12 Tips for Better Doctor Visits with Kids

We have a lot of experience with doctor visits, so here are some tips that we’ve learned the hard way. My present to you.

• Try to schedule first thing in the morning. The doctor will (hopefully) still be on schedule, you’ll have shorter waiting times, and there will (usually) be fewer people in the waiting room sneezing and coughing all over you.
• Dress your child in clothes that are easy to remove. Nuff said.
• Bring another adult whenever possible. I know - hard to do. If my husband can’t come, I sometimes call up my sister or aunt who live close by. It’s a lot easier to listen to the doctor and ask questions when there’s someone else there to help with your child.

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Psychmamma is the contributing editor for Special Medical Needs. She writes at Psychmamma where she covers life with Jenna, her "spunky little two year-old who was born with a triple intestinal atresia." Her blog is also the home of Special Needs Sundays.

Math is Hard, Barbie

I'm having a hard time putting things into words, really. Not a usual complaint, in fact most of the time I need to dial down the verbosity, but sometimes I do get stuck.

Thanksgiving passed by in a whir of Thanksgivinglessness. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It was a harder holiday than usual, not least because the day before the big turkey day we had a discussion that contained the topic of discussion of leaving. Leaving for a longer term than my 24 hour hotel yearning. Leaving for a term that included a question mark.

And really any dining room table talk that includes the idea of leaving for any length of time is a bad conversation to have.

I guess we hit a new low. Somewhere along the way we had stopped communicating and started resenting. We didn't talk to each other with respect while arguing. We both needed some work. We converged on many layers of upset from many layers of life that piled on the table like a many layered dream coat.

The leaving talk was parked behind the scary shed, a place neither of us want to venture in the dark.

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Helen is the contributing editor for Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. She also covers Postpartum Depression. She writes daily at Everyday Stranger where she also chronicles life with her twins, Nick and Nora.

Anxiety

Busted has a post up about anxiety. We talk a lot about the pain of grief, about the cost, the emotion, and the sensation of loss. Those aspects of it are all easy to understand. They have a clear source. Just about everyone can comprehend those emotions (even if some people have a hard time realizing how long we continue to feel them). But I think the anxiety surprises everyone. I know it caught me unprepared and when I try to explain it to people outside of a select few, they get this look on their face like they think maybe I’ve slipped a gear or two.

I didn’t notice it until we went back to work outside of the house. From the day I went into the hospital until seven days after Zoë died, I hadn’t been alone for more than an hour or two. Shannon worked from home, I couldn’t drive. But then, Shannon went back to work in the office and I stayed home for one more week. He walked out the door that first morning to start his 35 mile drive to work and I felt my heart leap up into my throat. It seemed like someone was squeezing my chest so I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly I could imagine a hundred different scenarios that could happen and, as you can probably guess, none of them included his stopping at the coffee place, driving uneventfully to work while listening to NPR, and arriving safe and sound, which is how his drive usually goes.

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Allison is the contributing editor for Neonatal Death. She writes daily at Our Own Creation where she chronicles not only the life and death of her twins, Lennox and Zoe, but her world beyond.

Scarred Hands

The Sunday after Easter is often the time, in Christian churches, when the story of doubting Thomas is told. If you are like me and are either a really shitty Christian or not a Christian at all you may not know that the phrase "doubting Thomas" comes from the story in the bible where the apostle Thomas refuses to believe that Jesus has risen from the dead until he, personally, "sees the wounds in his hands and touches the wound in his side." Naturally, as it works out, Jesus shows up yet again and the lucky bastard does get his proof and is gently admonished by Jesus who says, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet still believe."

Of course, this is where the rest of us are. We are the ones who have not seen, whether it's Jesus or whatever form of God or God-like spirit you want to believe in. Imagine how much easier it would be to believe? It seems to me that the apostles had it rather easy, eh?

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Cecily is one of the contributing editors for Alcohol and Drug Addiction. She writes daily at her personal blog, Uppercase Woman, where she covers not only her 12 years of sobriety, but life with Tori, writing, and all things feminist.

A Couple of White Helens, Sitting Around Talking

A group of people, lounging around on a worn out purple velveteen couch, suddenly stop talking.

"Hey, uh, anyone seen Helen?" asks one particularly brash character.

"Last time I saw her was 9 am, and she was popping herbal tranquilizers again," replies one of them in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Oooh, I love those," interjects one of them, an airy-fairy creature known as Helen Hippy. "They work so well. Takes all of your stresses, anxiety, and anger away."

"Yeah." adds Practical Helen. "As long as you don't mind taking drugs to clear your head, then sure. Whatever works."

"But she spends her days in her pajamas," Helen Hippy says nervously, biting her lower lip. "I'm sure that having babies is sending her downhill."

"You're such a fucking pillock," replies Helen the Volatile. "She wore her pajamas every day before the babies were born."

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Helen is the contributing editor for Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. She also covers Postpartum Depression. She writes daily at Everyday Stranger where she also chronicles life with her twins, Nick and Nora.

Views From This Side of Using Donor Eggs

I have talked with or read posts from many people who have adopted either conventionally or used donor eggs or sperm and they all say the same thing, "It doesn't matter at all! This is our child 1000%"

Really? Does it really not matter at all? Why do we try so hard to have our biological children if it really doesn't matter? Perhaps the view from here really is just that much different than the view with your baby in your arms - no matter how that child came to be yours. I can imagine feeling just like these parents in the end (although I think I would say it hardly matters at all), but I just can't completely accept / believe it from this side of the fence.

Here is what I do see from here.

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Kami is the contributing editor for Donor Eggs. She writes daily at The Other Side where she covers life with her new daughter, LB, the little butterfly.

True View Friday Open Thread

We did this last week and now we're doing it again. It's your turn to give us a glimpse into your world. Every Friday we will ask you to start the conversation by asking you two questions:

What do you believe?
and
What have you observed or noticed this week as you've walked through your world?

Your thoughts can either reflect inward, stating something you believe strongly or is commentary on your own experience or your thoughts can move outward, retelling something you've noticed or observed (a particular interaction with another person, the way you resolved a conflict, a wonderful connection) as you went through your week. You can also ask a question that is either directed towards all people or something you truly wish to understand about a community.

I like to think of this open thread similar to a two-dimensional Christmas advent calendar (so says the Jewish lady) where you peel back the little windows and you get a glimpse of the house underneath. Each comment is a small window in a world that is uniquely and wonderfully your own. And if you notice something amazing inside a comment, connect with the writer and let them know.

If you are stuck, try beginning your sentence with "I believe..." and then explain your reasons behind the thought.

In addition to providing a view into your world, please respond to a thought that someone else threw into the conversation by adding a (+) before the commentor's sign-off name and then adding your thoughts. In other words, when you open a new comment box, write

+lollipop goldstein--

and then your comment (eg. +lollipop goldstein--in asking us to present what we believed has opened a huge, messy can of worms*).

As I've already stated in the comment manifesto, all thoughts should be respectful. Points-of-view are, by definition, very personal and one person's thoughts are not meant to reflect everyone's thoughts within a community. Comments that attack another person, are hateful in nature, or are seen as simply picking a fight and not starting a conversation will be deleted.

So give us a glimpse into your world and teach us something new about your corner of the blogosphere. What do you believe? What have you observed? What do you want to ask? In other words, how do you view the world?


* This is probably true, but if we're not willing to talk out the hard topics, open our hearts to another person's world, listen, and build that bridge, there is little point to this site.

A Lack of Compassion

I wanted to respond to one of the comments on the post about my first visit with the RE. I was stunned by the truth in her statement:

The angry part of me is that we feel surprised by being treated as human beings. So often in this world of infertility, miscarriage, and treatment, we are made to feel responsible, to feel like a patient, and to feel as though we are wasting others' time. Your experience should be the norm, not the exception.

I have to admit that I feel a little stupid that this didn't occur to me before. I have had some terrible experiences with doctors and medical professionals in connection with my three miscarriages. When that RE walked into the room and was so honest and compassionate and recognized what we've been through instead of skirting around it, I was just amazed and so glad that we found a doctor who really seemed to care and understand. I didn't even think about the fact that the care I received should be normal, not a rare event and cause for celebration. Sadly there are other women going through losses and infertility who do not have the support of a caring medical professional, at least not one that treats them as a human being instead of another medical puzzle or an insignificant patient.

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Aurelia is the contributing editor for Early Pregnancy Loss. She writes daily at Aurelia Ann. She provides "thoughts-written-out-loud" in words and pictures.

G-Tube Issues

When we brought Jenna home from the hospital, our pediatric surgeons strongly recommended a surgery to place a “button” for gastronomy feedings. We resisted, naively believing that her feeding issues would resolve in a few months and that we could manage nasogastric (NG) feedings (a tube inserted in the nose that goes to the stomach) until then, avoiding the need for surgery. It wasn’t long until we realized that NG feedings were very hard to manage with a wiggly infant. Placing the tube took two of us and was a horrible and tension filled ordeal; the tube had to be taped to her face, which resulted in raw, broken skin; she would pull the tube out (accidentally or purposefully), which meant starting all over again and created huge issues when there was no one there to help me; she eventually started gagging up the tube, so that even after it was placed correctly, she would essentially cough it up so it was going in her nose, but coming out her mouth - not good. So, we decided to have the surgery for g-tube placement and decided to use a low-profile, Mic-Key gastronomy tube from Kimberly Clark. Here’s a link for a video that shows how the button sits so close to the skin that you can barely see it under clothes, and how it works.

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Psychmamma is the contributing editor for Special Medical Needs. She writes at Psychmamma where she covers life with Jenna, her "spunky little two year-old who was born with a triple intestinal atresia." Her blog is also the home of Special Needs Sundays.

August 19, 1970

She made sure that her 7 year old daughter was on vacation with her sister for a couple of weeks. Luckily the timing worked out for this yearly trip. Her father drove her to the hospital that morning, after she told him that she was having surgery and he would need to pick her up in a couple of days. Even though they lived together, they were not a close family and he didn't question what the surgery was for. And then she was alone. I don't know if a nurse stayed with her or held her hand, or if they knew that she was planning on "giving away the baby" did they make things harder on her? Netting out their own punishment for her transgression? At 3:15 that afternoon it was over. I was born. I don't know if she saw me, or held me. She did write on a slip of paper the time I was born and my weight. She kept that slip of paper in her hope chest for 30 years, knowing that some day I might come looking for it.

Most kids love to hear the story of their birth. Or whether their mother craved pickles when she was pregnant with them, but ice cream when she was pregnant with their little brother. How did they get to the hospital? Was it a slow orderly procession or a mad dash in a cab? And then they get to hear about the first time they were held, how their mother gazed down at them in awe, counted fingers and toes and they bonded in the moonlight. Retelling the story helps the bonds grow deeper, the connections to stay strong. You are reminded of your very beginning, how you came into existence.

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Andy is the contributing editor for the Adoptee Perspective. She is also a mother through adoption. She writes daily at Today's the Day.

A Day of Reckoning

I wrote the following letter for reading at my dad’s sentencing relating to the violation of a PPO as well as aggravated stalking.

June 14, 2006

Dad:

I regret the fact that I am unable to be here today to read this letter to you myself; however, I am in Las Vegas with my Union at the UAW Constitutional Convention as a delegate for my Local, helping to make a difference in the lives of others. Isn’t it ironic that it wasn’t that long ago that you yourself were at the Convention doing the exact same thing? What a difference eight years can make. Back then, I aspired to be so much like you. Today, I live my life and raise my children to be as much not like you as I possibly can.

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Becky is the contributing editor for Family Perspective on Addiction. She has recorded part of her story at A Walk in Our Shoes and A Daughter's Journey.

Here We Go Again

I haven't written about all the ups and downs, backs and forths, various changes we've made in the J-man's medications, because, really? What's the point? I'd just be writing the same post again and again. He'll take a new medication for 5, 6, 8, maybe even 10 or 12 days. And then, he'll start refusing to take it. And he'll lose privileges. His beloved Bionicles will go into the attic. His legos will be put away. His rights to use the computer will be taken away. And those threats will work for a day or two. Until they don't work anymore.

But this latest medicaton? Oh my gosh! It's been working so unbelievably well! I didn't realize how incredible life could be until we switched to it! Life was beautiful. But it was an extended release capsule that we had to open up and break into J's food... and, well, THAT didn't go over well. Because the capsule contained these little teeney tiny beads. And the beads... well, J's super-sensitive to food textures. And whenever he decides he doesn't like a food texture, he starts freaking out. So we were putting the beads in yogurt, or ice cream, or pudding, or applesauce. And that worked. For a while. And then we had to start disguising it by putting sprinkles in with the beads. And that really worked. For a while. And that stopped working. And nothing, and I mean NOTHING, was working.

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Karen is the contributing editor for ADHD. She writes daily at her personal blog, Chez Perky, where she covers not only life with her vroombunctious preschooler, but also triplets.

Food Allergies

For those who are new to my life, 6 year old kiddo is allergies to the following: milk, eggs, wheat, soy, peanut, tree nut, beef, pork, fish, and shellfish. When I tell people about kiddo’s allergies I generally get the same four responses:

• Oh my! What does he eat?!
• How horrible for kiddo!
• How horrible for you!
• Will he ever grow out of them?
  

I’m betting one of those went through YOUR mind just now. None of these are offensive to me, but they can cause problems from time to time. Here’s what I mean … [Just a note – I’ll keep using the word “you” here because it’s easier that way. Please don’t be offended or think I’m talking about YOU in particular, ok? Ok.]

Oh my! What does he eat?!

I realize that this is a gut reaction, but come on people! (That’s said with loving kindness, in case you couldn’t tell.) Kiddo loves chicken and turkey, he can have all kinds of fruit and vegetables, rice and potatoes (and bread and pasta made from them). When you react that way in front of kiddo, it just draws more attention to the fact that he is different from other kids. He doesn’t live in a bubble, he isn’t deprived, he just has to be careful of what he eats. And in reality, he eats healthier than hubby and I. No veggies drowned in butter, very few prepackaged foods, lots of organic produce, absolutely no fast food – kiddo should be healthy as a horse!

How horrible for kiddo!

It’s tough for him, but he’s never known anything different. He doesn’t think he needs your pity – he thinks he’s a pretty normal kid. He just wants you to understand and look out for him, to protect him when he can’t do it himself (and he’s pretty good at doing it himself). Thanks, from kiddo.

How horrible for you!

Again, it’s tough. But it’s not the end of the world. Things could be much, much worse. In addition to (and somewhat related to) his allergies, kiddo has an esophageal disorder called Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EE for short). [You can learn more about EE here. Many kids with EE are on feeding tubes or in hospitals. Kiddo goes in for endoscopies every 3 months (under anesthesia, they put a camera down his throat into his stomach, and do biopsies along the way) and regular doctors’ appointments, but that’s the extent of our trouble.

Yes, kiddo requires some extra effort to care for. Yes, it can be frustrating, especially when dealing with people who don’t – or refuse to – understand about his allergies. Yes, I feel bad for kiddo at times. BUT it’s really not that bad. And when I AM feeling bad, I have to be positive for kiddo. Some days ARE horrible, but we deal with it and move on.

Honestly, you want to know the thing that I find really horrible about this whole situation? The amount of money I have to spend on food! It’s virtually impossible to find a safe and healthy variety of food for him at the grocery store so we shop at specialty stores. Hubby and I still buy our food at the grocery though, because kiddo’s stores are insanely expensive. Here’s an example: a package of “safe” cornbread mix that makes a 9x9 pan of cornbread costs … (drum roll please) … $8.00. UGH.

Will he ever outgrow them?

Maybe, maybe not. I can’t say for sure. My guess, based on our experiences thus far, is that some will go away (peanuts, tree nuts, fish, shellfish) while others will only get worse (milk, soy). But I can’t worry about that right now. Right now, kiddo IS allergic to all these things. Right now, this is our life. Hoping and planning and worrying about the future isn’t helpful to me - I need to LIVE right now. Maybe things will be different down the road … but right now, this is our life and we’re doing just fine.

Kiddo asks me this question from time to time. I tell him the same thing that I’m telling you now: “I hope so, but let’s not plan on it.” And he’s usually ok with that. He’s a pretty smart one, my kiddo.

So if you’re ever talking to me about food allergies, I’d like you to know that our family is doing just fine. Know that I’m happy to answer any questions you have about allergies. I’ll give you the best info I can; I hope you’ll really try to understand what I’m telling you. And if you just can’t help blurting out one of the comments above, know that I won’t be hurt or upset. But I WILL try to educate you.

Age 30 - A Year of Books is a guest blogger at Bridges.

Twenty-Three is a Magic Number

Twenty-three.

That's the stopgap I have, that's the number where it stops.

Just twenty-three.

Twenty-three is the number of pills I have left before I start to try to wean myself off of them.

I started the anti-depressants almost eight months ago, on the first of February. The postnatal depression was simply too much for me, I wasn't functioning. My depression manifested as anxiety, and unless I was with my babies in that safe cocoon where no one could touch us, I was a mess. Crying. Sleepless. Not eating. Unable to function in public. Unable to keep from shouting at everyone - except the babies - around me. Unable to stem this mountain of anger that came from somewhere, came from nowhere, anger so fierce it was palatable yet I couldn't reach it, not even to tell Angus to go to hell when I should have done. I couldn't slow down and just hold my babies, just be with them. I mourn that, I mourn those days. My children are more interested in exploring now, and now that I am calm enough to just sit on the couch and be with them they no longer want to be with me. Every day was a mental exercise of running in sticky taffy.

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Helen is the contributing editor for Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. She also covers Postpartum Depression. She writes daily at Everyday Stranger where she also chronicles life with her twins, Nick and Nora.

Disruption - A Failed Mom's Look Back

I've chickened out on this post for over two weeks. I even posted that I was going to post it in an attempt to dare myself into hitting publish and still it sat in my drafts list, taunting me. I've rewritten and deleted these introductory paragraphs endlessly. I've tried to explain or justify some of the things I wrote, to soften them, to give background, out of fear that some one reading who is unfamiliar with 'attachment related behaviors' will not understand and will label me cruel. Fear that some one will think she didn't love enough, she was too strict, too soft, too whatever, they should have known what they were getting into, they should have (fill in the blank). I've heard it all. Maybe it doesn't matter what you know about the subject, maybe I am cruel, strict, soft, naive, cold, take your pick.

This is actually an essay that I submitted to my favorite parenting magazine, Brain, Child. They didn't reject it and asked if they could hold it for a while, but I haven't heard from them in months. My carefully controlled excitement (wild joy) has dissolved into mild disappointment (I'm crushed). Yes, I would have liked to become a published author, especially in a medium that I respect so much. What I really would have loved is to reach out to such a large audience on the issue of adoption disruption because I know that there are other mothers out there struggling with this decision or the emotional aftermath and I know how alone and judged they feel.

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Stacey is one of the contributing editors for International Adoption. She writes daily at Is There Any Mommy Out There? where she discusses life with her adoptive, multiracial family.

I am a Mother

What is it like to be a mother when your child is gone — when all physical evidence points to a recent birth (pain, scars, fatigue) but your child has died? I am a mother, but my arms are empty. I gave birth to our son on March 9th. Thomas died just 20 hours later on March 10th. He was our first child.

So I am in fact a mother — but instead of changing diapers, nursing and staying up all night rocking my son, I’m wandering aimlessly about a deafeningly quiet house trying to find something to do with all the endless free time I didn’t think I’d have after giving birth. Instead of planning for his future, we’re planning our own. Will we try again? Will we adopt? Will we resign ourselves to a childless life? When will we take down the nursery we had so lovingly prepared for our sweet little boy? We don’t know yet. All we know is that we had a perfect and beautiful son and that we are parents. The problem is, we don’t look like parents.

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Certainly Not Cool Enough to Blog is a guest blogger for Bridges.

True View Friday Open Thread

We did this last week and now we're doing it again. It's your turn to give us a glimpse into your world. Every Friday we will ask you to start the conversation by asking you two questions:

What do you believe?
and
What have you observed or noticed this week as you've walked through your world?

Your thoughts can either reflect inward, stating something you believe strongly or is commentary on your own experience or your thoughts can move outward, retelling something you've noticed or observed (a particular interaction with another person, the way you resolved a conflict, a wonderful connection) as you went through your week. You can also ask a question that is either directed towards all people or something you truly wish to understand about a community.

I like to think of this open thread similar to a two-dimensional Christmas advent calendar (so says the Jewish lady) where you peel back the little windows and you get a glimpse of the house underneath. Each comment is a small window in a world that is uniquely and wonderfully your own. And if you notice something amazing inside a comment, connect with the writer and let them know.

If you are stuck, try beginning your sentence with "I believe..." and then explain your reasons behind the thought.

In addition to providing a view into your world, please respond to a thought that someone else threw into the conversation by adding a (+) before the commentor's sign-off name and then adding your thoughts. In other words, when you open a new comment box, write

+lollipop goldstein--

and then your comment (eg. +lollipop goldstein--in asking us to present what we believed has opened a huge, messy can of worms*).

As I've already stated in the comment manifesto, all thoughts should be respectful. Points-of-view are, by definition, very personal and one person's thoughts are not meant to reflect everyone's thoughts within a community. Comments that attack another person, are hateful in nature, or are seen as simply picking a fight and not starting a conversation will be deleted.

So give us a glimpse into your world and teach us something new about your corner of the blogosphere. What do you believe? What have you observed? What do you want to ask? In other words, how do you view the world?


* This is probably true, but if we're not willing to talk out the hard topics, open our hearts to another person's world, listen, and build that bridge, there is little point to this site.

A Day in the Life

I've been wanting to do a day in the life of Caleigh for some time now. I finally got inspiration from Ellie's parents when they blogged about Feeding Gut Girl.

Back when Caleigh was getting over 24 doses of medicines a day I didn't even have time to think about journaling our day. We barely made it day by day and just keeping Caleigh's schedule back then was good enough. Now that things are going so well and have calmed down a bit I have time to breathe and think about what we really do on a daily basis.

It all starts at 6:30 or 7:00am, Caleigh wakes up. We get up, turn off the Apnea Monitor, change her diaper (that inevitably leaked everywhere), proceed to change all the bed sheets and strip her down to her new fresh diaper. We give Caleigh's seizure med, Keppra, & Ursodiol, liver med, through her g-button about 7:30.

Caleigh plays on the floor while we work on waking up, coffee or green tea is a must at this point.

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Caleigh's Corner is a guest blogger for Bridges.

It's Eating Me Up

The night before Lina got sick, I didn’t go to the hospital. It was Tuesday, January 8th. It was her due date. I had gone back to work the day before. That morning I went to the NICU, because I wanted to meet the doctor. Greenwich has 2 doctors who alternate weeks being “on”. I had met the other one the previous Friday when Lina got up there and over the weekend, and I wanted to touch base with the 2nd one.

I went in. I can’t even remember how long I stayed. I can’t remember if I held her that morning or if I just watched her and then spoke with the doc. The doctor and I had a long conversation. I asked him all my questions. The same ones that I’d asked the other doctor, and the same ones I’d asked before we left NY Presbyterian. It helped to keep hearing the answers over and over.

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The Cezzar Joint is a guest blogger for Bridges.

The Love that Shifted

When I was a little girl and up to and through my growing up I was devotedly in love with my Grandfather. He was pretty much the center of my universe, my go-to person for advice and perspective, and the man that all other men would be measured to. (reason 3,528 why I am single) We went on adventures together in his old brown Pontiac, The Brown Bomber, and we had a silly way of repeating things along the drive. As we pulled out of the carport it was, “And we’re off! In a gale of whale butter!” Followed by both of us chanting, “pa ca ta, pa ca ta, pa ca ta”.

My Grandfather called all female drivers “Gloria” and he had a way of narrating what everyone was doing as he kept his hands firmly on 10 and 12. “Look at that guy in his truck. He’s trying to catch up to that Gloria up there in her tank.” Opera music would be softly dialed in on the radio and I absorbed and adored it all.

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Calliope is the contributing editor for Alzheimer's Disease. She writes daily at Creating Motherhood, where is walks the line between taking care of the older generation while creating the next generation. She lives with and cares for her grandmother who has Alzheimer's.