On Monday, thanks to the insistence of an amazing friend, I escaped the house with the kids for the day. She knew that I was struggling with the anniversary of mom’s death and really needed to just take a break from the norm as a distraction. I am glad I accepted and listened to her forceful advice. It was definitely the best thing for me.

So off we went to Frontiertown for a couple of hours. The kids had a ball checking out the Wild West Theme Park, then we hit up the water park to cool off and float around the lazy river. See how much they enjoyed their day:

Busted...

Saving us from the train robbers!

Dancing at the Powwow

Everybody JUMP!

Floating away on a raft

K is in love with the water park

D's face says it all...

When we came home, drained from the sun and bellies full of pizza, I exhaustedly crawled in bed with the kids. D fell straight to sleep, but K wanted to stay up and chat for awhile. We talked about what we saw and did, reliving the day in our minds.

I asked him what his favorite part of the day had been and he looked me straight in the eye and said “Cuddling in bed with you.” I melted into a puddle of mush. I love my sweet little man.

What was the sweetest thing your kids have ever said to you?

Last year was my first Blogher experience and it was my first ever blogging conference. While it was simply one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I came home with even closer relationships with some of my favorite people online, I know I made some major rookie mistakes that if I had been able to avoid, it would have been even better.

Make plans with friends. My first mistake last year was thinking “Oh, we’re all going to be in the same place. I’ll be able to find all of my friends and chat, no problem!” WRONG!!! Blogher. Is. HUGE. There are a couple thousand people milling around. While I got the chance to hang out and say hi to many of my friends, there were some that I never even laid eyes on the entire weekend. Make a list of your must-see people, get their cell numbers and text or call them while you’re there to make sure that you don’t miss the connection. (I still need to do that for this year…if you want to catch up with me, please email me your cell!)

Make a tentative schedule but be flexible. I think this has been one of the points I have heard reiterated by everyone who has written a Blogher prep post and likely one of the most important. Blogher is a whirlwind of activity, from sessions to official events to off-site, unofficial parties. Anyone, whether on the big time invite lists or not, can create a schedule that will keep them busy from sun up until the wee hours of the morning. Scheduling is a GOOD thing, but be prepared to ditch the master plan in favor of some downtime with an old (or new) friend. You’ll thank yourself for it later.

Don’t even TRY to do everything you schedule. I already know I have planned more than I will be able to do. I’m going to try to do everything that I really want to, but am also going to be on the lookout for my body’s signals telling me that I’m about to hit a wall and stop for some downtime. You aren’t going to end up on anyone’s blacklist if you’re just too tired to attend another party or if you skip a session or two. One of my favorite times from last year was when I simply got overwhelmed and found a good friend or two to go and have dinner with. It gave me a few minutes to process everything that was going on, recharge my batteries and simply enjoy good company.

Stop worrying. While I am sure there are a handful of judgmental people who are sitting around analyzing the fact that I am wearing a pair of cute flip flops with my jeans during the day, the people who really matter are the friends who I am going to Blogher to connect with. They would rather see me smiling in flip flops than hobbling around in pain because the plates in my ankle can’t take stilettos. Your friends won’t be judgy and if they are? Maybe it’s time to reconsider who you’re hanging with…come hang with me. I honestly don’t care whether you had time for a haircut or if all your “good” clothes have spit-up stains.

Don’t overanalyze things, yourself. I don’t think anyone has made this point better than Cecily. It’s not always about YOU. The Blogher experience can be overwhelming for anyone, people still have bad days, social issues and other things that could easily create hurt feelings by someone overanalyzing their reactions. If you have a poor interaction, chalk it up to someone having an off moment and move on. For instance, if you talk to me regularly and I have to read your badge to figure out who you are, please don’t be offended. In a situation as big as Blogher, I am out of my element and occasionally a little distant and foggy-brained. I don’t love you any less, my thoughts are just in six places at once – trying to file information from sessions, thinking about what my kids are doing and missing them, trying to figure out where I’m headed next, trying to remember what I know I am forgetting to do…

Above all else, don’t let one incident define your entire experience. Yeah, last year there were loads of negative comments and posts about party crashers, swag whores and other unsavory things. Did these things happen? Yes. Did it ruin the experience for some? Unfortunately. But it doesn’t have to, even if something similar were to occur again. Focus on all the positive things that you are bound to experience and all of those faux pas will seem so trivial by comparison.

So tell me, will I be seeing you in NYC?

It’s been two years since I last saw your face. Seven hundred and thirty days have gone by since I last heard your voice. 1,051,200 minutes since I felt whole.

It’s still hard to believe that life has gone on without you. When I was young, I wondered what life would be like after my parents were gone. I imagined being so much older, with grandkids of my own, when I had to deal with losing you. I didn’t picture myself with babies who would never get the chance to be spoiled by their Grammy. I think that makes the pain even more raw and hard to heal.

The kids are okay, though they miss you and talk about you often. K still goes into your room, when we’re at dad’s and asks where you are. He remembers you and wants to see you. It’s so hard to explain to him why he can’t. D has fewer memories, but shows me pictures and calls you by name.

J handles his grief like the man that he is becoming. I worry sometimes that he holds everything in, but I think that is just his way of coping. He’s never been much for articulating his feelings, much the opposite of me. Dad has done a wonderful job of stepping in and spoiling him in your place, however. (snark)

Dad is another story altogether. I feel like he tries to put on a show for us that he’s doing okay and rebuilding his life, but his eyes tell a different story. He misses you. In ways that none of the rest of us can understand or even attempt to comfort.

Me? Well, I think I’m still in denial. Daily I get the urge to pick up the phone and call you to tell you the cute and funny things the kids are doing. I miss having my best friend to vent to and share exciting events with. We were so close that I feel you here constantly, even though I know you’re so far gone.

I know that you are watching. I hear your voice in my ear, every time I need your strength. It helps, but it isn’t the same. I feel your presence when we’re all together celebrating and when I’m alone, facing difficult things. I just wish I could see your smile outside of a picture frame or feel the comfort of your arms around me when I am struggling.

You are still such a big part of everything that I do and everything that I am. I hope you know just how much I love you. I will never forget the beautiful person that you are and can’t wait until the day that I can see you again.

Love always,

Shannie

This picture defines you and I, mom...and only you know why.

]]> http://www.fromcribstocarkeys.com/2010/07/two-years/feed/ 5 http://www.fromcribstocarkeys.com/2010/07/who-are-these-heathens-and-what-have-they-done-with-my-angels/ http://www.fromcribstocarkeys.com/2010/07/who-are-these-heathens-and-what-have-they-done-with-my-angels/#comments Sun, 25 Jul 2010 14:55:15 +0000 Shannan http://www.fromcribstocarkeys.com/?p=878 I’m the kind of person who needs to wake up in my own good time. Even when I have to wake up to an alarm, I set it a good 15 minutes or so earlier than I actually need to be up, just because I need 15 minutes to get my head in a state where I can at least partially function before I have to actually DO anything. It’s who I am, who I have always been. I dealt with rude awakenings when the kids were tiny, but only because I had no choice. I’d rather wake up fast than listen to someone cry until I was functioning.

Once the kids started sleeping through the night, they seemed to be okay with that part of me. They were content to watch Disney channel or Nick Jr in my bed until I had wiped the sleep from my eyes and remembered my name. I got to start every day with my sweet boys cuddling with me and giggling at their favorite characters. That is, until a few months ago…

I can’t even remember who started it, probably because I wasn’t awake enough at the time to register what was going on. One day, I woke up to a sippy cup being shoved in my face and a tiny voice insisting they wanted a drink NOW. Okay, no problem, rough sleeping night with allergies and a dry throat, maybe? I forced myself out of bed and started the day…I could wake up properly tomorrow.

Only that never happened. In just a single day, our normal morning routine that was so peaceful and quiet turned into a new lifestyle of waking up to chaos. If it’s not screaming insistence that someone’s hungry or thirsty, it’s bickering over a toy or who wants to watch what morning show. Ever try to mediate two bullheaded preschoolers before you’ve had a shot of caffeine for the day? Yeah, it’s not fun.

I tried one day to ignore it and enforce the idea that mommy just needs a minute to get her bearings before getting out of bed, but that resulted in the insistence that a certain four year old could get his OWN drink in the morning. Yeah…no. Bad move. My punishment was cleaning up the juice that overflowed his cup and ran all over the table and floor.

I try to see the silver lining in all of this, because before I know it, they aren’t going to need me to get up with them anymore. Soon they’ll be grown up enough to pour themselves a cup of juice, get a bowl of cereal and entertain themselves for a bit while my brain defogs itself for the day. But when you aren’t awake enough to form a complete sentence, finding that silver lining is tough…plus I really miss my morning cuddles from my sweet little angel boys.

When I was asked if I would like to review the new Tiny Prints business cards, with Blogher right around the corner, I couldn’t say no! My old cards were looking shabby and outdated to me, plus they weren’t of the best quality to begin with. I was definitely in need of an update. I’ve always been a fan of Tiny Prints with their other lines, so had the highest of hopes that their business cards would be just as wonderful as all of their other offerings.

One of the first things I noticed when checking out the available business cards on the site was the great selection they have to offer. It took me ages to decide which one was going to be mine, simply because there were so many that I just loved. In the end, I chose Artistic Arrangement, which allowed me to add my own logo and personalize exactly what I wanted inside.  They have many standard options, customizable cards, plus styles that allow you to upload a logo.

The ordering process was quite easy. Just be sure that if you are adding images or a logo, you pay close attention to the sizes that are recommended for your selected card and are using a high resolution photo.

When I received my cards, I was more than pleased with the end result. The colors look great, the quality of the cardstock is wonderful and I just can’t wait to show them off in NYC! Wanna see?

The front

The inside (Note that I am not a hand model)

Tiny Prints has done a wonderful job of making me look more professional  at conferences, giving me a business card that I will be proud to hand to anyone I meet.

If you need new business cards for upcoming conferences, do yourself a favor and check out all the great options that Tiny Prints has available. Now through August 31st, you can get 30% off your business card order with the code BLOGHER at checkout. Any orders placed after today that are needed in time for the Blogher ’10 conference need to select 2^nd Day Air shipping and rush ordered!

Product was provided by Tiny Prints for this review.

If you know me, you know that last September, our family had a massive curveball thrown at us when my stepson was sent to live with us, with zero notice and no time to prepare for his arrival. Nearly a year later, we’re all semi-adjusted to the changes and know that this was for the best, but sometimes it makes me feel a little strange.

In all of this, I’ve lost my personal space a little. Though I never had my own dedicated office, I did often have the older boys’ room as a place to escape, especially since my mom passed away and J spends a lot of time at my dad’s. Now I have nowhere to call mine, even for a day here and there.

The computer desk with the dinosaur laptop has been taken over by schoolwork and teenage projects. My bedroom isn’t a viable workspace, particularly being that I tend to work into the wee hours of the morning. Yeah, there’s the kitchen table and the couch, but none of them can be called “mine.” I haven’t a single space where I can go in, shut the door and get things done. There’s always someone invading my brain, no matter where I go.

Trying to focus over constant noise and distractions is difficult, especially when you are as ADD as I am. Ya know the dog in “Up”? Every sound and person that comes into the room is a total “Squirrel!” moment for me. My must-do-in-order-to-pay-the-bills list gets done, no matter what, but the really-wanna-do-for-my-own-enjoyment list and hey-this-would-be-cool-to-do list have become so long that I don’t hold much hope for ever seeing them getting shorter. There are so many things that I want and need to do here, on my own blog, that I end up just not having the time or focus for and it frustrates me.

It seems every time I settle into a space, someone else comes along and “needs” that room. I can either deal with the space invasion or gather everything up and move to another room, which is likely already occupied. It sucks. And it’s not fair. I can’t imagine A getting anything done at work with someone playing video games that make the room sound like a war zone, or clanking dishes in the sink while he’s trying to concentrate, or small children begging for something every three minutes. But that’s what I am expected to do, even when there is another adult (or semi-adult) around to help with them.

Sometimes it just feels like no one understands or respects my need to work, yet they are more than happy to use the benefits of my work for their own enjoyment (and to keep the lights on, roof over their head and food in their bellies.)Every now and then, I pitch a fit and get help for a day or two, but it never lasts and always goes back to the same routine.

I know this is a common theme across the WAHM community, but even knowing that others are in the same boat doesn’t make it less frustrating. I just need a place of my own. A place that I can set ground rules that when I am here, it’s work time and I am off the mommy clock for a bit. I’m feeling homeless in my own home right now, and it sucks.

Later in the afternoon, we get to have our first check to be sure that there’s no air in D’s chest, which would clue us in to there being a perforation. The resident told me earlier in the day that if that was clear, they’d start him on liquids, then soft foods, in preparation to go home. By this point, I was starving because I didn’t want to eat in front of him and couldn’t leave him and he wanted something to drink more than anything in the world. The tech told me before we left the room that she couldn’t see anything that looked like air, but the doctors would have to verify to be sure. I was waiting on pins and needles, hoping to be able to give my poor little man a sip of something for his sore little throat.

A couple of hours (yeah, I said hours) later, a new resident comes in to let me know that the xray was clear, but they decided that they want to hold off and do a barium swallow in the morning just to err on the side of caution. So no drinks, no food until he has that done. Great. One of the aides came in and asked if I’d eaten and shooed me out of the room to the cafeteria, promising to watch him like a hawk while I took a break. I stumbled downstairs, found the gift shop and bought him a stuffed Blue’s Clues puppy, then ate a few bites of a chicken sandwich in the cafeteria. I went back upstairs and resumed my post.

I brought myself back a large cup of iced tea to sip through the evening, hiding it behind the curtain, so as not to tempt D with it. Of course, he caught me taking a drink and ended up in hysterics. Just about that time, one of the nurses came in to do vitals and finds the both of us just sobbing all over each other. He was thirsty and confused and upset, while I had simply just broken down. The events of the past 36 hours had just taken their toll and with only about an hour of broken sleep under my belt, it all got to be too much. She called in the GI on-call, to see if there was anything he could do to make the two of us more comfortable, but he couldn’t get the head doctors to change anything and I was a bit beyond consolation due to simply being overwhelmed and exhausted. I think by the time he left, we were all feeling a bit defeated. Eventually, we both settled down and got things back under control.

D had slept quite a bit through the afternoon, so he was wide awake and kinda bored. Dupont has touch screen TV/Computer combos at every bed, so I set him up to play some games online. The kid was a natural. Seriously, he was cruising the web like a pro, to the point the nurses were commenting when they came in to check on him. Yeah, he’s mine, what can I say. I gave him a little sponge bath and turned on Cars again for him and he settled down to sleep for the night, while I tried to get comfortable on the horrendous pull out chair thingy. Once I heard his soft, baby snoring, my body relaxed a bit and I cried myself to sleep.

My peaceful slumber was broken at about 5 AM when we got roommates. These were better than the last set, for sure, though this poor little guy couldn’t seem to keep his IV straight and kept spouting blood all over the place. His mother was pleasant and we chatted a few times throughout the day.

When the residents came around for the morning rounds, ours cheerfully told us that if his swallow went well, he’d eat in the afternoon and go home in the evening. I jumped on the phone and told Adrian to hurry on up, thinking he’d have K in tow. Thankfully, when he walked through the door, he was alone. He’d kept AJ home from school to stay with K, just in case we took a little longer than expected. That’s all we’d need is a bored 4 year old added to the mix. He’d brought me a change of clothes, so I could finally get out of what I’d been wearing for 48 hours straight. I’ve never in my life been so happy to see that man’s face.

I showered, changed and went to the cafeteria to eat, then came back to wait for them to take us down for the barium swallow. When the nurse came in for the 2 o’clock vitals check, I asked what was going on and she informs me that it was scheduled for 4. Umm…what happened to “in the morning?” Ok, whatever. At a little after 4, they come in to take him down for the procedure. Now most people kinda gag at the stuff you have to drink for a barium swallow, but not D. The poor guy was so thirsty, we had to tear the cup away after they’d gotten each image. He actually cried for more when they were done.

Now I had no idea what I was looking for, but I was staring on that screen the whole time they did the swallow, searching for any signs of a leak. Again, they said that it looked good to them, but had to wait for the doctors to review it. *sigh* Here we go again. Back to the room we headed, hoping and praying that we’d be leaving that night.

Around 5, the resident stops in to cheerfully tell me that it looked good, he could start drinking and she’d be back with the head doctor dude in a bit. I’m thinking GREAT! We’re outta here. I’m all happy and smiling and ready to leave. About an hour passes and the resident returns, but this time she has Dr Doom with her and a slightly less cheerful look on her face. We want to wait until morning before we let him go. He can have soft food and liquids tonight, but we want to make sure that he can swallow properly and keep them down. There went the wind out of my sails.

So it’s after 7 o’clock, we’re here and it’s a 2+ hour drive home and back in the morning for A. And quite frankly, I don’t want to be alone again. So I did what any self-respecting mother would do in that situation. I sobbed and begged him to stay. AJ is 15 and babysat his mom’s 4 kids overnight several times, my dad and brother are a phone call and a few minutes drive away. K would be asleep by the time he’d get home anyway and wouldn’t be up by the time he had to leave to come back in the morning. In ordinary circumstances, I’d not have left AJ alone with him all night, but these were far from ordinary circumstances.

So we all ate, slept, got another middle of the night roommate. And in the morning, we get told by the weekend head GI doc that if he eats well, we can be discharged. GREAT! Wonderful! Only, the list of things he WILL eat off the list of things that he CAN eat? Oh, this won’t be good. As I suspected, nothing that I ordered him was anything he wanted to eat. He wanted MY breakfast. So we called the resident back in and I got permission to feed him miniscule pieces of my sausage and pancakes and some cut up blueberries.

Now we wait for discharge papers. In the meantime, I headed back down to the gift shop and came back with massive Thomas the Tank Engine and Spongebob balloons. Those were a huge hit, except for the fact that I didn’t think about having to fit them in the car on the way home…whoops! We almost lost them when we opened the trunk. Finally, at a little after noon, the nurses come in with the discharge papers giving me instructions on how D should eat, what meds he needs to take and MY favorite – the orders to call on Monday to schedule a repeat endoscopy in a month to check for stricture.

It’s been a difficult few weeks since, then. D has slowly been able to add regular foods back into his diet and he doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of stricture (to me, at least). He’s still taking Prevacid daily, to keep him from getting reflux that could do any damage to the burned area and now, on the 23^rd, we go back for the curtain call. And pray that this is the end of the most nightmarish time in our entire lives.

A full team of anesthesiologists and nurses came into the room to take him back. I stood up, kissed my baby’s face a hundred times and told him that I would see him in just a few minutes. As they disappeared from sight, I collapsed into the rocker beside where the bed had stood and sobbed. I barely let family take my children out of my sight, much less total strangers who are going to knock him unconscious and dig around in his body. It was all a little much, even without the surgery fears. The nurse gave me a few minutes to collect myself before ushering me to the surgery waiting area, where the doctors would come out to let me know how things went within a half hour or so. It was the longest 30 minutes known to man. I wished I’d had my phone charger or my laptop, at this point. I was so lonely and desperate for someone to talk to.

I watched other doctors come out and give updates to families in the waiting room, telling them to wait just a few minutes and they’d be called back to recovery. My eyes were locked on the door. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the familiar face of the resident who had first visited us in the emergency room came through the door, alongside the head of the GI department, whom I’d also met before surgery. They stopped a few steps in and signaled me to come back.

My heart dropped to my feet. Why couldn’t they update me in the waiting room like everyone else? What was happening? Horrible thoughts raced through my mind as I crossed the room. What were they about to tell me? The fear must have been apparent on my face as they closed the door of the consultation room. The resident plastered on a smile as she informed me that they’d gotten the battery and they couldn’t see any perforation. “See,” she holds up a cup with a really grimy looking silver disc inside, “Wanna keep it?” Uh no, and quite frankly, I never want to see it again.

I breathed a sigh of relief. But then there was the “But” that I was steeling myself for. There were serious burns inside his esophagus. She pulls out two pages of images from the endoscopic camera. My baby had horrible looking patches of varying colors inside his middle esophagus from the battery eating away at him. (I still have these, but decided they were simply too gross and disturbing to share) He needed to be watched, very closely, for awhile to be sure that nothing opened up and that they didn’t miss a small perforation. Oh and by the way, even if it doesn’t perforate, in a few weeks, he could develop stricture and need further surgery. I think my head may have exploded at this point.

They sent me back out to the waiting room, to be called to recovery when he woke and was ready to be moved to a room. I quickly called A to update him on the situation and to tell him not to come up with K, because I didn’t think we’d be leaving anytime soon. After another agonizing 15 minutes, I was able to go back to be with my baby again. Again, he was a complete trooper. He opened his eyes for a moment and gave me a doped up grin, before falling back off to sleep. At this point, we’d been up for more than 24 hours, though he’d napped several times throughout the ordeal. They wheeled us up to a room where we were to wait out the next few days.

We turn and enter the doorway of the room where D was being placed to meet the snotty little face of a one year old boy who was to be our first roommate. He was in a caged crib, so that he could be left alone and not fall out. The nurse asks me if D is a climber, because she can have one of those brought in for him, as well. NO, no the beds with the lower rails are fine. I’ll be right here with him. I can’t imagine him reacting well to being in a cage.

She goes over a list of things about bathrooms and where to find food and how to order things from food services and I don’t even know what else. All I can think about is “Please, lady. Just shut up and leave. He’s sleeping. I haven’t slept in 28 hours. I need to nap for a few minutes before he wakes up.” She finally finishes and I lay down for a few minutes. And then the fun begins.

The cute little boy in the cage on the other side of the curtain begins hacking. This horrible chesty, barky cough. And here is my child with the raw, open burns in his chest, breathing in whatever he was hacking up. I start getting uncomfortable. Then the little darling’s parents show up, with their cell phones, arguing with a family member about how “These F***in’ doctors need to get their sh*t together and send him home because tomorrow’s his first birthday and they already paid for Chuck E Cheese.” Yeah, cause not losing that Chuck E. Cheese deposit is really important when your infant is hacking up a lung. Charming. Of course, this wakes Dev up. The nurses in hourly to do vitals certainly aren’t enough disruption.

The doctors come in, decide the poor hacky needs a breathing treatment, and then the mother leaves again. Dad stuck around for a bit, chatting loudly and very vulgarly on the phone, setting up a booty call for later that night so he didn’t have to stay in the hospital with “that b*tch” again. Nice. They were meeting in room 211 of the Econolodge, if anyone is interested. He finally gets off the phone and decides that he needs someone to talk to. Being I’m the only person in the room (sorta) able to hold up my end of a conversation, he picks me. And then, he decides that he knows me from somewhere. The next hour is spent with him quizzing me on “Do you know this person, that person? Did you ever hang out here?” Numero uno, my friend, I am at least 10 years older than you. I do not know your friends. When I was out clubbing, you were just potty trained. Numero dos, by the way you act, odds are I wouldn’t give you or any of your friends the time of day anyway. Your kid is sick, in the hospital, show some class. He tires of trying to convince me that we were friends in some alternate reality and leaves again and the baby starts to cry. And the more he cries, the more he coughs. Ohhh boy.

The nurse walks in and I must have looked like I was ready to die, because she decides that they should take the little boy into a treatment room for his breathing treatment. Before they even finish with his treatment, she comes back and tells me another room has opened up and we were happily moved across the hall, where we were treated to several hours of quiet and solitude. We cuddled, watched movies and just rested for awhile.

To be continued…

I’ve always had fairly healthy kids. Sure, we pass colds around and the occasional stomach flu, but no one ever gets sick sick. I think the worst thing that J ever dealt with was a couple of bouts of bronchitis that required a nebulizer treatment or two, not counting his hernia surgery at 4 months old. The two little ones have never even been sick enough to require antibiotics, much less hospitalization and the only time K has ever even seen the inside of a hospital was from a nursemaid’s elbow incident last year.

Until a few weeks ago. In the middle of May, we went through the most frightening, horrifying experience possible. D swallowed a button battery and it could have easily cost him his life.

All of a sudden, one afternoon, he started clutching his belly and doubling over in tears and whining. At first I thought, ”Oh boy, here comes the stomach flu. I’d better throw on a load of towels.” Only the vomiting never came. The diarrhea I was waiting for? No show. Within an hour or so, my spidey senses started tingling and I called A at work and told him that I thought he needed to come home. Something was wrong with D and we may need to take a trip to the ER. With his reactions, I was totally thinking it was his appendix. Thankfully, he knows that I never, ever ask him to come him when the kids are sick and he took me seriously.

He left and came straight home and nothing had changed. I looked from the puny little boy in my lap to my husband and told him that I didn’t feel good about how he was acting and we needed to get him checked out.

So off we went to the ER, with a whiny little man in the backseat. We got in fairly quickly and he immediately vomited all over the bed in the cubicle that we were put in. I thought to myself, oh crap. We just drug him in to the ER for the freakin’ stomach flu. The doctors decided that he needed to stick around and get checked out though, and thank God they did. The next few hours were a whirlwind that turned into a few days of shock and disbelief.

I sobbed when they papoosed my sweet little angel and held him down to start an IV. I nearly vomited when they did a cath for a urine sample. I held back tears of concern when they pushed all over his little belly with the ultrasound machine. He was so brave for such a little man. He would cry when they hurt him, but was so cooperative and trusting. I wished so much that they were doing all of these things to me, instead.

No one could seem to find a source for the problem and since the regular hospital doesn’t have pediatric specialists on staff, they decided that we needed to take a trip to A.I. Dupont Children’s Hospital, about two hours away. I felt deflated. Wait, he threw up. Isn’t this just the flu? But they couldn’t get a good enough view of his appendix and they really felt the need to rule it out because of the pain.

So hubby headed home to stay with the other boys and within a few more hours, D and I were going for an ambulance ride. As soon as we checked in, we were almost immediately taken back into Xray. He laid on the table and followed the nurse’s directions to a T. As we were walking from the room, the Xray tech grabs my arm and asks if he’d swallowed a coin recently. A coin? No? At least not that I know of. “Look at this” she says, pulling me into the little booth. There, in the center of my baby’s chest, was a perfect, white circle. “Looks like a nickel or a quarter to me” she mused. He was tossed back on the table for a couple more views of the offending object and we were sent back to the room to wait for the doctor.

The concern on the face of the GI doctor that came in the room startled me at first. I mean, it was just a coin. It wasn’t obstructing his breathing. It shouldn’t be so bad to get it out, right? Only the xrays were more telling than I’d known. It likely wasn’t a coin. It looked to be a button battery. A button battery? Where in the world could he have gotten that? It happens more often than you think, but it needs to come out and FAST. Oh ok, so when can we get that done and get out of here? Umm, well. He’s going into surgery as soon as we can get the operating room prepped. We’ll remove it endoscopically and see how much damage was done. Damage??? Wait, what?

You know those little batteries that power small toys, remotes, kids books, or in our case, a headlamp flashlight that never caused a second thought in my mind before? When swallowed and wedged into the soft tissue of the esophagus, they create a current and can leak. This combination can cause burns, ulcerations and perforation of the esophagus. And if left for too long, can cause a child to die.

At this point, he’d been reacting with pain from this battery for nearly 18 hours. Long enough, I found out thanks to Google later, to be fatal.

The doctor reassured me that at this point, they couldn’t see air in his chest so they didn’t think there was a perforation, but if the tissue was weak enough, removing it could cause it to tear a hole in his esophagus. If that happened, they’d have to open him up and surgically repair it and we’d be there for several days, possibly weeks. My heart was in the pit of my stomach. The little boy contentedly watching Cars on the hospital TV, my baby, my cuddler, the sweetest child on the face of the earth, had a stupid piece of metal inside him that was basically a ticking time bomb.

Here I was alone, 2 hours away from my husband, forced to sign the papers that gave these doctors permission to operate. I couldn’t make myself read the section on the possible complications. I had to keep it together. I fought back tears as they gave me the general rundown, nodding at the words I couldn’t hear and trying to drink in the sight of my baby for as long as I could before they wheeled him away.

To be continued…