Week 3 of Disease
And so ends another spectacularly crappy week for our wee family.
For the third week in a row, we battled illness, juggled work, and basically just endured.
I'm getting really, really tired of living in endurance mode.
Through last weekend, Lorelei had a low fever (under 100 degrees) and two teeth coming in. She was fussy. We had to go to church, because we were hosting fellowship hour (translation: providing food, making coffee, doing clean-up). I wasn't a lot of help--poor Lorelei conked out in my arms, so Chris did the majority of the work. But because she slept, and because we had to stick around for clean-up post church, we decided to actually attend the service.
As I feared, Lorelei lasted about 20 minutes before waking up--fussy. I took her home and left clean-up to Chris, poor guy.
Monday morning, that child was still fussy. What a teething wimp! I thought, utterly incorrectly.
I dropped off the kids. By 10:00 a.m., I got The Call. Lorelei hadn't stopped crying since I had dropped her off. Time to go get her.
For the umpteenth time this month, I told my boss I had to go deal with a sick somebody, retrieved my girl, and let her doze in my arms. She'd occasionally wake up crying, arching her back like she was in pain, and her fever was now around 101 degrees. I decided to take her to the pediatrician.
So, we said hola to the pediatrician for the third week in a row. At this point, Lorelei had no other symptoms. I sort of thought this was good, but the pediatrician was worried. He sat and observed her fussy behavior for a couple minutes, occasionally emitting a "hmmm."
Unexplained fever and extreme fussiness? He feared a urinary tract infection. Unfortunately, at this age, the only way to diagnose that was via catheterization.
"We did that with Charlotte, remember?" he said.
Did I remember? Um, yes. It remains in my top ten most traumatic experiences.
"Catheterizing is sort of traumatic for everyone," the pediatrician said. "You can see why we'd like to avoid it if possible."
Totally. I really, REALLY didn't want to put Lorelei through that. So, he said to watch her fever and behavior and let him know in a day or two if she was worse.
Tuesday, Chris and I both telecommuted in an attempt to spread out the juggling act of Lorelei caretaking and work. That morning, the puking began. The poor girl couldn't keep anything down. Her fever continued.
On Wednesday, Chris had an evening flight to San Diego to catch (for work), so I went into the office with the plan that he'd drop Lorelei off around 2:00 on his way to the airport. At this point, it was obvious I'd have to take a sick day on Thursday (with him gone I had no choice), and I needed to get some work done and actually show my face in the office.
I called the pediatrician first thing, just to update him. "I'm assuming that the vomiting means we're safely into virus territory, not a UTI, I said. But, um, fyi . . . the child hasn't kept anything down for over 24 hours, including liquids and ibuprofen."
Well, he didn't like that. He advised us to give her Tylenol suppository up her tush and prescribed a very specific Pedialyte regimen. We were to call and update him by 2:00. If her behavior remained very fussy or lethargic and she still wasn't holding down liquids, he'd send her to get rehydrated at the hospital.
You can imagine how distracted I was at work. Oh, how I worried for my Lorelei.
After a 2.5-hour nap (Chris always gets the sick days when the kids actually nap), she woke up and kept down 2 ounces of formula. "I guess I should go to San Diego?" Chris said.
"Yes," I said. I had advocated him going anyway, even if the hospital was involved, so long as he managed to coordinate a babysitter for Charlotte from the airport bar.
Chris dropped Lorelei off at my office, and bless her heart, she greeted me with smiles. Real Lorelei smiles! Oh, what a sight to see.
We updated the pediatrician, but we knew we were in the clear, and I eventually left work, picked up Charlotte, and did the evening routine.
Lorelei woke up a couple times through the night, but she was eating and keeping it down, so it didn't bug me. I was overjoyed to see her eat, even at two in the morning. Thursday, I stayed home and we had a nice little day together. She was obviously on the mend, I had informed work I'd check in at 12:00 and 4:00 and that was IT, so we just hung out together.
Thursday night, the routine was a smidge challenging with two kids who need a lot of hands-on help to get bathed and fed and dressed and put down to bed. I can't do anything with the girls simultaneously, except feed Lorelei solids while Charlotte eats (an improvement on Chris's last business trip, when Lorelei was exclusively nursed and put down to bed while Charlotte watched Dora the Explorer). But they can't bathe together (yet--oh, how I look forward to merging that activity!) or be read to together. And yet . . . they're supposed to go to bed at the same time. It gets a little nutty.
Thursday night was rough. Lorelei had developed a residual cough that kept waking her (and me--effing baby monitor.) Lorelei was up at 9:30 (no biggie, I was already up) and then again at 3:30 a.m., unable to put herself back to sleep like after her other coughing fits. For some reason (I think she was overtired), she couldn't go back down without crying. She was still close enough to the illness (though she had been symptom-free for well over 24 hours at this point) that I was uncomfortable letting her cry it out, plus I feared her waking Charlotte, so I got her, nursed again, put her down, and . . . repeat. By 5:45 a.m., I had yet to get in the shower (I had needed to get in about 30 minutes prior), but Lorelei had FINALLY gotten into a genuine sleep (in my arms). I successfully transferred her to her crib.
As I got into the shower, I felt super uncomfortable. Despite ALL THAT nursing, I discovered a plugged duct. A very painful one.
I could not believe it. You know all my supply issues? Well, I had been nursing all that week for comfort for Lorelei. Because, well, it comforted her. Remember how the lactation consultant said oodles of stimulation was our best bet to bring back supply but that 6-month-olds don't have the attention span for it? Well, sick 6-month-olds do have the attention span for it. So, yay, my supply returned. I don't mean to sound so . . . flippant about the whole thing. I mean, the supply issue has been a major stressor these past couple of weeks. If this week had a silver lining, there it is.
Unfortunately, something went awry with the return of my milk. I'm not sure if Lorelei was just comfort-sucking and not actually eating, causing let-down milk to just sit, or if I slept weirdly, or what.
I later read that STRESS can play a large role. Huh.
This sucker was PAINFUL. I've had clogged ducts before, and I knew what to do, but this one was monstrously huge for it being only morning.
As I showered, planning my hot-compress routine, Charlotte wandered in with crazy bed-head. So, I ended up dressing her with one-handedly, holding the compress in place. At the last possible minute I could manage, what with NEEDING TO LEAVE FOR WORK AND ALL, I woke Lorelei to nurse that clogged duct away, and . . . nada. The poor girl had already eaten three times. She was absolutely disinterested.
And I was screwed.
Ideally, I would've done what the breastfeeding websites instruct and stayed home all day to nurse away the clog. But that wasn't a luxury I had. I simply could not miss another day of work. I briefly thought longingly of my broken pump, but even with smaller clogs, that pump (and it was a very good one!) never managed to get them loosened. Only Lorelei had the talent to get the job done.
At this point, my stress level was at its breaking point. Remember, I was functioning on newborn-phase sleep deprivation, but single-parenting it and working full-time.
So, perhaps it was little shock that when Charlotte, who had behaved just fine all morning, refused to put on her sock, causing me to burst into tears.
Parenting tip: Don't cry in front of your small children. It scares the shit out of them.
I saw Charlotte's face fill with unease, her stable, predictable world feeling suddenly rocky. And then SHE started to cry. I stopped, pulled it together, and told her that everything was okay and that a Charlotte hug would make me feel better. She gave me a hug.
Somehow we got out the door. I did everything I could to perkily talk to Charlotte during the drive to school. In the parking lot, I tested Lorelei with a pacifier to see if she might be game for sucking. I'd happily work out that clog right there in the car. No go. She spit that pacifier right out.
Now, I was officially screwed.
Once the kids were settled in their classes and I had the car to myself, I blubbered my way to work, having no clue how I'd get through another day. (Work is its own very big challenge at the moment.)
"I can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this," I not-so-supportively told myself. Meanwhile, the clog continued to grow and throb. I had to wear a cardigan at work, because I looked like a implant plastic surgery disaster, the sides were so uneven in size. It would've been hilarious if not so painful.
Deciding that 3 weeks of disease wasn't enough, I assumed letting a clog sit for another 12 hours was pretty much going to cause mastitis. I tried to predict if this would be an urgent care thing, or if I'd be able to hold on until Monday to see my own doctor.
Miraculously, I survived the day. I even managed to get my girls safely home before major winds and storms moved through the area (our entire commute is tree-covered---not terribly safe in big storms). And equally miraculously, after a major Lorelei-Mommy joint effort, we got that clog freed. We didn't get the whole thing drained, but we got the clog out. Good enough. It no longer hurt just to breathe.
I made a huge effort to be calm and sweet with Charlotte. Lorelei had conked out immediately after her big nursing feed (I had skipped solids, not willing to risk ruining her appetite for the strong sucking I needed), so she went down a bit earlier than usual. That allowed me to deal with Charlotte one-on-one. We watched the rain fall and chatted and ate. She was perfect. Just the sweetest, funniest little girl. And she too went down like a dream.
Chris's flights home were, fortunately, on the back-end of the storms, so his traveling remained on time. Lorelei was up at 8:00 (easy) and again at 12:30 a.m. Well, that allowed us to be awake and bright-eyed to greet Daddy when he got home at 1:00 a.m.! And you better believe that I greeted him and then handed over a fed and drowsy Lorelei for him to return to her crib.
She woke up again at 4:00 and 5:15 a.m. I got her down around 5:40. Charlotte then got up at 5:50 a.m., upset that she had pooped in her (Cinderella) Pull-Up.
"Dear lord," groaned Chris.
"Happy to be home?" I asked, actually quite, quite happy he was home.
Saturday was a blur of gymnastics and errands and birthday parties.
Sunday (today), Chris and Charlotte went to church while I stayed home with Lorelei, who failed to nap and thus wouldn't manage to get through church.
It has been a terrible, terrible April. We need a break from the relentless shit storm that just won't ebb. I'm usually able to gain perspective---things actually are, I suppose, just fine: healthy kids, aside from viruses; healthy parents, aside from viruses; nice house in a safe neighborhood; jobs (that currently drive us crazy but are jobs nonetheless); health insurance for all those pediatrician visits; reliable cars; the sweetest, cutest girls in the world; the prospect of TWO family vacations in the next 6 months (North Carolina beach with the Opps at the end of summer, Hawaii with the Hofmanns in the autumn).
But still. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation (oh my gosh, SO TIRED); the fact that I haven't left the DC metro region in a whole year (last May I went to Seattle--and that's IT since then); the fact that work is very stressful for me right now; the fact that my allergies have me in a congested fog, the fact that Lorelei is on a napping strike today; the fact that I haven't sat through an entire church service since mid-March, despite getting everyone dressed and ready and out the door on time however many Sundays in a row; the fact that I particularly miss my B-Y girls right now; the fact that Chris and I haven't been on a date since our anniversary in November; or the fact that we have been in survival mode since I returned to work post-Lorelei, and especially during this craptastic April.
Yeah, I know. Count my blessings. It's true---we have many, many blessings. But I'm tired. I float the idea of hiring a babysitter for 3 hours so we can just GET AWAY to crappy nearby winery or the cozy bar a half-mile away or brunch in the next town over, but The Schedule--church responsibilities, birthday parties, household duties, work catch-up--doesn't allow it. Makes it undoable. I think perhaps I should push harder for it.
I've been promised a date night for Chris's 31st birthday in May. I'm so excited, you'd think it was MY birthday. And that's all well and good, but I need to INSIST we squeeze in a happy hour, or get the kids down earlier on Saturday nights for a little more grown-up time. I need help folding the 50 loads of laundry my family weekly generates, I need to not have every single free second snatched up by cleaning another (avoidable) mess, and I need Lorelei to nap and Charlotte to learn to entertain herself for stretches longer than 90 seconds.
Really, what I really need is a decent night's sleep.
Now, the reason I got this segment of time to write this (long-as-usual) blog post? Charlotte (always my good sleeper) got worn out at church and is napping while Chris took Lorelei to Whole Foods, fearing, I believe, that his wife might check herself into a hotel for a week if she didn't get a few seconds to process this shitty week in the only way she knows how---writing it.
If I were smarter, I would've spent this time on laundry and that overflowing sink of dishes.
We're tired. But, because we have no choice, we're cautiously optimistic that the fourth week of April shall suck less than the previous three.
If not, I'll let you all know what address to send the wine.
For the third week in a row, we battled illness, juggled work, and basically just endured.
I'm getting really, really tired of living in endurance mode.
Through last weekend, Lorelei had a low fever (under 100 degrees) and two teeth coming in. She was fussy. We had to go to church, because we were hosting fellowship hour (translation: providing food, making coffee, doing clean-up). I wasn't a lot of help--poor Lorelei conked out in my arms, so Chris did the majority of the work. But because she slept, and because we had to stick around for clean-up post church, we decided to actually attend the service.
As I feared, Lorelei lasted about 20 minutes before waking up--fussy. I took her home and left clean-up to Chris, poor guy.
Monday morning, that child was still fussy. What a teething wimp! I thought, utterly incorrectly.
I dropped off the kids. By 10:00 a.m., I got The Call. Lorelei hadn't stopped crying since I had dropped her off. Time to go get her.
For the umpteenth time this month, I told my boss I had to go deal with a sick somebody, retrieved my girl, and let her doze in my arms. She'd occasionally wake up crying, arching her back like she was in pain, and her fever was now around 101 degrees. I decided to take her to the pediatrician.
So, we said hola to the pediatrician for the third week in a row. At this point, Lorelei had no other symptoms. I sort of thought this was good, but the pediatrician was worried. He sat and observed her fussy behavior for a couple minutes, occasionally emitting a "hmmm."
Unexplained fever and extreme fussiness? He feared a urinary tract infection. Unfortunately, at this age, the only way to diagnose that was via catheterization.
"We did that with Charlotte, remember?" he said.
Did I remember? Um, yes. It remains in my top ten most traumatic experiences.
"Catheterizing is sort of traumatic for everyone," the pediatrician said. "You can see why we'd like to avoid it if possible."
Totally. I really, REALLY didn't want to put Lorelei through that. So, he said to watch her fever and behavior and let him know in a day or two if she was worse.
Tuesday, Chris and I both telecommuted in an attempt to spread out the juggling act of Lorelei caretaking and work. That morning, the puking began. The poor girl couldn't keep anything down. Her fever continued.
On Wednesday, Chris had an evening flight to San Diego to catch (for work), so I went into the office with the plan that he'd drop Lorelei off around 2:00 on his way to the airport. At this point, it was obvious I'd have to take a sick day on Thursday (with him gone I had no choice), and I needed to get some work done and actually show my face in the office.
I called the pediatrician first thing, just to update him. "I'm assuming that the vomiting means we're safely into virus territory, not a UTI, I said. But, um, fyi . . . the child hasn't kept anything down for over 24 hours, including liquids and ibuprofen."
Well, he didn't like that. He advised us to give her Tylenol suppository up her tush and prescribed a very specific Pedialyte regimen. We were to call and update him by 2:00. If her behavior remained very fussy or lethargic and she still wasn't holding down liquids, he'd send her to get rehydrated at the hospital.
You can imagine how distracted I was at work. Oh, how I worried for my Lorelei.
After a 2.5-hour nap (Chris always gets the sick days when the kids actually nap), she woke up and kept down 2 ounces of formula. "I guess I should go to San Diego?" Chris said.
"Yes," I said. I had advocated him going anyway, even if the hospital was involved, so long as he managed to coordinate a babysitter for Charlotte from the airport bar.
Chris dropped Lorelei off at my office, and bless her heart, she greeted me with smiles. Real Lorelei smiles! Oh, what a sight to see.
We updated the pediatrician, but we knew we were in the clear, and I eventually left work, picked up Charlotte, and did the evening routine.
Lorelei woke up a couple times through the night, but she was eating and keeping it down, so it didn't bug me. I was overjoyed to see her eat, even at two in the morning. Thursday, I stayed home and we had a nice little day together. She was obviously on the mend, I had informed work I'd check in at 12:00 and 4:00 and that was IT, so we just hung out together.
Thursday night, the routine was a smidge challenging with two kids who need a lot of hands-on help to get bathed and fed and dressed and put down to bed. I can't do anything with the girls simultaneously, except feed Lorelei solids while Charlotte eats (an improvement on Chris's last business trip, when Lorelei was exclusively nursed and put down to bed while Charlotte watched Dora the Explorer). But they can't bathe together (yet--oh, how I look forward to merging that activity!) or be read to together. And yet . . . they're supposed to go to bed at the same time. It gets a little nutty.
Thursday night was rough. Lorelei had developed a residual cough that kept waking her (and me--effing baby monitor.) Lorelei was up at 9:30 (no biggie, I was already up) and then again at 3:30 a.m., unable to put herself back to sleep like after her other coughing fits. For some reason (I think she was overtired), she couldn't go back down without crying. She was still close enough to the illness (though she had been symptom-free for well over 24 hours at this point) that I was uncomfortable letting her cry it out, plus I feared her waking Charlotte, so I got her, nursed again, put her down, and . . . repeat. By 5:45 a.m., I had yet to get in the shower (I had needed to get in about 30 minutes prior), but Lorelei had FINALLY gotten into a genuine sleep (in my arms). I successfully transferred her to her crib.
As I got into the shower, I felt super uncomfortable. Despite ALL THAT nursing, I discovered a plugged duct. A very painful one.
I could not believe it. You know all my supply issues? Well, I had been nursing all that week for comfort for Lorelei. Because, well, it comforted her. Remember how the lactation consultant said oodles of stimulation was our best bet to bring back supply but that 6-month-olds don't have the attention span for it? Well, sick 6-month-olds do have the attention span for it. So, yay, my supply returned. I don't mean to sound so . . . flippant about the whole thing. I mean, the supply issue has been a major stressor these past couple of weeks. If this week had a silver lining, there it is.
Unfortunately, something went awry with the return of my milk. I'm not sure if Lorelei was just comfort-sucking and not actually eating, causing let-down milk to just sit, or if I slept weirdly, or what.
I later read that STRESS can play a large role. Huh.
This sucker was PAINFUL. I've had clogged ducts before, and I knew what to do, but this one was monstrously huge for it being only morning.
As I showered, planning my hot-compress routine, Charlotte wandered in with crazy bed-head. So, I ended up dressing her with one-handedly, holding the compress in place. At the last possible minute I could manage, what with NEEDING TO LEAVE FOR WORK AND ALL, I woke Lorelei to nurse that clogged duct away, and . . . nada. The poor girl had already eaten three times. She was absolutely disinterested.
And I was screwed.
Ideally, I would've done what the breastfeeding websites instruct and stayed home all day to nurse away the clog. But that wasn't a luxury I had. I simply could not miss another day of work. I briefly thought longingly of my broken pump, but even with smaller clogs, that pump (and it was a very good one!) never managed to get them loosened. Only Lorelei had the talent to get the job done.
At this point, my stress level was at its breaking point. Remember, I was functioning on newborn-phase sleep deprivation, but single-parenting it and working full-time.
So, perhaps it was little shock that when Charlotte, who had behaved just fine all morning, refused to put on her sock, causing me to burst into tears.
Parenting tip: Don't cry in front of your small children. It scares the shit out of them.
I saw Charlotte's face fill with unease, her stable, predictable world feeling suddenly rocky. And then SHE started to cry. I stopped, pulled it together, and told her that everything was okay and that a Charlotte hug would make me feel better. She gave me a hug.
Somehow we got out the door. I did everything I could to perkily talk to Charlotte during the drive to school. In the parking lot, I tested Lorelei with a pacifier to see if she might be game for sucking. I'd happily work out that clog right there in the car. No go. She spit that pacifier right out.
Now, I was officially screwed.
Once the kids were settled in their classes and I had the car to myself, I blubbered my way to work, having no clue how I'd get through another day. (Work is its own very big challenge at the moment.)
"I can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this," I not-so-supportively told myself. Meanwhile, the clog continued to grow and throb. I had to wear a cardigan at work, because I looked like a implant plastic surgery disaster, the sides were so uneven in size. It would've been hilarious if not so painful.
Deciding that 3 weeks of disease wasn't enough, I assumed letting a clog sit for another 12 hours was pretty much going to cause mastitis. I tried to predict if this would be an urgent care thing, or if I'd be able to hold on until Monday to see my own doctor.
Miraculously, I survived the day. I even managed to get my girls safely home before major winds and storms moved through the area (our entire commute is tree-covered---not terribly safe in big storms). And equally miraculously, after a major Lorelei-Mommy joint effort, we got that clog freed. We didn't get the whole thing drained, but we got the clog out. Good enough. It no longer hurt just to breathe.
I made a huge effort to be calm and sweet with Charlotte. Lorelei had conked out immediately after her big nursing feed (I had skipped solids, not willing to risk ruining her appetite for the strong sucking I needed), so she went down a bit earlier than usual. That allowed me to deal with Charlotte one-on-one. We watched the rain fall and chatted and ate. She was perfect. Just the sweetest, funniest little girl. And she too went down like a dream.
Chris's flights home were, fortunately, on the back-end of the storms, so his traveling remained on time. Lorelei was up at 8:00 (easy) and again at 12:30 a.m. Well, that allowed us to be awake and bright-eyed to greet Daddy when he got home at 1:00 a.m.! And you better believe that I greeted him and then handed over a fed and drowsy Lorelei for him to return to her crib.
She woke up again at 4:00 and 5:15 a.m. I got her down around 5:40. Charlotte then got up at 5:50 a.m., upset that she had pooped in her (Cinderella) Pull-Up.
"Dear lord," groaned Chris.
"Happy to be home?" I asked, actually quite, quite happy he was home.
Saturday was a blur of gymnastics and errands and birthday parties.
Sunday (today), Chris and Charlotte went to church while I stayed home with Lorelei, who failed to nap and thus wouldn't manage to get through church.
It has been a terrible, terrible April. We need a break from the relentless shit storm that just won't ebb. I'm usually able to gain perspective---things actually are, I suppose, just fine: healthy kids, aside from viruses; healthy parents, aside from viruses; nice house in a safe neighborhood; jobs (that currently drive us crazy but are jobs nonetheless); health insurance for all those pediatrician visits; reliable cars; the sweetest, cutest girls in the world; the prospect of TWO family vacations in the next 6 months (North Carolina beach with the Opps at the end of summer, Hawaii with the Hofmanns in the autumn).
But still. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation (oh my gosh, SO TIRED); the fact that I haven't left the DC metro region in a whole year (last May I went to Seattle--and that's IT since then); the fact that work is very stressful for me right now; the fact that my allergies have me in a congested fog, the fact that Lorelei is on a napping strike today; the fact that I haven't sat through an entire church service since mid-March, despite getting everyone dressed and ready and out the door on time however many Sundays in a row; the fact that I particularly miss my B-Y girls right now; the fact that Chris and I haven't been on a date since our anniversary in November; or the fact that we have been in survival mode since I returned to work post-Lorelei, and especially during this craptastic April.
Yeah, I know. Count my blessings. It's true---we have many, many blessings. But I'm tired. I float the idea of hiring a babysitter for 3 hours so we can just GET AWAY to crappy nearby winery or the cozy bar a half-mile away or brunch in the next town over, but The Schedule--church responsibilities, birthday parties, household duties, work catch-up--doesn't allow it. Makes it undoable. I think perhaps I should push harder for it.
I've been promised a date night for Chris's 31st birthday in May. I'm so excited, you'd think it was MY birthday. And that's all well and good, but I need to INSIST we squeeze in a happy hour, or get the kids down earlier on Saturday nights for a little more grown-up time. I need help folding the 50 loads of laundry my family weekly generates, I need to not have every single free second snatched up by cleaning another (avoidable) mess, and I need Lorelei to nap and Charlotte to learn to entertain herself for stretches longer than 90 seconds.
Really, what I really need is a decent night's sleep.
Now, the reason I got this segment of time to write this (long-as-usual) blog post? Charlotte (always my good sleeper) got worn out at church and is napping while Chris took Lorelei to Whole Foods, fearing, I believe, that his wife might check herself into a hotel for a week if she didn't get a few seconds to process this shitty week in the only way she knows how---writing it.
If I were smarter, I would've spent this time on laundry and that overflowing sink of dishes.
We're tired. But, because we have no choice, we're cautiously optimistic that the fourth week of April shall suck less than the previous three.
If not, I'll let you all know what address to send the wine.
O my gracious, but does this bring back memories. Post Traumatic Child Disorder memories....shudder.
ReplyDeleteNot exactly the salad years, these times. Reading through later posts, I'm glad things are sucking just a tiny bit less.