At Least There Are No Wampas

I've had a steaming hot, soapy shower and three cups of coffee. My intention today has been to shake off the stress and strife of yesterday and last night.

I'm medicated you see.

Round two of prednisone is being no kinder to my personality than round 1. I can't help it. I go from fine to rage, happy to despondent in moments. I'm also on a cough syrup that's got phenergan in it and that's making me sleepy, dopey and sad. All in all, it's a pretty terrible combination of drug induced feelings. That being said - I can breathe.

I can inhale. I can COUGH. I can exhale without feeling like two wet heavy sponges have replaced my lungs. If my lungs were any measure of my health - I'd say I'm better. But I can't tell that I'm better because I am so fucking medicated. Levaquin, my current antibiotic on deck (having replaced azythromycin which didn't make the grade) is wreaking havoc on my internal workings in a socially unacceptable way.

But I'm tired. I didn't even take the cough syrup because I don't want to be dopey and drive.

Last night I fell into a lovely, deep medicated sleep as my husband made one of his unfortunately necessary late night runs to the store. All the children were in bed, and I drifted off, letting the phenergan take me into dreamless sleep when sounds of the twins fighting woke me up about 20 or 30 minutes later. After that point I was up and down repeatedly, getting water, refereeing and then finally moving Miles into bed with Julia and I.

There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over...roll over...

And then I couldn't sleep.

I slept on and off, I heard my husband come home, I heard him doing the dishes and I could hear music sometimes. Miles finally stirred and I whispered "Go to bed now" and he got up and wandered back to his bunk without argument. Then I slept.

My husband came to bed and talked to me for a bit. I don't know about what, I hope it wasn't important.I rolled over and looked at the clock - 5:58. So here I am.

I extracted myself from the arms and legs of a five year old, made coffee, showered and am considering exiting the house with wet hair like it's the 80s again. I'm not so tired as I am fatigued. I'm tired of inactivity. I'm tired of feeling this way. I want to do like 60000 things but instead I need to rest.

It's boring as hell.

But, I'll take my happy thought from my Star Wars weather forecast for the day - at least there are no Wampas.

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At Least There Are No Wampas

I've had a steaming hot, soapy shower and three cups of coffee. My intention today has been to shake off the stress and strife of yesterday and last night.

I'm medicated you see.

Round two of prednisone is being no kinder to my personality than round 1. I can't help it. I go from fine to rage, happy to despondent in moments. I'm also on a cough syrup that's got phenergan in it and that's making me sleepy, dopey and sad. All in all, it's a pretty terrible combination of drug induced feelings. That being said - I can breathe.

I can inhale. I can COUGH. I can exhale without feeling like two wet heavy sponges have replaced my lungs. If my lungs were any measure of my health - I'd say I'm better. But I can't tell that I'm better because I am so fucking medicated. Levaquin, my current antibiotic on deck (having replaced azythromycin which didn't make the grade) is wreaking havoc on my internal workings in a socially unacceptable way.

But I'm tired. I didn't even take the cough syrup because I don't want to be dopey and drive.

Last night I fell into a lovely, deep medicated sleep as my husband made one of his unfortunately necessary late night runs to the store. All the children were in bed, and I drifted off, letting the phenergan take me into dreamless sleep when sounds of the twins fighting woke me up about 20 or 30 minutes later. After that point I was up and down repeatedly, getting water, refereeing and then finally moving Miles into bed with Julia and I.

There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over...roll over...

And then I couldn't sleep.

I slept on and off, I heard my husband come home, I heard him doing the dishes and I could hear music sometimes. Miles finally stirred and I whispered "Go to bed now" and he got up and wandered back to his bunk without argument. Then I slept.

My husband came to bed and talked to me for a bit. I don't know about what, I hope it wasn't important.I rolled over and looked at the clock - 5:58. So here I am.

I extracted myself from the arms and legs of a five year old, made coffee, showered and am considering exiting the house with wet hair like it's the 80s again. I'm not so tired as I am fatigued. I'm tired of inactivity. I'm tired of feeling this way. I want to do like 60000 things but instead I need to rest.

It's boring as hell.

But, I'll take my happy thought from my Star Wars weather forecast for the day - at least there are no Wampas.

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The Breathing of a Nine Year Old

As the days have remained warm, my kids have suddenly gotten a cough and the sniffles that adds up to a cold. I took one boy to the minute clinic just to make sure it wasn't a sinus infection, his cough had gotten worse, and his snot was worse and things seemed to need dealt with. They said "it's allergies maybe a cold, move along, move along."

I think all parents have their thing though. My "thing" is, I have to be able to hear them breathe. I can tell who is coughing, who is snoring, who is mumbling in their sleep from the next room. It was hard sleeping in the earplugs some nights for just this reason, I couldn't hear them breathe.

As new babies, they slept next to me in bassinets where the rhythm of their breathing was my lullaby. The sound of my children breathing in sleep is one of the most comforting, relaxing sounds in the world to me.

Then you can image my surprise when, on going in to lay down with the twins who had decided to start screaming at 6am, I heard the most horrible rattling from the 9 year old's lungs. I could hear the fluid, hear the bronchial tubes failing to fill, as he sucked in his air too fast and too hard over and over.

I got him his inhaler and felt his forehead and he mumbled that his lungs hurt.

He went back to sleep, breathing only slightly better, and I lay down below him on the bunk covered in 8 year old twins. But instead of sleeping, I was listening. Listening to him breathe.

I'm asthmatic. It's my terror, not to be able to breathe, to drown in my own lungs, to be gasping for air with lungs that just won't work. I hate it that I passed that along to my sweet and gentle boy but I did.

Sure as you like, we ended up at Children's Hospital of Atlanta a short time later where they immediately confirmed that he'd gone to pneumonia. As quick as that, overnight, from just a bit congested to pneumonia.

My poor boy spent his Labor Day weekend laid up, not having fun, and taking medicine that was liquid instead of pills - his manhood was insulted I believe. He's 9 you know. He can swallow pills. I've been reminded this 500 times.

I think since he's bitching, he must be getting better.

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The Breathing of a Nine Year Old

As the days have remained warm, my kids have suddenly gotten a cough and the sniffles that adds up to a cold. I took one boy to the minute clinic just to make sure it wasn't a sinus infection, his cough had gotten worse, and his snot was worse and things seemed to need dealt with. They said "it's allergies maybe a cold, move along, move along."

I think all parents have their thing though. My "thing" is, I have to be able to hear them breathe. I can tell who is coughing, who is snoring, who is mumbling in their sleep from the next room. It was hard sleeping in the earplugs some nights for just this reason, I couldn't hear them breathe.

As new babies, they slept next to me in bassinets where the rhythm of their breathing was my lullaby. The sound of my children breathing in sleep is one of the most comforting, relaxing sounds in the world to me.

Then you can image my surprise when, on going in to lay down with the twins who had decided to start screaming at 6am, I heard the most horrible rattling from the 9 year old's lungs. I could hear the fluid, hear the bronchial tubes failing to fill, as he sucked in his air too fast and too hard over and over.

I got him his inhaler and felt his forehead and he mumbled that his lungs hurt.

He went back to sleep, breathing only slightly better, and I lay down below him on the bunk covered in 8 year old twins. But instead of sleeping, I was listening. Listening to him breathe.

I'm asthmatic. It's my terror, not to be able to breathe, to drown in my own lungs, to be gasping for air with lungs that just won't work. I hate it that I passed that along to my sweet and gentle boy but I did.

Sure as you like, we ended up at Children's Hospital of Atlanta a short time later where they immediately confirmed that he'd gone to pneumonia. As quick as that, overnight, from just a bit congested to pneumonia.

My poor boy spent his Labor Day weekend laid up, not having fun, and taking medicine that was liquid instead of pills - his manhood was insulted I believe. He's 9 you know. He can swallow pills. I've been reminded this 500 times.

I think since he's bitching, he must be getting better.

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I.Am.Sick.

So, I need to write a birthday post but as I sit here sucking in my much needed oxygen, I realized that I should share something with you.
Pregnancy reduces your immune system's efficiency. This is how it keeps your body from destroying that little creature you are growing - which to your immune system is an intruder.
I've learned this the hard way over the last two weeks. H1N1, a UTI and now......ready for the icing and little candy baubles for the cake?
Sinus infection with PNEUMONIA!
My regular physician holds office hours on Saturdays - so I went down there yesterday after a crappy sick birthday and feeling even worse Saturday when I awoke.
He sent me straight to the hospital.
I also learned that we have two hospitals in this county and one ER is full of people who have been shot, and one plays genteel new age music while surrounding you with soft wood tones and pastels and each ER patients gets a private room with a door that closes.
Guess which one my doctor sent me to?
They dropped an IV on me and a sent respiratory who pronounced pneumonia and everybody came by to jam stuff in my IV of various ilk and I napped until the ultrasound lady showed up to check and monitor the baby.

My best story of my visit was that after they had me doped up and hooked up, they decided they wanted some pee. So the IV and I waddled down to the bathroom - and I do the WIPE of the va-jayjay and I've got the cup in my teeth......and.....I am sort of really sleepy and suddenly I realize I've peed.
In the toilet.
Not in the cup.

So I had to go back and tell my RN that I had FORGOTTEN to pee in the cup.

Which she thought was fairly funny.

They sent me home after several hours where I promptly went to bed, waking only for some dinner and then back to bed. My plan today is to lay on the sofa and watch football, and sleep.

Not necessarily in that order.

I leave you with a pic of the boy, executing a very stylish dart throw at the fair.

I.Am.Sick.

So, I need to write a birthday post but as I sit here sucking in my much needed oxygen, I realized that I should share something with you.
Pregnancy reduces your immune system's efficiency. This is how it keeps your body from destroying that little creature you are growing - which to your immune system is an intruder.
I've learned this the hard way over the last two weeks. H1N1, a UTI and now......ready for the icing and little candy baubles for the cake?
Sinus infection with PNEUMONIA!
My regular physician holds office hours on Saturdays - so I went down there yesterday after a crappy sick birthday and feeling even worse Saturday when I awoke.
He sent me straight to the hospital.
I also learned that we have two hospitals in this county and one ER is full of people who have been shot, and one plays genteel new age music while surrounding you with soft wood tones and pastels and each ER patients gets a private room with a door that closes.
Guess which one my doctor sent me to?
They dropped an IV on me and a sent respiratory who pronounced pneumonia and everybody came by to jam stuff in my IV of various ilk and I napped until the ultrasound lady showed up to check and monitor the baby.

My best story of my visit was that after they had me doped up and hooked up, they decided they wanted some pee. So the IV and I waddled down to the bathroom - and I do the WIPE of the va-jayjay and I've got the cup in my teeth......and.....I am sort of really sleepy and suddenly I realize I've peed.
In the toilet.
Not in the cup.

So I had to go back and tell my RN that I had FORGOTTEN to pee in the cup.

Which she thought was fairly funny.

They sent me home after several hours where I promptly went to bed, waking only for some dinner and then back to bed. My plan today is to lay on the sofa and watch football, and sleep.

Not necessarily in that order.

I leave you with a pic of the boy, executing a very stylish dart throw at the fair.