I have been having a lot of vivid dreams lately. I’ve had a couple in which Connor started crawling or walking, so vivid, that when I woke I felt sorely disappointed that it wasn’t real. I know he will…I’m just ready to see it. Then there was the one in which we took him to a very questionable looking children’s salon, one that looked like a candidate for Tabatha’s Salon Takeover. He was preparing to get his first haircut, but then, in true dream fashion, Chris and I were suddenly in the car driving away. In dreamworld, it was acceptable to leave him to get his haircut. But I realized I had meant to stay and now I would miss it and get no pictures, so I started to cry. Chris turns to me and says, “Well, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay?” “I forgot!” I replied. “You’ll get over it,” he says.
I shared this dream with Chris the next day, and when I told him that I started to cry in the dream, he laughed and said, “You’ll get over it.”
Editor’s note: When Chris read this he said, Hey! This doesn’t paint me in a good light! So I want to clarify that my subconscious merely is incorporating the fact that we both have an obnoxious sense of humor. And if you don’t immediately get up and get me a glass of water when I ask for it, I will use my blog to make you look bad.
But the weirdest dream was the one in which I ate one of his toys. It made complete sense in the dream that I would. But as soon as I was done I was racked with immense guilt. You’re probably envisioning a small toy, like a rattle or block. No. It was this:
The foot is for size comparison. I ate…a piano. It was like a cartoon with big old bite marks in it. I don’t even want to know what a therapist would say all this means.
I was looking through my bedside drawer the other night where I stash books I haven’t had a chance to read. I came across a book I had buried months ago when Connor was in the NICU. It was a collection of stories about living with TSC, and part of an information pack given to newly diagnosed families. I was too freaked out to read it then, but this time I actually flipped it open and read a few. No anxiety attack, no heart racing, no dizziness. What a difference a few months make. I can even interact in online discussion groups now. It was a long process of enter and retreat for me.
I’m impressed I haven’t felt more blah with the end of the Christmas season. There was still a bit of the letdown of putting everything away and life going back to normal, but it still went fairly smoothly. It was a bit of glum feeling for a moment tonight though, when the last house on the block (the closest one we have to a Clark Griswold) threw in the towel on the outside lights.
But in a way, Christmas is now a permanent fixture in our house, as it spelled the end of our dining room. Connor officially now has too much stuff not to dedicate a space (besides his room) to him. We pushed the table against the wall, surrendering the space to him, as he looked on smirking, sipping his Similac and pretend smoking his teething ring . He gave us a smile that said, “you held on longer than I thought you would.” He thinks it’s “charming” when we pretend to be in charge.
I had a blog once that was painfully blunt. It was my outlet for five years when I battled depression and anxiety. That battle actually went on for more like 10 years. Some friends stuck it out. Others found me too aggravating, and I was aggravating. But they can still go to hell. I’m good now and have been for several years. I was delightfully sarcastic and dark in that blog. Or at least I think I was, in my own little world. I didn’t tell family I had it. It’s long gone since the day a disgruntled employee at Journalspace intentionally sabotaged the server, destroying an entire online community. The one and only time I backed it up was two months prior to that fateful day. I wanted to print it once, but it was over 500 pages. Sometimes it’s hard for me to be completely open in this blog because I use it as a forum to raise awareness for Connor. This means family and family friends read it (although as I discovered tonight, my brother hasn’t been, so he can suck it. I pushed him on a cactus once as children and I’m not afraid to do it again bwa haha). As I get more comfortable, I might open up more on a personal level.
Which brings me to the fascinating world of Facebook. Feel free to unfriend me if my unending lobbying about TSC annoys you. Of course, it’s not like those people would be reading this. I have been blown away by the thoughtful, kind words from people that I haven’t seen in years, didn’t know well even then, and sometimes never even met. Especially when some of the people I spent significant amounts of time with at some point in my life have never cared to say a word to me about Connor.
2. The TSC community needs to go balls to the wall.
I’m not in the greatest mood because the last couple of days I’ve been lobbying like crazy to get votes on behalf of the Australian Tuberous Sclerosis Society. They started out well in the lead. Earlier today another group had a 30 vote lead. Now it’s over 100. I’m about sick of the lack of awareness and touting of various opportunities to get funding for TSC. Once again we are faced with a vote where we aren’t even at 2,000 flipping votes. More like 1,600. Just like the Chase Bank competition a few months ago. Yet I’m part of two online communities, one with over 2,000 TSC people and another with over 5,000. Something isn’t clicking here. I’m angry.
3. Life isn’t fair.
Yesterday, one of the children I know with TSC was rushed to the hospital in the midst of a status seizure. If you don’t know, that is a seizure that won’t stop without medical intervention. From what I hear, it can involve being pumped with so much medication to stop it that they have to be in a hospital because they would otherwise die from an overdose. Connor has never had one, but once again, on the list of increased possibilities with TSC, that is one of them. When I was teaching,I would, from time to time, have to be trained on a medication that is inserted into the rectum to stop a seizure. I never had a student have a seizure, but I now know that drug is Diastat and that is what it is for. I used to cringe at the idea, never knowing epilepsy would be a factor in my life. Wouldn’t phase me now, though we don’t have any and I’ve never had to use it. Funny thing is that I think that the last 9 months of my life would make me a most fantastic and understanding teacher. Too bad by the time I left, teaching was 10 percent of the job. Garbage paperwork and filibuster meetings were the other 90.
But I feel bitter because this child has been through enough. He’s never been seizure free for a moment. He’s not even four and already lost a kidney. He’s been through enough. Hey, God. Feel free to cut him a break. Feel free to cut a whole lot of babies a break.
Forget TSC. Do you know how many kids out there have a health problem? You don’t. Not unless yours does. Until then, you don’t know. Forget TSC. What about all the other stuff? Once your eyes are open to one, it’s everywhere. Can you believe there is a little girl out there that was not only born with TSC, but is now battling an unrelated childhood cancer? Really? One rare disease wasn’t enough? Did you know cardiac birth defects are as common as 1 in 100? Can you believe that the physical therapist assigned to Connor has a 3-year-old granddaughter battling cancer as we speak?
People are praying everywhere. But I’ve learned something. Prayer makes the person praying feel better. Don’t get me wrong. I love that people are praying for Connor. He’s had prayers all over the States, Colombia, India and more. Don’t stop. But it gives me this mixed feeling of bitterness and relief. Sure, I want to believe it will make a difference. But I don’t really believe it does. Some prayers get answered. Some don’t. I don’t know that I prefer to believe God is answering some and not others. I’d actually rather believe things are just happening down here. Otherwise, why do some deserve to get answers and others don’t? I’m sick of stupid prayers, too. Do I have the right to call other people’s prayers stupid? Probably not, but if children are sick and/or dying and God is helping you win a stupid ass football game or experience great weather for your fishing trip, I’m gonna be pissed. Is God the reason your wedding went beautifully? No, you got lucky. And if you think God is the reason your centerpieces didn’t wilt and drunk Uncle Jack didn’t embarrass you, you’re a moron. Good luck with the rest of your life thinking God is going to fix all your piddly marriage problems.
I don’t know how people give it all up to God and just believe it is all for a reason. I want there to be something after we die. That’s the only reason I don’t blow it off all together. But while we’re living…what is there? I don’t know.
Please click on the right of my blog to go to the Mixed Up Mommy facebook page where there is a link to help get funding for TSC research in Australia. All you have to do is click on the logo and “like” it. The group with the most votes will receive funds from Tupperware. Another group just pulled ahead but it’s close!
December has been a tough month for blogging. I feel like I’ve been going, going, going. That’s even more than I usually feel like I’m going, going, going with a 9-month-old. It started with stressing over trying to get that confounded EEG appointment, then going down to Florida to see Chris’s parents, coming home and checking into the hospital the next day for the EEG, getting discharged in time to start all the family festivities with those that came to town, then Christmas. I was so exhausted I had to renege on plans to hang with some friends at a bar downtown. This after weeks of thinking, “man, I want to go out.” Not that I don’t go out, but I wanted to go out more like I went out pre-baby.
It didn’t help that we went from warm, sunny Florida where it was still summer, and we floated around in the backyard pool with beers in our hand, back to chilly Atlanta, where we immediately had to check in for the stay from hell at Scottish Rite.
Pics from Florida:
So we got all nice and relaxed in time to check in for Connor’s EEG where we could promptly become stressed and agitated. We had no issues with our neurologist. He kept us informed and even let us out a day early as we’d caught several “episodes.” This is our second less than satisfactory in-patient experience. First time was after his brain surgery. The surgery part went great. We love our surgeon and we had a good experience with the surgery department. There were a few issues once we moved to his room though, the primary anger-inducing one being that the day after surgery when he started swelling, he was clearly in pain. His heart monitor kept going off because of it, but nobody ever came to check on him (or for any other alarm for that matter). Don’t get me wrong. I totally understand that every alarm is not an emergency, but as parents, when things go off repeatedly for an extended period of time, we might benefit from a little explanation of what warrants concern. Not to mention, it’s already stressful and then you’re sitting in a room with all this machinery beeping at you obnoxiously. It got to the point where in the middle of the night I just started silencing them myself (after it had been clearly established which ones were clearly unworthy of response). At any rate, we finally asked when his next round of pain meds would be. I stupidly assumed (as I am new to the medical world-my first hospital stay being Connor’s birth) that he was getting them because his skull had been drilled into and his brain resected. “Would you like him to receive pain meds?” was the response. “Ummm…yes. He’s in pain and crying.” The nurse responded, “Yes. I saw his heart rate kept going up on the monitor out there.”
Well, alrighty then. But this was before I read an article that advised to never have surgery on Fridays because weekends aren’t exactly the best staffed, so I chalked a lot of it up to that. Also, before I continue, I want to be clear that it’s not my intention to bash nurses. We’ve had great ones that were very proactive in pushing doctors that were taking their sweet time taking care of business, especially in the NICU, but it’s like any profession. Some are great, some are good, some suck. Because then there was the evening Aunt Donna watched him while we went to dinner and he pulled his IV out, spurting blood everywhere. The boy loves to yank his wires. She was left applying pressure to the bleeding spot until the nurse could return with a bandaid. Good thing it finally quit bleeding because nobody ever came back. We also couldn’t get his med schedule reestablished while we were there becaue every time shift changed, nobody had passed on that he takes them at 8 and 8, so they were coming at all crazy, inconsistent times.
So this time we were there mid-week. I do think he got more attention this time, which was funny because it was just a testing situation. But the meds were consistently late messing up his sleep schedule, sometimes more than an hour. And the most frustrating part is that I don’t want to yell at the wrong person. I don’t want to go off on the nurse, because if they are understaffed, that is not her fault. But with a lot of the stuff that doesn’t go smoothly, you just don’t know where the breakdown happened. I’m particularly uncomfortable in this area because I taught for seven years and I know what it is to have parents let you have it over things you have no control over.
But even midweek, we weren’t issue free. There was the EEG removal and shutdown I mentioned in my last entry. Then came the big one. The second night we were there I noticed Connor’s eye was red and irritated. I thought perhaps that in his rubbing and messing with his electrodes he may have gotten some glue in his eye, so I asked the nurse if there was something that could be done to soothe it. She was uncertain whether it was irritation or an infection so she wanted to check in with a doctor first. Thirteen hours later he finally got a saline flush. (And I had brought up the eye problem twice more). By then it had progressed to goopy, not opening, and him screaming like a bat out of hell when we pried it open. Sixteen hours later after more followups from me, a pediatrician checked him out. He’s still screaming and refusing to open his eyes. Seventeen hours later he got ointment and a swab to test for pinkeye. The swab would later come back negative, affirming that perhaps if he hadn’t had to wait 13 hours for an okay on a simple saline flush, that maybe he didn’t have to suffer the next few days, even after he came home, unable to see us or his toys. Here I thought being in a hospital was the optimal place to be if something like this happened. Who knew we’d have been better off at home and taking him for an emergency pediatrician appointment? Sixteen hours as a patient in a hospital. What happens if you contract MRSA? Does a limb have to fall off?
I’ll end my diatribe there. But I will say that I’m the calm(er) one, always telling Chris not to burn bridges. God help any hospital that houses me should I ever lapse into a coma.
There was one thing that led me to feel grateful after this stressful stay. After we were home, a friend posted a link on Facebook about the passing of a friend’s premie baby. I didn’t know the parents, but as I was downstairs bitching about Connor’s eye, there were parents above us in a NICU I know all too well losing their child after 77 days of life. Things can always be worse. I can’t even imagine.
As I mentioned, Connor’s eye-rolling “episodes” as I now call them did not show up on EEG as seizure activity. After another day of comparing video of his eye-rolling with simultaneous EEG activity, one correlation our neuro could find was that when Connor is awake, electrical activity from his left occipital lobe tuber spreads over the left side of the brain. When he’s sleeping it spreads all over the brain. However, when he has the eye-rolling episodes, the activity resembles what it does when he’s sleeping even though he’s awake. But it doesn’t build up into a seizure. It’s just a little quick burst of activity from the tuber (which if I understand correctly isn’t uncommon in TSC) that dies away before it builds into anything. So, for the neuro, it still doesn’t explain why his eyes move like that when he has these clusters. He is still looking into it because he’s never seen this before. I’m glad now that he didn’t okay the ambulatory EEG because the test would have been a wash without video.
Anyway, December has been so crazy I never got to do my post about decorating for Christmas, which I love. So here are some shots of our house:
And my new pride and joy: a Lego Christmas village! Put together, of course, by Chris. I don’t have the patience. Chris’s initial plan was to assemble and disassemble on an annual basis since he enjoys Legos. Several hours of construction later, that plan was out the window. I’ll explore the fake snow option next year, but after hours of work, Chris was opposed to anything that required the manhandling and moving of the parts. Very, very opposed. So Merry Christmas. I didn’t break the village!
Shots of Connor’s first Christmas in the next blog entry!
What a lovely evening. I am lying. There is a possibility we will be discharged tomorrow instead of Friday. If there is a God, he will get me out of this place. Oh, Connor’s fine. But I’m going mental. I can actually handle staying here, no problem. It’s the not having control thing that is making me completely insane. Tonight the meds came an hour and 15 minutes past his med time. By then I’d had to give in and feed him although feeding him is essential to getting the meds into him, and we’d missed the window to put him to sleep. So my baby that goes down no problem 98 percent of the time, screamed for an hour, and now continues to stir every so often and wake up to cry enough so that I have to pat him back to sleep. Just when I thought we established a firm schedule of the meds being 40 minutes late. Look, if you won’t allow me to do it, then you gotta bring them on time. And if you’re understaffed and it can’t be done, well, then you’re gonna have to let me freakin’ do it. I’ll sign a damn waiver.
So, the big news! What do we know so far? Our neurologist stopped by to talk about what he’s seen so far on the EEG. Connor has had a few episodes now which could clearly be seen on the video and the neurologist has gone over the activity that coincides with those events…and the conclusion is: Drum roll please!!!! (you better be pounding your desk at home)
Nothing. We still don’t know. Nothing is there. No seizure activity is appearing on the EEG. Everything looks good in the abnormal way the EEGs of people with TSC can look good (meaning it is normal for people with TSC to have an abnormal EEG due to the tubers, even if they are having no seizures).
WTF, baby. WTF.
Since all the activity is with the eyes he added two more electrodes right next to them to see if that changes anything. So we shall see. I suspect we will check out knowing no more than when we came in. However, we may be increasing the keppra as his episodes got shorter last time we did. And possibly going down on the klonopin (clonazepam) as that never seemed to do much.
So, I’m glad the EEG looks good, but ummm, apparently we need to work on Connor’s attitude because he rolls his eyes at me at least 50 times a day. Just kidding. I don’t know what to think.
I just scanned over what I’ve written so far and it reminds me of why I hate baby discussion forums. Everyone talks in acronyms and I got sick of having to google everything they said.
The day was otherwise exciting as the kids got a visit from the seizure dog today. Connor loves dogs. I’m bummed I wasn’t able to snap a pic of the big smiles he had when the dog came in. It makes me really want to get him one, but Chris and I both agreed they were too much work. So we had a baby instead.
Connor also managed to massacre the electrodes on his head today. Two factors contributed to this. One, he inherited this crazy gene from his father that makes him sweat even when it’s 20 degrees out. Two, he likes to yank on things, especially wires and hair. Once he had created a sweat lodge inside his gauze turban, it was all over. It started to unravel around 4. Previously someone had come in right away if something came loose, but this time no. I casually mentioned it to a nurse, but I guess I didn’t properly express the imminent danger of these tiny little hands. Later, Aunt Donna came to watch while we went to dinner. It was straight raggedy by then. And when we returned, I guess one of the techs had shut it off from their remote monitoring station (perhaps located in the Lost hatch?).
Just then the nurse arrived, so I addressed the elephant in the room.
“So we’re here for an EEG, and jeepers this is awkward, but there is no EEG. Does this mean I can go home and hit the Jack Daniels?”
I will say, someone was there shortly after to redo it. Shift change had just occurred. When I replied 4 o’clock to her inquiry about when this started coming off, her expression was, well, I will call it “interesting.”
…because people are driving me insane. In order to maintain my positive thinking, I must vent somewhere, so even though I’m about to do some more complaining, I’m just emptying the irritation can so I don’t kill anyone who looks at me funny tomorrow.
So first, the good thing. Since I’m reporting to you live at Connor’s hospital bedside, I can tell you he’s had two episodes while hooked up to the EEG. Finally. They weren’t able to thwart us this time. He’s having more clusters a day, though the clusters tend to be shorter than before. Today I saw five for the first time since this eye rolling started, although the last one, may have only been a couple quick rolls.
Now here’s the part where I unload. What can I say? I’m tired. This EEG business has been going on since 6 am (and I don’t count the ordeal of getting this appointment-see previous posts). I had to wake up to call the transfer center to see if there was a room for him. There wasn’t. But that was okay because I knew it was a possibility we would be on standby at first waiting for one. At least they let us wait at home. So I have to call back at 8. Then I have to call back at 10. Then they say call back at 12. Okay. Deep breath. Sick kids get precedent and apparently there’s a massive influx of RSV cases. I’m not a monster. I do understand that. Another deep breath. Then YAY! They call ME back at 10:30 and say to be here by 12 because they will get him hooked up in the lab and hopefully a room will be ready by then. So we come to the hospital. Where we wait. And wait. And wait until two hours later he gets his electrodes. But there’s still no room, so the test isn’t going yet. So we wait. And nap. And wait. And we finally get a room at almost 5 pm. They almost broke me waiting for the electrodes. Oh yes, it was close. But I maintained.
That was nothing. Here was what really got my heart thumping. We went over all his meds earlier in the day and they had been submitted to the pharmacy. It was made very clear that all meds during his stay would come from the hospital pharmacy and must be administered by the nurse even though we do it at home every day. I will cut them a break on that given the litigious nature of this society. But, one of Connor’s meds is not easy to obtain. I was highly doubtful they’d even have it in stock considering I heard they recently ran out of a major antibiotic. But hey, they have all their information hours before his med time, right?
His med time in the evenings is at 8. At 8:25 I was about to call and see what was up because he was getting sleepy and cranky, when the nurse comes in. We administer Klonipin. Then Keppra. Then…taking vitals? “Are you giving him his vigabatrin?” I ask. “Oh the pharmacy wanted me to ask you about that. They wondered if you had it here because they don’t have any.”
For a moment I flashed back to the night a few years ago that I was at my favorite bar, Fado (before it moved and stopped being awesome), having too much to drink and breaking up with a guy via text (don’t judge me for the text. I don’t usually condone that. There’s more to the story). I was, shall I say, not in a good mood, and fueled by alcohol. Fado had recently hired a new valet, and he, how do I say this politely, sucked a fat one. Drunk girl was ready to leave, he had my keys, and was nowhere in sight. (Disclaimer: I am not the one who drove my car home). Thirty minutes later, after inquiring to his whereabouts with several bartenders, he wanders out of the kitchen where he was hanging out. I said, “There you are! I need my keys!” And he said…are you ready for this? He said, “Relax.”
I. Lost. My. Sh#%. Lost it big time. It is the only time in my life I have ever gone off on someone in the service industry. And as I did it, I could see my friends Lili and Angel desperately looking for an exit so they could disassociate from me. I went batsh#% crazy. But I don’t feel bad because I would be vindicated another evening when he blocked a bunch of cars in and failed to take the keys from the owners blocking them.
But Connor cannot duck away from me. My actions can affect him and his future treatment, whereas I knew our favorite bartender Kevin would never fail Angel and Lili, so I calmly replied, “Yes. I did wonder if you would have that drug.” What I did not scream was, “ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME? THE PHARMACY JUST FIGURED THIS OUT? WHAT IF I DIDN’T HAVE IT? IT’S ONLY HIS MOST IMPORTANT MEDICATION!”
And when I was asked to turn it over to have the pharmacy verify it, I stashed a bunch out of sight. Navigating the medical world.
Okay…yesterday’s post was a bit of a downer, so I thought I’d share some good stuff. First of all, thank you to everyone who reached out with stories to make me feel better about Connor. He decided to cheer us up the next day by being much more engaged with playing while sitting. I think a few things just came together in the last week that caused us to bum that night. One was that his physical therapist expressed concern that he’s not as engaged with his toys in a sitting position. Honestly, I’m not sure what to think about that. If he’s lying down or in his bouncy chair he’ll bang the suspended toys around for hours, so it’s not like he doesn’t play. Once a toy is in his hand while sitting he can develop a death grip that likely matches Charlton Heston’s around his gun collection. But he tends to need a little prodding to reach out and grab his toys when sitting up in a chair. That day we were upset, he was particularly disinterested in doing so. The next day he was far more cooperative.
Another piece to the puzzle was that Connor went in for a followup hearing test. His hearing is perfectly fine, but when they did the part that tests his cognitive response to sound, meaning checking to see if he would turn and seek the sources, he didn’t do so hot. He didn’t seem particularly interested in seeking out where the noises were originating from. The thing is, Connor never does as well with this stuff with people he doesn’t know well. I’m not saying he isn’t somewhat behind, but I think he does far better with us than in a testing situation with total strangers. I couldn’t help but notice that afternoon, when he tagged along with me to the salon, that his head was turning all the time. He was between two stations, and the blowdryer would come on to the right–TURN. My stylist starts to talk to his left–TURN.
Then this morning was very exciting. Connor has never showed a whole heck of a lot of interest in rolling over. This was of slightly less concern to me because I’ve had many people with chunky babies tell me their kids didn’t care to do so either. He has previously rolled over from front to back before, but him doing so required that his arms happen to be in an awkward position that lent to him doing it. He wasn’t repositioning his arms to make it happen. If they weren’t already where they need to be, he didn’t bother. This morning, when Chris went to get him out of the crib, he decided to put Connor on his stomach. Connor reached out with an arm bent at a 90 degree angle and pushed himself back over. Then he did it three more times! This is so exciting! He was truly making the effort to find a position to turn himself without waiting for us to position his arms for him.
So moods are elevated in the house again.
But this wouldn’t be my blog if I didn’t complain about something, so…that EEG paperwork? Still don’t have it. Today is day #4.
I’m very excited about a trip I’ll be making in February to Washington D.C. I’ll be tagging along with Wendi Scheck and some other ladies of the North Georgia TS Alliance for the annual March on Capitol Hill. We will be joining the headquarters of the TS Alliance, as well as people from all over the country to meet with senators and representatives and advocate for federal funding for TSC research. And mark your calendars, Atlanta peepz. The 2013 Step Forward for the Cure is taking place on Saturday May 18. We had a huge team last year, and everyone is welcome back again, as well as anyone new who would like to join us. There is no minimum to raise and I will post when the online sign up is ready. We raised over $6,000 last year!
For my readers who aren’t local, but are interested in taking part in a walk, here are the other walks (and other events) that have been scheduled thus far:
Jan. 26- Singing for a Cure at Paddy Whacks Pub, Philadelphia, PA
Last night was a little bit of a bummer for Chris and me. I think it just suddenly hit us with great frustration, the ways that Connor is behind physically. We’re really focused on getting him sitting independently, but he’s definitely not where an 8.5 month old should be. It’s not that we didn’t already know he was behind, but as he gets older and babies can be more active, it’s so much more obvious. I find myself obessing over other babies I see doing more that appear to be smaller in size. Granted, the fact that he’s a chunk doesn’t help, but it used to be if the baby turned out to be older, it didn’t bother me so much. Even if the baby was just a little older, I’d feel okay. But a few days ago we were having breakfast at J. Christopher’s and there was a small, but very active baby girl in a high chair. Even though she was much smaller than Connor, I guessed her to be 9 months. Plus she had older siblings. And she’s a girl! Girls develop faster, right?! I’ve seen kids running, literally, that were smaller than Connor and when I ask, they turn out to be in the 18 month range. When mom replied, “Seven and a half months.” I clenched my teeth and faked a smile. She was supposed to be older than Connor, even if only by a couple weeks.
Whatever these eye rolls are, presumably seizure activity of some sort, I think they are slowing him down. I’m anxious to get our EEG done so we can hopefully adjust meds. Better yet, would be to find out that it’s some sort of harmless electrical activity, but considering they mimic seizures by occurring when he’s very sleepy or right when he wakes up, I don’t know if that will happen. He sped up so much after surgery when the complex partials stopped, but we’ve been on the edge of sitting independently since September. Yes, he’s better, but I thought it would have been mastered long ago.
Why do seizures have to be so annoyingly complicated and present in so many ways? Before all this, when I heard the word seizure I envisioned the classic grand mal (now called tonic clonic) as presented on TV shows and movies. Even if you read descriptions of the different seizure types it can be very confusing because the written description may not match what you’re seeing. I was baffled forever because we were told that his original seizures were complex partials, yet when reading about them online, the physical description was nothing alike. His body would jerk, in a manner more resembling a tonic clonic. But it has more to do with how it works in the brain. A tonic clonic is way more intense, even if it does have similar jerking movements. Some seizures are just staring. Some people have what seem like anxiety attacks, but in fact could possibly be a tyoe of seizure. Take his eye rolling for example. We see the TSC neurologist, and yet he’s never even seen this before.
Argh! I try not to let it get to me. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to do these things. I know he will. Developmental delays are extremely common in TSC, and it doesn’t mean he can’t be a normal kid (albeit perhaps dealing with some TSC issues), but it’s still nerve wracking. I get comfort from interacting on the TS Alliance website with adults who have TSC, and have lived pretty normal lives. That’s not to say they don’t have issues to contend with, but they went to college, have kids, have jobs, etc. Some of them, being born at a time when jack was known about this disease, say their parents were told they would be dead by the time they were 3, 5, or 8. Some parents were told they would be vegetables unable to function at all. And here they are, talking to me on FB. Medicine has come a long way. I don’t think most parents upon diagnosis today get these doomsday diagnoses, because they simply aren’t true. Yes, there are severe cases to be sure, but such predictions can’t be made about a baby. I am thankful that we live in a big city, though, because from time to time I come across people in small towns whose doctors have been practicing since those olden days or can’t work the Internet because they still throw that stuff at them. Oh, your kid will never walk, talk or read. Wrong. There is no shortage of parents who were told that and it wasn’t true. Their kids did all those things.
I’m just really ready to do this video EEG and see what’s going on finally. If the neurologist’s office hadn’t stepped in to help us, I’m certain we wouldn’t have heard by now. I hear it’s quite common for it to take some time. While I understand there’s some coordination that has to take place, and perhaps expecting a same day answer is unreasonable, the fact that I was supposed to receive the accompanying paperwork via e-mail two days ago leads me to believe that patients are waiting longer than they should have to. I was told it would come the night we made the appointment. It didn’t. Out of concern that it didn’t go through I contacted the hospital again to make sure that wasn’t the case. It hadn’t been sent yet, but would be sent that day. Still didn’t come. Day number 3, we shall see… People don’t have EEGs for fun. They are indicative of a problem. They should be scheduled as quickly as humanly possibly. But, hey, what do I know.
But things always seem brighter in the morning, even at 5 am surprisingly. Connor decided to wake up nice and early. Since Chris had to go into work today, I brought Connor into bed with me where his hijinks continued. He was enjoying some early morning shrieks (for fun, not upset) and kicking the mattress. I was half asleep “talking” to him, repeating his sounds back. And if I dared nod off, he’d manage to seize my blanket and yank it off me (Baby danger! Baby danger! Can’t let him suffocate under my blanket! Man, he knows how to play me). At one point I awoke to him yanking my hair. So much for the 10 inches I cut off. We’ve been reading books all morning, aside from the nap that was required for both of us. He’s also getting pretty good at feeding himself his bottle, although he needs help with the second half because the concept of tipping the bottle hasn’t quite taken hold. We started sippy cup training, which is going great (insert sarcasm). He hates the sippy cup so far. We started with a regular one with a hard plastic mouth piece. That was a resounding “oh hell, nah.” Then we got one that’s flexible like a nipple but shaped like a sippy mouth piece. He did take a few sips before the resounding, “oh hell, nah.”
Progress is progress, right? Perhaps the fact that it’s 4 p.m. and we’re both still in pajamas means I’m not setting the best example for motivation…
I’ve been following a blog called Toemail, which will surprise many of my friends because I used to have a hideous aversion to feet. Baby feet are another story though. Those are awesome. And my fear of feet in general is fading with time… just don’t get them too close to me. I really enjoy this blog though because people submit pictures from all around the world. Check out Connor’s post here. And then check out the rest of their site. It’s pretty cool!
On another good note, with some help of our medical assistant from the neurologist’s office, we finally got Connor’s EEG scheduled for December 18. Mommy’s blood pressure can go back to normal now.
Living in Atlanta, loving travel and watching my son kick tuberous sclerosis complex's butt.