Marissa came home from school the other day with a gem in hand. Apparently her encounter with school lunch that day left enough of a putrid impression to inspire an ode. I share it with her permission.
September 15, 2011
The lunch today
almost made me cry.
It was so horrifying.
It even came alive.
The spaghetti smacked Alanna.
The salad gulped up Bridget.
It kinda made me eat it.
But instead I threw up in it.
It was very, very gross.
My mom made toast.
And that was so much better
than today's school lunch.
On the topic of Marissa, I got one of those phone calls from the school office yesterday that no parent wants to receive. Marissa had run into another student's head and split open her forehead. I zipped up to the school and checked her out. I didn't get a good look at the wound because the office assistants had taped it up, but they assured me it was deep. I called the doctor from the school thinking we could drive right over, but the doctors were all at lunch. So we set an appointment and went home to wait. Marissa was a trooper the whole time and expressed her concern for the younger kids she walks home with after school. I told her not to worry about them, that we just needed to take care of her for now. At the doctor's office, they took the tape off her cut. Initially it just looked like a narrow little thing, but then the nurse started to clean it, and it just gushed open. In the end, she needed three stitches inside the gash and 9 on the surface. It contours her eyebrow, so hopefully the scar won't be too noticeable as it heals. But it was a doozy. Now her eye is a bit purple and swollen and she has to wear a bandage until the stitches come out. My poor, pretty girl. Yeow!
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Funnies
A couple of recent quotables from Aiden . . .
We were discussing the reason we get baptized and trying to gauge Aiden's understanding, so we asked, "Why did Jesus get baptized? How many sins did he have?"
His answer: "I don't know. Five?"
Guess we have a little more teaching to do.
We were discussing the reason we get baptized and trying to gauge Aiden's understanding, so we asked, "Why did Jesus get baptized? How many sins did he have?"
His answer: "I don't know. Five?"
Guess we have a little more teaching to do.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Jeremy was telling me the names of his golfing buddies for an upcoming outing and said, "Justin Peterson will be there."
Aiden's eyes popped open and he said, "Justin Beaver?!? Justin Beaver's son?"
Ha, ha, ha! I laughed and corrected, "It's Justin Bieber."
Aiden: "He's going with Justin Bieber's son?"
Um, no.
Jeremy was telling me the names of his golfing buddies for an upcoming outing and said, "Justin Peterson will be there."
Aiden's eyes popped open and he said, "Justin Beaver?!? Justin Beaver's son?"
Ha, ha, ha! I laughed and corrected, "It's Justin Bieber."
Aiden: "He's going with Justin Bieber's son?"
Um, no.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Proof of Affection
Jeremy likes to tease that I must not love my children very much since I didn't post their back-to-school pictures on my Facebook wall. I beg to differ. It's just a symptom of my conflicted relationship with social media. But since I do love my children and like to show them off a little, here they are on their first days of school.
Caleb, 7th grader
Marissa, 5th grader
Aiden, 2nd grader
Morgan, preschooler
Have you noticed how the first day of school marks the passage of time more than most things? While I held myself together better this year than last after sending these sweet pieces of my soul away, I look at these pictures and feel gentle twinges in my heart. I guess even at my age I'm bound to have a few growing pains.
Caleb, 7th grader
Marissa, 5th grader
Aiden, 2nd grader
Morgan, preschooler
Have you noticed how the first day of school marks the passage of time more than most things? While I held myself together better this year than last after sending these sweet pieces of my soul away, I look at these pictures and feel gentle twinges in my heart. I guess even at my age I'm bound to have a few growing pains.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Digestive System Fail
This is one of those [more than sufficiently long] ramblings that is more for my memory's sake than anything else. But for those curious and non-squeamish types, feel free to read on.
I can't pinpoint a date when I started having pain in my stomach, so sometime in the last four years I began having mild to major pain in the upper center part of my tummy. Usually it just annoyed me, but every now and then I would feel so sick that I could hardly get out of bed. I'd feel nauseated and get weak and lightheaded and sweaty. I couldn't seem to find a remedy, either. Of course, I'm not much of a seeker of medical attention, so I waited until my annual physical last fall to ask my doctor what might be wrong with me. He ordered an ultrasound to look at things and sent me on my way. The ultrasound revealed that -voila!- everything was normal.
Talking to the doctor again, he suggested I get a HIDA scan done. I scheduled it, but after consulting with my health insurance people and finding out how much those fandangled tests cost, I decided to forgo. No stomachache deserves that much attention and financial gratification was my opinion, especially at the end of the year when we hadn't paid hardly a cent toward our deductible. So I persevered.
The new year brought what seemed to be a worsening of my symptoms, so I revisited the idea of further testing. Then when we had some changes to our health insurance which would raise our deductible considerably, we decided it would be best to go for it before the changes became effective. My doctor worked his magic to rush the orders before the deadline, which was about 2 weeks away.
The HIDA scan came next. The procedure for this test consisted of getting an IV through which some radioactive dye was sent that lit up the gallbladder while I lay under a big x-ray machine for a couple of hours. This was about as bad as it sounds. The IV and dye didn't bother me [although I'm not generally a big fan of sending radioactive products coursing through my body], but lying still on a hard, narrow table for that long about did me in. I brought along my current book club read [which I think was The Brother's Karamozov -- oi! I needed something much more diverting], but holding my arms above my head and avoiding all the contraptions was not so fun. After the gallbladder was sufficiently visible the technician added some hormone to the IV that made the gallbladder contract so they could view if it was properly dispensing it's juice. Upon observation, the conclusion came back... Normal!
Next came the CT scan. Of all the procedures, this was my least favorite. It was quick, which I appreciated, but whatever junk they stuck in my veins I felt certain was going to kill me. The technician warned me I'd experience some sensations such as feeling very warm and like I was going to wet my pants. Nice, huh? So they started the IV and told me to follow the instructions the machine would issue. "Breathe in ... Hold your breath ... Breathe out." It started out all right, but as the contrast spread through my body, I got horribly hot. I began feeling a little bit panicky. I have no idea what a heart attack feels like, but that's what I imagined as my whole center heated up and felt compressed. And I truly thought I would wet my pants. So weird, and utterly unpleasant. Fortunately, it was over in a timely manner and my pants stayed dry. I left the hospital and decided to run a few errands before heading home.
Here's where the fun began. I arrived home to a very disturbed husband. I think his first sentence to me was, "I'm getting you a cell phone!" [Yep, I'm one of the 13 people in the US who does not yet have a cell phone.] Apparently, immediately after I left the hospital, the radiologist called to say that I needed to either go to the emergency room or to my OB/GYN right away. The scan showed that my IUD had ruptured the wall of my uterus and needed to be removed promptly. Jeremy took the liberty of scheduling an appointment with my doctor, so we went to investigate the matter. Now it turns out I had just been to see the midwife at this same office to determine the cause of some other pain I'd been having. She had ordered an ultrasound which showed some ovarian cysts. Nothing too worrisome. So the doctor took another look at the ultrasound and declared the IUD to be in exactly the right place. He called the radiologist, who stuck to his determination that there was a serious problem. My doctor seemed unconvinced, since I didn't have signs of infection, but he also couldn't argue with what the radiologist said he saw. So he removed the IUD prepared to send me into surgery if it was indeed ruptured through the uterus. But, as seems to be a theme here, everything appeared normal. He sent me home with some antibiotics, just in case, but still sure that everything was just fine.
Test #4: Endoscopy. Actually, it had a much longer and more impressive sounding name, but I'd have to go find the paperwork to write it all down. For this one I would be sedated and the surgeon would stick a camera down my throat to take a look at my insides. I was a little nervous about being knocked out. But it ended up being the best part. I remember them hooking me up to the IV. They put something in my mouth so I couldn't bite down. It also made it so I couldn't talk. My arm started to hurt where the IV was placed, so I thought I would take the thing out of my mouth and ask if that was normal, but I couldn't do it and then I was asleep. When I woke up I was so disappointed. I'd been having the best, most restful nap ever. I wanted so badly to stay put. The surgeon came in and showed me some pictures of my small intestines and began explaining that the little teensy lesions I saw were either caused from celiac disease or from ibuprofen use. Of course, my brain was a little foggy still and I couldn't get over the fact that I had pictures of my gut. Cool! He ordered a blood test and said they'd taken a biopsy to rule out celiac disease. Jeremy walked me to the lab for the blood test, and then we left to go curtain shopping. The doctors had instructed me not to make any major decisions for 24 hours after the sedation, but I'm happy to say I still like the drapery I picked out in my altered state.
I spent an anxious few days thinking of all the things I would miss if the celiac diagnosis was confirmed. And, naturally, I ate as many of them as I could. I thank my lucky stars that the tests came back normal. Which meant I was having a disastrous reaction to ibuprofen. I've steered clear since then and am pleased to report I have mostly felt much better. I still get minor stomachaches from time to time. But I haven't had any severe problems for a few months. Still, I think the best part of the whole thing was getting a picture of my tummy from the inside. It's so fascinating. If this sort of thing bothers you, you can't say I didn't warn you. Look away!
I can't pinpoint a date when I started having pain in my stomach, so sometime in the last four years I began having mild to major pain in the upper center part of my tummy. Usually it just annoyed me, but every now and then I would feel so sick that I could hardly get out of bed. I'd feel nauseated and get weak and lightheaded and sweaty. I couldn't seem to find a remedy, either. Of course, I'm not much of a seeker of medical attention, so I waited until my annual physical last fall to ask my doctor what might be wrong with me. He ordered an ultrasound to look at things and sent me on my way. The ultrasound revealed that -voila!- everything was normal.
Talking to the doctor again, he suggested I get a HIDA scan done. I scheduled it, but after consulting with my health insurance people and finding out how much those fandangled tests cost, I decided to forgo. No stomachache deserves that much attention and financial gratification was my opinion, especially at the end of the year when we hadn't paid hardly a cent toward our deductible. So I persevered.
The new year brought what seemed to be a worsening of my symptoms, so I revisited the idea of further testing. Then when we had some changes to our health insurance which would raise our deductible considerably, we decided it would be best to go for it before the changes became effective. My doctor worked his magic to rush the orders before the deadline, which was about 2 weeks away.
The HIDA scan came next. The procedure for this test consisted of getting an IV through which some radioactive dye was sent that lit up the gallbladder while I lay under a big x-ray machine for a couple of hours. This was about as bad as it sounds. The IV and dye didn't bother me [although I'm not generally a big fan of sending radioactive products coursing through my body], but lying still on a hard, narrow table for that long about did me in. I brought along my current book club read [which I think was The Brother's Karamozov -- oi! I needed something much more diverting], but holding my arms above my head and avoiding all the contraptions was not so fun. After the gallbladder was sufficiently visible the technician added some hormone to the IV that made the gallbladder contract so they could view if it was properly dispensing it's juice. Upon observation, the conclusion came back... Normal!
Next came the CT scan. Of all the procedures, this was my least favorite. It was quick, which I appreciated, but whatever junk they stuck in my veins I felt certain was going to kill me. The technician warned me I'd experience some sensations such as feeling very warm and like I was going to wet my pants. Nice, huh? So they started the IV and told me to follow the instructions the machine would issue. "Breathe in ... Hold your breath ... Breathe out." It started out all right, but as the contrast spread through my body, I got horribly hot. I began feeling a little bit panicky. I have no idea what a heart attack feels like, but that's what I imagined as my whole center heated up and felt compressed. And I truly thought I would wet my pants. So weird, and utterly unpleasant. Fortunately, it was over in a timely manner and my pants stayed dry. I left the hospital and decided to run a few errands before heading home.
Here's where the fun began. I arrived home to a very disturbed husband. I think his first sentence to me was, "I'm getting you a cell phone!" [Yep, I'm one of the 13 people in the US who does not yet have a cell phone.] Apparently, immediately after I left the hospital, the radiologist called to say that I needed to either go to the emergency room or to my OB/GYN right away. The scan showed that my IUD had ruptured the wall of my uterus and needed to be removed promptly. Jeremy took the liberty of scheduling an appointment with my doctor, so we went to investigate the matter. Now it turns out I had just been to see the midwife at this same office to determine the cause of some other pain I'd been having. She had ordered an ultrasound which showed some ovarian cysts. Nothing too worrisome. So the doctor took another look at the ultrasound and declared the IUD to be in exactly the right place. He called the radiologist, who stuck to his determination that there was a serious problem. My doctor seemed unconvinced, since I didn't have signs of infection, but he also couldn't argue with what the radiologist said he saw. So he removed the IUD prepared to send me into surgery if it was indeed ruptured through the uterus. But, as seems to be a theme here, everything appeared normal. He sent me home with some antibiotics, just in case, but still sure that everything was just fine.
Test #4: Endoscopy. Actually, it had a much longer and more impressive sounding name, but I'd have to go find the paperwork to write it all down. For this one I would be sedated and the surgeon would stick a camera down my throat to take a look at my insides. I was a little nervous about being knocked out. But it ended up being the best part. I remember them hooking me up to the IV. They put something in my mouth so I couldn't bite down. It also made it so I couldn't talk. My arm started to hurt where the IV was placed, so I thought I would take the thing out of my mouth and ask if that was normal, but I couldn't do it and then I was asleep. When I woke up I was so disappointed. I'd been having the best, most restful nap ever. I wanted so badly to stay put. The surgeon came in and showed me some pictures of my small intestines and began explaining that the little teensy lesions I saw were either caused from celiac disease or from ibuprofen use. Of course, my brain was a little foggy still and I couldn't get over the fact that I had pictures of my gut. Cool! He ordered a blood test and said they'd taken a biopsy to rule out celiac disease. Jeremy walked me to the lab for the blood test, and then we left to go curtain shopping. The doctors had instructed me not to make any major decisions for 24 hours after the sedation, but I'm happy to say I still like the drapery I picked out in my altered state.
I spent an anxious few days thinking of all the things I would miss if the celiac diagnosis was confirmed. And, naturally, I ate as many of them as I could. I thank my lucky stars that the tests came back normal. Which meant I was having a disastrous reaction to ibuprofen. I've steered clear since then and am pleased to report I have mostly felt much better. I still get minor stomachaches from time to time. But I haven't had any severe problems for a few months. Still, I think the best part of the whole thing was getting a picture of my tummy from the inside. It's so fascinating. If this sort of thing bothers you, you can't say I didn't warn you. Look away!
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