Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Tonight! On Bedtime Confessional...
*Medium escapes unscathed...
*Small is caught in a lie...
*and Large is discovered to be a criminal mastermind.
I went upstairs to see what the bedtime-readiness status was of the Fries.
~Small scrubbing the bathroom counter with her nearly-new toothbrush. Using liquid soap.
~Small had escaped the Berlin Wall and gone into our bedroom to find pajamas (the Fries are not allowed to go in our room because they will a) play, b) steal things from our room, c) make messes that they do not clean up, and d) wreak havoc upon our belongings), rather than getting some from her own room.
~Small had gotten out her generic play-doh (RED, of course) to play with in her room, and the container was still empty. Never a good sign. (Play-doh is forbidden in bedrooms or anywhere with carpet for good reason.) Upon inquiry, the play-doh was found taking a bath in a small plastic tub designed for small plastic dolls...and hidden under Small's bed. I took the whole mess and put it on the bathroom counter to deal with later.
~After being fetched twice during the night regarding the mysteriously darkened nightlight in the twins' room (switched off the first time; bulb permanently disabled the second time), I decided I needed to question both Medium and Small as to who was getting out of bed during the night just to turn the light off. I knew it couldn't be Medium; she's the one who complained about it being "too dahwrk." Small insisted upon her innocence. About then, Hubby came home, and took over as Chief Inquisitor. (He's better at it than I am.) When Small continues to profess innocence, Hubby removes her to our bedroom for further questioning.
~Being a (justifiably) suspicious sort, and since this is not my first rodeo, I decided it would behoove me to check under Small's bed for further contraband. (Mind you, I'm only three weeks post-op and still tethered to an IV bag 24/7, which is thankfully stashed in a zippered pouch that I can carry around. No pole required.) Hellloooo there, small pumpkin acquired during the twins' first grade field trip to the pumpkin farm. Hello again, used nighttime pull-up that got hidden under the bed because Small didn't want to take it downstairs to throw it away. I tossed the pull-up out into the room behind me and went to lift the pumpkin by the stem...which gave way, and slimy pumpkin seeds dropped on the carpeting. Now, due to my medical misadventures and Hubby having to be everything around here, pumpkin-carving (a favorite Halloween activity around here) got the boot this year. We just couldn't do it. Trick-or-treating was last week as it was, and Hubby is still in danger of burning his end at both candles. We recycled costumes from last year because we didn't have the time, inclination, or ability to do anything different. But I digress...the pumpkin. I hauled it out from under the bed, grabbing George (my IV pack) and retreating out from under the bed. I pulled off the pumpkin's "hat," returned the seeds to from whence they came (mostly), and checked: yup, only a lobotomy incision. Innards were left alone. The surgeon was clearly a hack. I stormed down the hall and shoved the pumpkin in Small's face. "Did you do this?" I growled. Small nodded hesitantly. Hubby fetched the pumpkin from my hands, determined that fascial surgery had been attempted, and leveled his gaze on Small. "Well?" Small met his gaze (barely). Her lip quivered. "Large did it fuwrst!" Hubby sighed. "I can believe that, because you don't have the dexterity for this yet."
~I went to Large's room. "Where's your pumpkin?" She scurried to get it. Her pumpkin had been carefully tied up (triple-knotted) in an old Wallyworld plastic bag. I untied it and confirmed yet more amateur surgery. I marched both her and skull-jacked gourd into the bedroom to face Hubby.
After relating events to my mother-in-law, who's visiting with us this week to play chauffeur for me and to help out (I still have very little wrist strength and low flexion), I went back upstairs to make sure one of the sharp knives was not being squirreled away in a Fry bedroom (like my stapler was last week). Both Small and Large were focused on me when Hubby facepalmed after relating that, no, there was no sharp knife lurking about upstairs (I still feel the urge to move my knifeblock to Mars), because operations had been conducted with a table knife. (I was still chuckling about that when I got back downstairs some minutes later and related it to my mother-in-law.) Hubby was concluding business with Small, sent Large to her room to await further discussion on other matters, and he advised me to go have a listen to this:
The subtitles make it funnier, honestly. (You may have to watch it directly on YouTube. It's worth it.)
I'm dying by the time the subtitles read, "Non lo so!"
And then I watched this, and realized—between the content of both—why my sadistic parents are always smiling when they come to my house.
Not too long ago, I spotted something at Walton's Market and More that I decided I needed to have: a home otoscope. Small has had tubes in her ears, and I figured having this (and the handy included chart showing what an infected middle ear looks like) would be beneficial for more reasons than just the tubes. That way, I can check first before rushing off to the clinic for ear issues.
So. The nurse had recommended some drops to help eliminate the wax buildup in Large's ears. I chose to treat that. Remembering that my other two were little wax machines (I had to test out my new toy when I got it home, you know), I checked their ears as well. Small sees her ENT next week, so I wasn't going to mess around with that. Medium came over and sat next to me on the couch.
I thought her pants looked a little snug, so I pulled back on her waistband to check the size of her jeans.
"Medium," I exclaimed, "where are your panties?"
"I fohwrgot to put them on."
Yes, ladies and gents, my six-year-old girl has been running around all day today...
Monday, October 21, 2013
Hubby [collapsed on the hall floor, with Medium rubbing his shoulders and Small standing on his back]: It's walk on my back, not dance on my back!
Small giggled and jumped down...over Hubby's head.
Medium leaned against Hubby's belly.
Hubby: Oh, you don't want to do that!
Hubby [pointing his index finger at Small]: Pull my finger.
Small grabbed his finger and tugged.
Hubby: Oh, wait, I lost it.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
...kicked those sheets downstairs to be laundered.
...been ferried to the specialist's for yet another follow-up appointment. (Just leaking synovial fluid, not anything that screams infection.)
...done countless stretches of the ligaments and tendons over the knuckles in my right hand, to loosen them up. Same with stretches of the wrist. Holding for 20 seconds is brutal, but just stretching and relaxing the joint tension doesn't do as much good.
...eaten lunch left-handed.
...operated a computer mouse left-handed.
...started typing again (and my pinky finger does not like stretching to reach the furthest keys).
...put the fitted sheet on the bed.
Aren't you proud?
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
I, having overdone it today, am currently resting in bed. Medium snivels, sniffs, and sulks into the master bath, plastic bags in hand. It appears she's drawn the chore of emptying the small trash cans.
Me: What's wrong?
Me: Why are you crying?
Medium: I jus' tol' you. Nothing!
I almost pointed out that she was talking to the Queen of Nothing, but managed to refrain.
Me: Then why are you mad?
Medium: I don't wanna talk about it. It's only about me. It doesn't have to do with anyone else!
Me (texting Hubby): Okay.
Silence ensues for a moment as Medium struggles with the trash can.
Me: What did you say?
Medium (with the same frustration as before): Damn!
Me: We don't use that word. Have you been hearing kids at school say that?
Me: Well, we don't say that here.
Medium: I forgot!
Me: Where have you been hearing it?
Medium: Stawr Twek.
Now I know she hasn't really forgotten, because we had this same conversation several months ago, almost verbatim, and that was about the time Hubby stopped letting the kids watch ST:TNG with him. Medium's memory rivals an elephant's.
Me: Ah. Don't use it again.
And I left it at that. There was no need to take it further.
The plastic grocery bags rustled.
Medium: It's dese twrash cans dat awre the pwroblem!
Medium: It's my chohwres! I don't wanna hafta do chohwres! I don't wanna gwrow up! I just wanna die!
Me (mildly): Then thank goodness you're only six.
Medium: No, it's not dat!
Me: Not what?
Medium: What you just said!
Me: You're only six, thank goodness?
Medium: It's not thank goodness! I don't like chohwres! An' then when I'm done...
Gramma (from the hallway): I have a project I need little girls to help with!
Medium: ...I'm gonna go to my room!
Me: If you want to go to your room and sulk when you're done rather than help Gramma, that's your decision.
Hubby walked in after Medium left and his text response chimed in.
Hubby: She wanted to go play with Gramma rather than do her one chore.
By show of hands, who here was not surprised that Medium popped back into the bedroom a few minutes later, all smiles?
Medium: Momma, how many twrash cans do we haff in the house?
While I thought (12, if you're interested), Medium took the opportunity to ambush love on Mika. She grabbed him and squeezed him in a tight but gentle body hug.
Medium: You'wre just so cute, yes, you awre! You're sooooo soft!
She looked at me.
Medium: I love Mika.
And that, ladies and gents, is about how it is here... All. The. Time.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
I came home from the hospital yesterday, and I've reclaimed the oversized chair in the living room as my recuperation station.
I was contemplating how close I am to the next dose of pain meds when Small Fry popped into the living room. "Hi, Mama!"
I smiled at her.
"Wewre you sleeping?"
I shook my head.
"Do you know what I'm gonna do at bedtime tonight? I'm gonna pway fowr you to feel bettewr!"
My heart went all gooshy.
"An' I'm gonna pway fohwr you now, befowre I go back outside to play. Is that okay?" She placed her little hand over mine.
Oh, of course!
"Help Mama's hand..."
"Say 'Dear God,' so he knows you're talking to him," I whispered.
"Deawr God, please help Mama's hand to feel all bettewr so she doesn't huhwrt anymore. Amen." She gave my hand a little squeeze.
I smiled. "Thank you, honey."
"I love you!" she chirped, and scooted outside to play.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
DObservations of the day, brought to you by Meredith Hospital, some 40ish miles south by southeast of Casa De Fries.
*Yes, I said day 2. I was in too much pain yesterday to even think about it.
*In the interest of full partial disclosure, I spent over 7 hours in the semi-local ER on Sunday, trying to convince them that, legitimately, Vicodin 5/325 was barely taking the edge off the severity of the pain, I thought the Myronectomy site was infected, and nearly cried when I realized I'd been sent home with a script for only ten Percocet pills...which do not work as well as Vicodin for me. Initial blood work showed there was the possibility of infection. To help support and provide pain relief, they clamped a half-cast splint over the most painfully swollen part of my hand and wrapped me up like a mummy. I was sent home with orders to see my surgeon on Monday.
*Which, of course, I knew was one of his OR days. I must have sounded pitiful enough and the words "ER visit due to severe pain [which I still have], and they told me to get an appointment with Dr. M today" were enough to convince them to squeeze me in between surgeries.
*I won't tell you how much I cried on the way down here. Or while in the waiting room. Or in the exam room.
*Dr. M asked what I'd done since Tuesday to cause such swelling. He thought it was most probably cellulitis, and I had the options of coming back daily to be checked out...or being admitted to the local hospital. You know which I chose.
*Wisely, as it turned out. There was nasty goop leaking out this morning. Back to the OR! That makes this my fourth surgical procedure this year.
*Betadine makes my thumb look like it's been playing in a dark pumpkin.
*Hot flashes that decry their name by lasting for nearly half an hour are not fun when experienced in post-anesthesia care. But surprising the PAC nurses was fun.
*I know Hubby was worried about me and was thus cracking jokes about me to cover for it. In another five years, I'll probably think it was sweet. I was cranky after I got back to my room.
*I have a room in the baby wing! This means I also have a private room. Hubby fell in love with the recliner in here. He wants one for Father's Day.
*The food is surprisingly palatable.
*I've needed much less pain medicine post-op than I needed pre-op.
*I've determined that people fall into three camps when it comes to ice: More Ice Than Drink, Happy Medium, and Away From Me You Frozen Cubes. Hubby and I dwell in different parts of the spectrum of the third group. My mother is on the high end of the first. And, apparently, so is my nurse tonight. She brought me some pills, and I asked for more ginger ale to swallow them with. When I tried to suck on the straw in order to do that very thing, I had the worst time getting enough liquid to swallow. It was like trying to swallow pills with a thick slushy. So much ice. So little ginger ale. I was afraid I wasn't going to get them down.
*All of the machines here are so musical! The IV chirps like a teeny, tiny baby cricket. The BP chimes a very pretty chord. It's so fun. It might be due to the ward I'm on, but I don't care. I love it.
*The Fries do not like this separation from Mommy. And I'll be here until Friday. Ish.
*Dr. M says there was definitely cellulitis in there, which was responding to treatment. The oozy yuck was definitely staph of some kind, and he's bringing in an infectious disease specialist. Dr. M. Ali...the same infectious disease specialist called in to consult on my nasty pneumonia three and a half years ago.