to make sure Sam's gut gets packed so full today that he still feels full when we wake him up at 6 a.m. to go to the hospital. I can't even remember where we go in the hospital. It all feels like a blur from the last time. Guess I should give them a ring...

Until tomorrow.....



What a boy

Posted Apr 8, 2010 8:31am

Sam's is the best mood.

After a few minutes of being upset this morning because he couldn't eat (we told him it would make his belly sick before the surgery) Sam snapped out of it and hasn't asked again for something to eat.

Then he told me, "OK. I'm ready for you to drive me to the hospital."

When we first got to the waiting room, he held his little arm up in sort of like a shrug, and said, "This is just a really hard day."

But he seems to be completely unafraid this time. He's obviously not looking forward to it, but I thought the fear would be even more intense for him this time because he knows what's coming. He seems to be more like us; much less afraid, just filled with a little more dread at knowing what's ahead.

Right now he's running around the waiting room, cracking up, with a huge green monster truck they have here. Daddy's playing with him too. He's doing awesome.

Doh! Spoke too soon. Dave and I are talking about coffee, and Sam wants to eat. (We're waiting on the coffee.) We told him he has to have surgery first, and he said, "Can I go that way? Can I run that way?" pointing to the staging area.

He wants to get the surgery so he can EAT.'

He's in..

Posted Apr 8, 2010 11:06am

Sam did really well, with the exception of getting him to breathe the anesthesia through the mask. I had to hold him for that, so it wasn't very pleasant, but we just kept telling him what a great job he was doing and then it kicked in, so we gave him a kiss and left.

We just got an update on the fishie beeper saying the procedure began about 10 minutes ago and everything is going well, Sam is doing fine.

Osteotomy is done, applying spica cast

Posted Apr 8, 2010 1:24pm

We just got an update saying Sam's surgery is done and they're putting the cast on. We convinced him to go with green cammo this time, so he can wear cammo like Granddad wore as a soldier. He liked that.

It will still probably be a while before we see him. I remember the cast taking quite a while last time.

Everything went well, so we're mostly out of the woods.

Some smiles are better than others

Posted Apr 8, 2010 2:10pm

I love to see Sam's surgeons faces walking in looking that happy. They said everything went smoothly, he's in the cast, and they're waking him up so we should see him soon!

YAAAAAY!

Now comes the next hard part... But I'm not going to think about that... I'm just going to ride this humongous high.

Love to you all, thanks for your support and positive energy and prayers.

In Sam's room

Posted Apr 8, 2010 6:27pm

He's sleeping peacefully. He was awake and in pretty good spirits before, and had half a small bottle of water and has had about two popsickles already.That's more than he had in two days last time. The nurses seem to be in love with him; many from post-op remembered him from last time. He was sweet and making jokes, but of course, is still in and out. He's assigned to an awesome nurse Celine, who made sure he got some valium so we don't have a repeat of the first night last time, where he was seizing and screaming in pain. They'll probably wake him up around 7 or so if he hadn't already gotten up for more morphine. I'd like to get some food in his belly! But sleep is good too.

Now I'm off to go get dinner while he's snoring.

Not the most restful night of sleep

Posted Apr 9, 2010 8:56am

Sam had a tough night last night, the kicker being a catheter and midnight because Sam's bladder was so full that he was crying out in pain. I heard his screams when she was putting it in all the way down the hall so I ran in there and helped keep him calm. Dave was already there, but I just had to run down there having never heard him scream like that.

So it was dripping out slowly, filling a huge bowl.

He was being such a good boy that Erin, the night nurse, was telling an aid to go find him a toy. "Something big," she said. About 10 minutes of dripping later, she asked him, "Does that feel better Sam?" He faintly said Mmhmm.

A couple minutes later he looks at the nurse and says weakly says, "Thank you."

"Oh my gosh! You're so sweet! You're the first to ever say thank you for a catheter! Hey Michelle can you hear me?"

*muffled* "Yeah!"

"He gets two toys. He just said thank you."

Waiting on Sam's bed were Lego Thomas the Tank Engine (Stanley) and a crazy Batman batcave that he can work with his new Batman helicopter. It was like Christmas.

So, the nurse practitioner is talking about sending him home today, and I, rousing from my 3-hour-ish nap, asked shouldn't he be eating and drinking and peeing first? She mentioned he'd had wet a big diaper (from IV fluids) had a few sips of smoothie, and I was still kind of like, but that's not really food....

So I told Dave I want his pain to be managed better -- so there's something between screaming and crying in pain and doped up daze -- and I want him at least eating and drinking.

So to me, I'd guess we're staying until tomorrow.

Sorry about all the typos, I've had no sleep and only a few sips of coffee, and I'm bed with Sam while he cuddles up with me. He doesn't want to be not touching me.


More pain

Posted Apr 9, 2010 11:05am

I wish we could make it go away.... the meds just aren't doing it. Sam is miserable. He does not want the TV on, he doesn't want to be played with, read to, spoken to, moved, eat, offered food, or anything else.

It just makes me feel so helpless when I can't help at all.

Yay!

Posted Apr 9, 2010 12:41pm

Well, after a very sound hour or so of sleep (which indicates better pain control -- they doubled his dose of Valium), Sam woke up as we were discussing the pain with the nurse practitioner and Dr. Albright just to prove me wrong. I've never been so happy to have him do that.

He asked for his drink right away, had a few bites of pizza, has had most of a smoothie since this morning, and is drinking some of Mommy's sizzie water. He wanted Thomas to be turned up (I snuck it on on while he was asleep, hoping it would just distract him when he got up and keep him calm enough to eat).

He is talking back to Thomas, and I got a little smile.

Hooray.

He seems to be sweating much less too, which leads me to believe those spasms are under control now.

He just smiled: "It's Thomas."

looks like we might be able to roll him down to the playroom in a bit and see if a change of scenery will help him further along in his progress.

Cristy rocks, and we're leaving!

Posted Apr 10, 2010 9:50am

Aunt Cristy came to see us last night. I love her so much I can't even stand it. First she made Sam smile and laugh, and brought him an Iron Man mask. Then, she took me to a pub for a few pints and some chowder and stuffed mushrooms and actually yummy quesadillas, which I tend to avoid ordering because they typically are about as pedestrian as what I do at home.

THEN, she swapped with Dave, taking him out for a pint or two and getting him the soup. It was actually good clam chowder. Not thickened w/ all that flour, and with actual fresh herbs.

This break from everything is so amazing. It's fine for Sam, he's happy as long as a Mommy or a Daddy is there. It's great for us, because you can't really sit still long while Sam's in his cast. More so in the hospital actually than at home, believe it or not, because somebody is bringing him food, taking it away, washing the dishes from the food, and emptying trash, sweeping, etc.

But, that being said, thankfully we're on our way out of here, but Sam is refusing to eat b/c his meds were an hour overdue. This is how it goes when we are just a little late. But mostly, we all slept well last night. A nurse came and woke Sam up to give him meds at 3 a.m., and we went right back to sleep .... well almost. He wanted a smoothie and we were out, so I went down the hall and found him one of his banana yogurts and mixed it with juice and water until it tasted right. he drank it all.

So about a half hour after the Codeine, and a bribe with the playroom, Sam ate a pancake, a bite or two of egg, and a bite or two of yogurt. I'm happy with that. So we're getting ready, and getting OUTTA HERE! Based on past experience it's not as quick of a process as we'd like, so we went ahead and ordered Sam lunch, but we're out. I get the sense from the staff that the sooner, the better. ;)


Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Uncomfortable questions


I should have written this a week ago, before the party, when everything was all optimism and excitement.

We decided to combine Maya and Sam's birthday parties this year, on a weekend between birthdays and between surgeries, and during the brief time in Spring when Sam could walk.


They both had a blast at the party. Jim worked every second it wasn’t pouring to at least get half the play set set up, a clubhouse with a ladder/climbing wall and slide, and the kids loved it. It was a miraculously sunny day, though somewhat cold, after weeks of rain. Fortunately that meant everyone could hang outside for a few hours while Jim barbecued.


Sam astounded us by scaling the wall by himself and hurling himself down the slide, after a friend held onto him the first few times. I was bringing more chicken out for Jim to throw on the grill when I heard him shriek, “Look Daddy, I’m doing it myself!”


We both cheered and he beamed, so proud.



Here are Sam and Maya enjoying his Chick Hicks cake on his actual birthday. Party pictures are yet to be uploaded. For some reason, I'm a little behind on life and pretty much everything else.




He’s getting around so well, though I’m still carrying him frequently too. He’s trying to go down stairs more, but it still seems tough to go up them.


It’s sinking in what the other surgeon said, that Sam’s coxa vara will be corrected, but he won’t necessarily move like other kids. I can still see it in that right leg, the gait.


But he’s still healing incredibly. After going up that ladder and down that slide about 1,000 times, the next day, it was his left knee he grabbed, screaming in pain. The right knee, the knee on the leg that has already been operated on, didn’t seem to hurt.


So I wish I’d written something before that party, when I wasn’t even thinking of surgery, nobody was. But it was so busy, I just didn’t get to it.


Maya has had two more seizure episodes, one the late night of the party, and we’re set to see the neurologist next week.


I’ve also been gently trying to prep both kids for surgery again, since it’s only a week and one day away.


Today became intense both in terms of typical 3-year-old behavior and questions you wish your kids never had to ask.


Sam (who never wears pants for naps) was diaper-clad as I held him this evening. His 5-inch scar, wider at the top and still almost blistery, caught Maya’s attention as it always does.


“Is that a scratch?” Maya asked.


“No honey, that’s his scar from the surgery,” I reminded her.


“I’m worried about Sam,” Maya said as she always does when she sees his scar. “Will I be there for Sam’s surgery?”


“No.”


“But he’ll be lonely,” she said, her face turning concerned and much older than a girl who is not even 5 yet.


“Daddy and I will be there.”


“But who will keep me company?” she asked, looking at her plate.


“Nonna,” I said, keeping my voice steady, but she had to have heard it move up an octave.


“And you guys will have lots of fun, just like last time!” I said, much too vivaciously. “And Daddy and Sam and I will just be gone for two days, and then we’ll be home!”


“But, Sam will have another cast,” I added


“I’m going to have another cast?” Sam asked, almost comically incredulous.


“Yeah buddy, but remember how quickly you walked again after --”


“I want to get down Mommy!”


And he was waddling off to the next thing, laughing with Maya. She was racing with him, letting him getting a head start, and then announcing, “We both won Sam!”


In the grocery store earlier, we were getting some frozen, already-prepared meals, and the kids were getting antsy on this epic food-shopping trip.


“Why are we going down this aisle?” Maya wanted to know. I rarely buy frozen meals except for some favorites at Trader Joe’s. “Are we almost done?”


“I want to have some things in the fridge that are easy to make after Sam has surgery again next week,” I told them.


“Surgery?!” Sam exclaimed. “I’m going to have surgery? Why? Will it be today?”


This will be the last one for a long time, I assured them both. (That is, until they have to go in and remove the hardware in both legs. But I thought it best not to mention that just yet.)


Memory, at least in terms of very small children and surgeries, is a negative the second time around.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

He walks again


Sam would stand, wobbly, in full concentration, just like he did when he was 13 months old. Then he would try to go, but his little right leg would buckle, still not used to movement after spending nearly four weeks in his cast.

"I'm OK!" he would say good-naturedly, and climb right back up again. He knew not to try again right then, but a few hours later, or maybe the next day, he'd go for it. I am constantly impressed with his good humor, his coping abilities and just his sheer determination.

The doctors said it would be three or four weeks before he'd start walking around, and then he'd probably drag the right leg around with him.

Last night as I was getting Iliana ready for bed, I heard Jim say, "Rachel?!" in that tone of voice that means I need to get in there right away. But I happened to be getting a rare and precious Iliana bear hug, so I was going to need more than that. "Come here!"

Then I heard, "Mommy! I can walk again!"

Iliana and I both jumped up and ran out of her room just in time to see Sam, looking awestruck himself, hobbling toward us. "I can walk again!"

Iliana and I both clapped and cheered, and she even jumped up and down and said, "Good job, buddy!"

It sounds made up, but I swear it, this is what happened. I'm so moved by her grace and support of him. I love her so much.

The look on Sam's face was almost just like the first time he went for it, and walked to me almost two years ago. I remember the Bob Dylan onesie he was wearing and his expression perfectly. I actually managed to get a picture of that joy and pride, mixed with a little bit of wild fear at this newfound skill, and the liberation and separation that would come with it.

I guess that was the only difference. There was no trace of fear this time, just pure joy and pride, and still the amazement that it was actually happening. It's been since January 14 since he last walked, and to a not-yet 3-year-old, that must seem a long time.

The doctors had said it would take three to four weeks until he walked. Last night it was one week and four days after the cast had come off. I am so proud.

He hobbled all over the house, saying, "I'm doing it! I'm walking!" When I told him it was time to read a book before bed, he said, "I don't want a book! I want to walk!"

He is not dragging his right leg, it's just a little wobbly, and he's getting used to the length discrepancy.

It is even more striking how much longer his right leg is than his left leg now that he's walking, when it used to be the other way around. He is having to learn to compensate the other way, so I'm glad the surgeries will be close together so he won't be thrown off again when the legs match in length.

Already I had been struck by how much he has been preferring his right leg since the surgery, when he used to prefer the left, I'm assuming because the angle was less severe. So even with the pain of surgery, and the lack of mobility caused by the body cast, he still prefers his right leg now because intuitively he knows already it works better than his left. That is so telling to me.

It makes me feel so confident that surgery to correct the coxa vara was the right thing to do. I can't wait until he feels both legs moving the way so many of us take for granted.

I can't wait to see him running.

They say he might not necessarily be an athlete, and I don't care one way or the other, but I do know enough about my son to know if he wants to be an athlete, he will be one.

In fact, we've been watching Olympic snowboarding and both kids want Jim to teach them next winter. They're in awe of the fact that he once did a 540, and regularly did 360s. He says it might not be so easy now that a decade has past, but I think he'll surprise himself. I hope we can make this happen next winter.

I'm so grateful to have the fortune that this surgery is even an option.

I'm so grateful to have such amazing and graceful and wise-beyond-their-years children, and so grateful to have such an incredible husband.

I'm grateful to have such amazing friends and family who have been so supportive through all of this, gone to immeasurable extremes to give all of us a little more comfort.

I know this all is so trite, but it is what I feel. I feel so blessed that I don't even know how to process it. I don't even think I deserve to be this lucky, but I'm so thankful that I am.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

No more cast!


As Fancy Nancy says, I am ecstatic.


Sam's cast came off two days early on Monday, February 8. The reasons aren’t exactly great; finally he exploded so far up the back of the cast I knew I couldn’t have gotten all of it. I called first thing Monday morning and was told to bring him right in. As soon as the home health aide and the visiting nurse were on their way out, I was calling Sam’s physical therapist to tell her we couldn’t do PT that day.


Jim and I ended up bringing Maya with us since we had not expected to go Monday to get his spica cast removed. Chris, Jim's mom, was going to come and help us out that Wednesday so Maya wouldn’t have to get dragged on the trip, but we had no choice.


When we saw Sam's pediatric orthopedist, Dr.Albright, he asked when he was set to see Sam. Wednesday, we told him, and suddenly I worried he would just have us wait until then to take the cast off and X-ray Sam, but he sent us right down to get that cast taken off, only three and a half weeks after Sam had surgery to correct coxa vara on his right hip.


(The left hip will be done April 8.)


We stumbled upon the oddly placed and obscure cast room, and everyone seemed confused. Apparently we’d been directed right there instead of to registration. But no matter. Two guys in scrubs came in wielding huge tools. Sam was laying on his back, and getting nervous.


“Iyana?” he cried out at one point, wanting to see his sister, and she came over to him and kissed his knee, and then his arm so he could feel it.


One man held what looked like an old-fashioned vacuum cleaner while the other took what looked like a circular saw and began cutting. It was loud.


Maya hid behind a curtain, peeking out occasionally.


“Please be careful of hurting my brother!” she called out.


I tried not to laugh or cry at that second, but I had to keep petting Sam and telling him it was going to be OK. He was really still and really good for about the first 10 minutes, but when the tech started using sort of reverse pliers to pry the thing open, it started to ache. I could tell he was doing his best not to hurt the cut, but it was impossible.


“Get many of these?” I asked him.


“This is my first one, can you tell?” he asked back. I’d been kidding. He hadn’t necessarily put me at ease. But I'm sort of kidding again, I knew he was fine to remove the cast, I just know it's pretty rare to come across a kid in a body cast.


Finally, he got one large chunk of leg off.


Sam immediately started screaming. Not crying. Full-on screaming -- high pitched, pig-in-a-slaughter-house screaming. As soon as the air hit his skin I saw a rash instantly emerge. Under the tiny red bumps were large peeling scales.


Maya’s eyes were wide and her brows were furrowing and she cried, “Ooh!”


I motioned to Jim to hug her; at this point Sam was clasping both my arms and I was hunched over him in a sort of awkward hug.


The final 10 minutes or so of getting this thing off, I stayed like this, and Sam cried, and Maya almost cried but didn’t. She just looked so concerned, and about 20 years older than she is.


Finally he cracked the rest of the thing off, while Sam screamed. I guess the air hitting that skin really hurt, and the incision had to hurt too.


Finally I was able to lift him off the table, and he seemed so small and frail, like a little snail out of its shell. I had no idea how to hold him so I didn’t put pressure on his incision, but finally worked out a system. He nestled right into me, and I felt the warmth of his whole body against mine, and just drank it in. I had so missed his core next to mine. And I get my Maya snuggles, but she is less likely to stay still these days, and she is getting very big.... and trying to comfort a child post-surgery is much more difficult with this barrier.


We went back up to X-ray, and I just held Sam, and we literally left a trail of white flakey skin that was falling off.


People in the waiting room just looked at him, horrified and wondering what happened to him, and I was thankful to sit next to a little kid, around 10, who just looked right at him, then up to me and asked matter-of-factly, “What happened to him?”


As we chatted, Sam was called for X-rays, and then back into Dr. Albright’s office. He peeled the bandage off the five- or six-inch incision while Sam cried, and then had me help pick off the smaller tape underneath. Hard for him to do with the gloves on, so I used my nail, and a suture caught on one of them, and he screamed.


About an inch of the thing was almost open, filleted. It looked raw, but not red, and Dr. Albright was happy with his progress.


He is making strides, but a week later is not walking. The doctor said it would be three to four weeks, but I’m not so sure. He has said he can’t walk, but we keep telling him he will. He is so happy being out of that thing, and he crawls. Jm asked him a couple days ago if he was going to try and walk, and he said, “Not yet.”


He’s pulling up on chairs and tables. He’s cruising. He has gotten on his riding fire engine and can power it with both legs. He has stood unassisted. Today he is cruising round and round his train table for the very first time.


In a way it’s like watching him learn to walk again. It’s like getting to meet this milestone again, and I guess it will again in May or June. You’d think I wouldn’t be as proud and giddy and excited this time around, but I am. Maya has been really encouraging mostly, and very rarely goes and just takes something from him.


His incision looks much better too, and now Jim has told him he’ll have a cool scar. Jim calls him an X Man. Sam likes that.


We’re trying to catch up on everything that has been neglected, but of course we haven’t, and we took the past three-day weekend to just be ... enjoy each other, relax and revel in the fact that it was just the four of us. After an influx of visitors -- thank God, I don't know what I'd have done without them -- it's nice to just be together. I’ll try to keep the blogs coming to update more frequently.


I can’t express my relief at getting this thing off after just three and a half weeks. I can't even fathom having it on the original prediction of six.


I tried to chronicle a day while he was in the cast, and I’m going to include it here. Of course, I couldn’t finish it. And of course, I left a bunch of stuff out, but I want to paste it here so everyone will understand why they heard so little from me while Sam was in his cast, and just in general.


Some Thursday in early February, I don’t know which one...


8:15 a.m. Jim gets me up. This is wonderful because he’s been up since 5:30 a.m. with Sam, who can no longer sleep. He has (fortunately for me, not so much for him) just spent the last 20 minutes drying Sam’s cast after he had, um, sort of exploded up the back of the cast. This isn’t pretty, but we are obsessive about cleaning it and drying it so he won’t experience “skin break-down.”


8:30 a.m. I have my coffee in hand, and am racing around to get dressed and look as if I have washed my hair in the last three days, which I haven’t. Luckily because my mother-in-law Chris is here, Maya is actually dressed, fed and ready to go. It’s a miracle.


8:45 a.m. I check my email, realizing I have to fire one work-related one off before I’m gone all day.


8:50 a.m. I hoist Sam up and onto the couch so I can change his shirt, wash his face and put some ladies’ small sweat shorts on him. The extra smalls had worked well, but I had bought smalls so I could wear them when he’s done. They are way too big.


8:55 a.m. We should have already left, but I am still struggling to hold Sam with one arm while jamming his arm into his coat pocket. I will need to weigh him tonight just so I actually know how much I’m lifting. Chris is scrambling to make sure Maya has all her winter gear to take to preschool.


8:57 a.m. I run back into the house to get Maya’s bag of winter gear.


9:12 a.m. We park in handicapped parking at Maya’s preschool and I haul Sam’s wheelchair out of the back. I want him to go in today so he can see the kids.


9:20 a.m. Chris and I wheel Sam back to the car and I spend about 20 minutes trying to arrange his wheelchair in the back so it won’t slam against the back window or into his head. Frustrated, I give up and start to drive to Trader Joe’s.


9:42 a.m. I pull over at Blockbuster to hoist the wheelchair back out and try again, as it is slamming against the back window.


10:15 a.m. We arrive at Trader Joe’s and I hoist the chair back out, set it up, and then hoist Sam out of the car and try to arrange him in the chair.


10:45 a.m. Hoist Sam back into the car, collapse the chair and hoist it back into the car before spending another 15 minutes arranging it just so in the back of my RAV, and pile the groceries around it.


11:15 a.m. Pull into Target parking lot so I can run in for extra-small shorts while Chris waits in the car with Sam, but he says he wants to go in. I acquiesce and move the car to handicapped parking and start the hoisting process all over again.


11:45 a.m. I spend too much money at Target on toys and DVDs, which is dumb because I still have boxes of unopened toys in my bedroom. I try to force the chair in on top of the groceries, and have to remove the chair and the groceries and start all over again.


12:03 p.m. I pull into a parking lot near Target to take everything out and start over again. I think I have a system now.


12:15 p.m. I try to feed Sam lunch, but he’s so tired and cranky he does not eat. I have completely overdone it with him today. I change his diaper and blow dry his cast with a cool hair dryer, and put him to bed.


1:30 p.m. I get an email saying my 2 p.m. phone interview with the CEO of an engine manufacturer is cancelled, so I send an email to another source while Sam is asleep, the CEO of a boatbuilder, who calls me back around 2 p.m.


2:02 p.m. Sam wakes up and is terribly upset. He wants cheesy popcorn but only wants me to get it for him. I cradle the phone on my shoulder, trying to absorb the statistics on boat exports for a story I’m writing, and rush to get him his popcorn.


2:15 p.m. Repeat above.


2:25 p.m. Repeat above.


2:35 p.m. Chris comes and whispers would I like her to pick Maya up from school. At this point I have given Sam the whole bag of popcorn, but am still on my interview. I whisper to her that I will go just as soon as I’m done with my interview. I am typing the CEO’s comments the whole time.


2:45 p.m. Continue interviewing my source, even though I know I am supposed have left to pick Maya up from school.


2:50 p.m. Hang up the phone after thanking the CEO for his time, race out the door without a coat to get Maya, and dial my editor while driving.


3:07 p.m. Hug Maya.


3:20 p.m. Arrive home with Maya, and Chris informs me that Sam has pooped. Since Jim and I are the only ones who can lift him, I hoist him out of his spica chair and take him back to change his diaper.


3:22 p.m. I cannot find the maxi pads that I use to line his size 1 newborn diapers that we tuck inside his spica cast. After much scrambling, I find one and begin the blowdrying process. Sam is not happy about this. I tuck in the small diaper and maxi, and locate a size 6 diaper to wrap around the whole thing.


3:45 p.m. I help Maya do the Hello Kitty puzzle I got her while Sam puts together his new Cars puzzle.


4 p.m. T.V. I love T.V.


5 p.m. Try to decide what we’ll have for dinner. I decide to make a broccoli casserole and wild rice to go with the delicious chicken Chris made and brought.


5:15 p.m. Bring drinks to the kids, and peel them some bananas.


6 p.m. Scramble to get the casserole made after prepping the rice. Then it occurs to me that the kids won’t eat the chicken with tomatoes and mushrooms, so I poke around the freezer for an easy protein.


6:15 p.m. Assemble the casserole.


6:45 p.m. Realize I should have already started the rice, and the breaded haddock for the kids takes 30 minutes. There’s no way this dinner is getting ready before 7:30. As I set to begin catching up, Sam needs his diaper change, so I stop everything to change it and blow-dry his cast. This takes 30 minutes.


7:15 p.m. Kids are starving, so I wash Maya an apple while Chris cuts up a pear for Sam. We give them gifts she brought to distract them, a puzzle for Sam and modeling clay for Maya.


7:30 p.m. The rice is not done at all. The directions are crap, apparently.


7:45 p.m. I ask Maya to wash her hands, and struggle to get Sam’s hands wiped with a Wet One while he boxes me.


8 p.m. We are finally eating.



All this being said, and while I’m not looking forward to the next surgery, I am dreading it much less than the last one. We know much more this time, know how to handle and treat his pain and everything else... And in hindsight, it doesn't seem like a long time. It feels like he's been out of that thing forever. He is asking when he'll walk again, and I do feel really bad putting him right back through this again after he gets his legs back, but I don't want him in that spica in the summertime. If he was uncomfortable in winter, I can't imagine August.


Soon this will all be over!