2017 – with a vengeance.

2017 came in with a vengeance, for me at least. New Years Eve day started out with my three-year-old up chucking his applesauce then spiking a fever for most of the afternoon. While the older two kids were on their way to my in-laws, it was touch and go whether the baby would be staying home and changing our NYE plans or going to my mom’s for the night. Thankfully with some Advil and Gravol, he perked up enough to be sent there for the night.

As my husband and I prepared to go to our friend’s place for the evening, I had a fleeting thought of “What if I’m the next one to get hit with the stomach flu?”  I forgot to mention that my eldest got hit with the stomach bug two days before.

The evening started out great. We brought all the fixings for a cheese fondue and it turned out great but shortly after starting to eat I felt the distinct uncomfortable rumblings in my lower stomach that signaled something wasn’t right.  Sure enough, an hour before midnight I was hugging the porcelain god and wishing I were dead.  The stomach virus that gently hit my children assaulted me with a vengeance.  Minutes after midnight I was lying in an upstairs spare bedroom shivering with chills. So much for my new year’s eve plans.

Why is it that the holidays bring on such horrible illnesses? This is the second year in a row that my family has been plagued with a stomach virus over the holidays. I myself have had more of these bouts of illness in the last 5 years than I can remember for most of my life. Is it the kids?  Are they the germ factories?

It’s downright awful.

Even after spending almost the entire day in bed yesterday and sleeping close to 14 hours I am still not 100% today and feel like I could be on the verge of intimacy with the porcelain gods again.  As I write this I’m lying in bed with three children arguing for my attention.

Time to sign off …

The Toddler

“Mommy, what’s that?”

“That’s a Death Star cookie jar.”

“I want that! Mommy, what’s that?”

“That’s a Chewbacca pillow.”

“I want that!”

“What’s that?  What’s that? MOMMY!  What’s that?”

“That’s a Boba Fett bobble-head doll.”

“Mommy, I want that! Mommy what’s that?”

“That’s a phone booth toy.”

We were at HMV this morning.  Husband was off looking for some Criterion Collection DVDs and I was on toddler duty. The store was pretty empty as it had just opened so we had the run of the store.  The toddler high-tailed it to the “toy section” and spent the next 10 agonizing minutes of my life with a game of 20 questions.

All this after a half-hour car ride which sounded like this:

“What’s that? Ooooh, treetcar! I want one. Daddy!  Look! A bus! Mommy!!  Mommy!!!!!!!  My boot fell ground! I want muffin! Daddy!! Bird, Daddy, look! What’s that, Mommy? Look, Mommy, a truck! I want one!”

Aren’t toddlers adorable?

I need a Tylenol.

 

 

 

 

A Bad Week.

It’s Saturday night, I think. Honestly this week has been a blur. I feel terrible complaining because I know for a fact there are others struggling with a lot more this time of year (a few of them are my own patients), but I have to say this has been one of the crappiest weeks I can remember.

It started off with me getting some kid of flu/GI virus that decimated me for close to 36 hours, then I get the phone call that my dad is going to the ER and after spending 15 hours at the hospital he gets admitted. I missed seeing a theater performance of Cinderella with my daughter and my aunt that day. (I’m still really bummed about that).  When I got home that night, around 1am I found my husband in bed with shaking chills. He spent the vast majority of Wednesday in bed. Despite exhaustion, I took my older kids to an indoor play center to blow off some steam. Later that night my brother, wife, stepdaughter, and my best friend came over for an already-planned Christmas Eve-eve dinner. Husband and I were exhausted but it was wonderful to have family over and they helped out by wrapping all of our kids’ Christmas  presents.

Christmas eve saw husband going out for last minute gifts, still unwell.  I took one of the kids to see Pappou in the hospital. The kids watched Santa on Norad as he made his way from Morocco to Ireland, we set out milk and cookies for him and the kids went to bed with zero fuss.  Husband and I settled in to watch our annual holiday classic, “Die Hard”, and promptly went to bed around 10pm.

Christmas morning the kids were up early, as expected.  Christmas gifts were opened in a frenzy.  I had planned on taking all the kids to see Pappou in hospital, so after breakfast everyone got ready, except husband who was still not feeling great.  Over the course of the morning, my older son, the 4.5-year-old, started complaining of a tummy ache.  He barely touched the apple juice he got from my mom, nor the donut.  He looked pale and complained even more about his tummy so we left the hospital after a short visit.  The entire car ride home the little guy was moaning.   As soon as we arrived home, he was curled up on the couch with his new Star Wars blanket.  Ten minutes later, he’s running to the bathroom calling for me and threw up.

Merry f*&king Christmas.

We were expected at my brother-in-laws house for Christmas dinner later that evening.  I called my mother-in-law and told her everything. I wasn’t sure we should bring my son so I warned her that he and my husband may be staying home.

As it usually is with stomach flu, once you throw up you start feeling better.  My son seemed to make a pretty fast recovery and I spent the afternoon watching him build Star Wars Lego. The 7-year-0ld was happily entertained with her new Nintendo 2DS from Santa.

Later that afternoon, with the two boys (husband and son) feeling better we piled into the car and headed west to my brother-in-law’s house.  We were going to arrive about 2 hours late, but I had called my mother-in-law to explain.  When we were about 10 minutes away I suddenly remembered that we, well I, had forgotten the dessert.  Among the chaos of the week, I had gone out to buy two pies and ice cream as we were expected to bring dessert.  We found an open Shoppers Drug Mart and were saved.  Cheesecakes and eclairs to the rescue.  (Seriously though, could this week end already?)

Christmas dinner was lovely.  Husband and I ate but neither of us were particularly hungry.  For me it was likely due to the stress of the week, my appetite has been shot. For husband, well, he was still recovering from the illness.  An hour after dinner, my older son started turning pale again and complained of his tummy hurting.  With profound apologies, we piled back into the car and drove home.  Thankfully he wasn’t sick in the car but he did fall asleep and didn’t wake until almost 9am the following morning.

Boxing Day.   Another trip to the hospital to see my dad.  A relatively uneventful day and I was beginning to think the worst was over when the 2-year-old started screaming.  Husband went to see him and called out – “He threw up.”

OMFG.

That poor little boy emptied his stomach over the course of the next 5 hours.  I slept on a cushion on the floor of his room and he finally stopped dry heaving at 2am.  He was awake at 6:30am as if nothing happened.  Meanwhile husband is curled up in bed, moaning.

Stomach cramps.

What the actual f&#K?

I’m ready for this week, hell, this year, to be over.

Only one person has been spared so far … my daughter.

Pray for me.

 

Monday, again.

Day 23 – National Blog Posting Month

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Every.Single.Morning.

My toddler is consistently waking in the middle of the night.  I’ve written about this before. What we really need to do is let him cry it out but he’s very loud and very persistent and I fear he will wake up the other kids. So I drag my ass out of bed at an ungodly hour and walk down the hallway to his room where he is waiting at the gate with his sippy cup in hand. I walk by, take the cup from him and go down to the kitchen.  I hear him walk back to his bed and he’s quiet.  By this time the cat has heard the commotion and comes into the kitchen meowing her bloody head off and as I look at her food bowl I notice it’s empty.

$*#&@#*@!

I fill the sippy cup with milk and feed the cat then head upstairs.  Toddler is still in his bed waiting for milk. I climb over the gate, almost tripping over it and he laughs as I stumble toward his bed.  I kiss him on the forehead, say “Night, Night”, hand him his milk and leave the room.

Crawling back to bed I fall back asleep and instantly am awakened again by the 4.5 year old running down the hallway.

What the????

I look at the clock. It’s now 6am.

Monday morning can suck it.

 

A-Z Bombs

Day 19 – National Blog Posting Month

In the span of about 36 hours I told a patient she was miscarrying; I learned an elderly patient had biopsy-confirmed metastatic cancer; I told a 42 year old woman she likely wasn’t going to have a child  (thanks to a blood test called AMH), and I accurately deduced that a middle-aged woman is leaving her husband … for another woman.

Oh, and my  7-year-old daughter knows how to conjugate the “F” word. I blame the playground and not my own potty mouth. 

Could this week please give me a f&$ing break? 

What? 

 

A Midnight Battle of Will

“The Force is strong in this one.”

Two years old in a few weeks and he’s giving me more hassle than the other two before him combined.

Seriously, kid?

He expertly climbed out of his crib a month ago.  Happy as a pig in shit to do so. Ready for a big boy bed, it would seem.  So a big boy bed he got. Trouble is now he won’t stay in it.  Oh, eventually he’ll just tire at the gate and shuffle back to bed but when this happens at 1 am in the morning, it comes down to a battle of will.

“Maaaaama, I whan warhm miiiiilk.”

Me, softly, from my bedroom. “Go back to bed.”

“No. Miiiiiilk.”

Whining ensues. Tired whining.

Me: “Go back to bed.”

“No. Maaaaama.  I hugry.”

A few more minutes of whining.

“Daaaaady. I whan warhm miiiilk.”

Sternly, “Go back to bed. Night night.”

“Maaaaama.  Miiiiilk.”

This went on for over an hour. Eventually, his will broke and he found his way back to bed. Hmpfh. Hungry indeed.  Just stay the fuck in bed, kid.

Three More Hours

I am sitting in a salon chair finally getting my hair done. It desperately needs some help and this was the only time I could fit it in. I 

work this afternoon and then I am off for almost three weeks. 

Three weeks! 

Three more hours of patient visits to go. 

Three more hours of lab reports, consults and prescription renewals. 

Three more hours of dealing with other people’s problems. 

Yesterday I started to worry that I was getting depressed again. I suddenly just felt … I don’t know, I felt off. I felt like I just didn’t care about any of it anymore. I didn’t want to go home and face the chaos of trying to clean and pack and deal with the kids. 

But then I got home and amongst the chaos and dirty faces and piles of laundry to fold, I felt immensely better.  I was happy to be home. I can’t begin to describe how reassuring that was to feel. Despite the state of emergency that my house is currently in, I was happy to be home and in the middle of it. 

I don’t need a break from my family, house or kids. I need a break from work. 

Only three more hours to go.