The Good Days and the Bad Days…Monday was the Latter

Before I launch into a  recap of the day that left me in tears over a bag of crap (literally), I’ll start with this:

He is such a sweet, sweet baby. He is he reason every day is so good, even when they’re not.  One day, I pray that he’ll really sleep like this for an extended period of time. In this photo, he had fallen asleep after our adventure at the market and he was so, so tired. This sort of peaceful sleep has yet to be repeated (note that it only lasted about two hours) without the aid of Benadryl, and never longer than two hours at a time.

So, Sunday night was a doozy. I know, I sound like my mom. Who says "doozy?" Really, who says that? Whatever. It was.  Sunday night was "my" night. It has gotten so bad that Ed and I have started to take turns with the nights so that one of us can at least be half-rested every other day. We still sleep in our room together, so we’re both sort of up from the baby monitor, but only one of us has to actually get out of bed for the diaper, bottle, rock, bottle, pat, sway, and repeat routine. Like I said, Sunday night was my night.

I may have slept for two-45 minute periods. One of those periods only lasted for that long because Ed was nice enough to get up when I failed to even hear Mattix cry. We had a much-needed aappointment with Mattix’ pediatrician this morning, so although I loved every minute of my nap from 6:15 until 7:00 a.m.,  I was hurtin’ when the human alarm (a.k.a. Mattix) went off  promptly at 7:00. I was hurtin’ so badly that I dragged myself into the bathroom for my all-too-regular dry heaving routine.

Ed fed Mattix breakfast, bathed and dressed him, and packed my diaper bag while I puked and showered. And by showered, and I certainly don’t mean washed my hair. That’s become a luxury that I can only seem to afford every four days or so. Gross. Tell me about it. (However, if you ever find yourself in this position, you must really give the baby powder trick a try. It makes four day old hair only seem like two day old hair. By day five, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you b/c I can’t help myself. I suggest a hat.) So I puked, showered, clumped in a little more baby powder, got dressed and came downstairs.

Mattix is actually generally happy in the mornings once he’s completely woken up and gotten his bearings, despite the night troubles. Well, this morning was quite the exception. I came downstairs, wishing I could just crawl back into bed, but looking forward to seeing the smile that makes my day. It was not to be. I walked up to him and said, "Good morning, baby." And got smacked in the face. Yup, my adorable little baby bitch slapped me.

“Oh well,” I thought, “I can’t blame him. My hair is dirtier than this mess was before going to the groomer’s on Sunday:”

"and I’m not even sure if I brushed my teeth, so I had that one coming." I said the usual "No, Mattix, be gentle," took his hand, and touched my face softly. Apparently, he disagreed, probably still disgusted by my nasty hair, and a second bitch slapping ensued. "So the day is going to mirror the night," I thought.

Ed put Mattix into his car seat, I ran to the bathroom for one last dry heave, and off we (Mattix and I) went, into the mess of Monday morning rush hour traffic, further complicated by an unexpected rainstorm. In usual fashion, Mattix was not havin’ the car seat and he wanted me to know it. He threw his bottle across the car, then immediately wanted it back. Unfortunately, I was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, so I handed back his "juice" bottle (I say "juice" because he has yet to figure out that 20% juice, 80% water really isn’t that different than water), which pleased him for ten minutes before he began crying inconsolably. The good news is that he cried himself to sleep. The bad news it that it’s never, ever good to wake him in his car seat in a new location. But we were ten minutes late by the time we finally pulled into the very last covered spot on the fifth floor of the parking garage, so I had no choice. (For the record, pre-baby, I was NEVER late. I hate being late. Being late is NOT. OKAY. with me. I have yet to be on time since returning home from VN.)

We walked into the doctor’s office, I was soaking wet, baby was crying, and I was hoping they didn’t notice that by this time, we were twenty minutes late. I l.o.v.e. Mattix’s pediatrician. I searched for a month for a ped in town who was familiar with internationally adopted children before I found her. Unfortunately, although I live in a city with over 1.5 million residents, we have not one single clinic that specializes in internationally adopted children. And I’m not just saying I want a place near my house that does this; I’m willing to drive. Hell, it takes 45 minutes with absolutely no traffic to get to this ped’s office, easily one hour fifteen minutes in traffic. I mean we don’t have a single such clinic in our state. But that’s okay, because his ped great.

So I love her, but the office staff? Not so much. They’re oftenalways very rude to me. To the point where last time I finally had it and gave one particularly rude woman a schooling on cultural ignorance. Needless to say, I’m not so popular with the front office staff. But whatever. How many times do I need to listen to her yell out, "Hooonnnngggg" then snicker before I’m finally entitled to tell her that although I don’t expect her to know how to pronounce Hoang, it’s certainly inappropriate to do it blatantly incorrectly and then laugh about it? This is not me being sensitive, by the way, because I’m about the least sensitive person I know. You have to work really, really hard to offend me. We’ve just had a few big fiascoes with their front office and billing department (yes, he’s covered on our insurance as of the date of adoption, but no, I don’t have a card yet because we just returned from Vietnam yesterday and I just called the insurance company this morning – that sort of stuff), so it doesn’t take much.  So, anyway, I waited for the usual, "Hooonnnngggg," was not disappointed, gathered up our plethora of stuff, and headed to the back. (Good news is that Mattix has gained over half a pound since the last time we were there! Bad news is that I have, too.)

Forty five minutes later, Intern walked in and told me she was working with Pediatrician today and asked me about Mattix’s symptoms. Pediatrician works at a teaching hospital, which I think is great (truly, I’m not being a smart ass), but today I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through everything with Intern, only to turn around and do it again with Pediatrician. I knew it was going ot be hard enough to get everything out once; no way, no how was I going to be able to do it twice. Intern was totally nice and understanding, which made me feel even worse. (Why are women like that? Why do we feel bad about things that shouldn’t make us feel bad?)  

Pediatrician came in and I started talking. It was not easy, because some of the things I told her upset me to even discuss. I don’t want to write about some of them at this point, but just know that it wasn’t easy. I was in tears by the end. Not crying, crying, just teary with a wavering voice.  I’m not a crier, so this upset me even more. My husband never saw me really cry until we rec’d Mattix’ referral, and by that point, we’d been married for over six years and together for nearly eight. Anyway, we had a really great 45 minute aappointment. She’s truly a wonderful pediatrician. I unfortunately have some serious, extensive personal experience with lots of physicians over a long period of time. I’m pretty finicky now about who I choose. They have to be very, very educated, smart, and professional, but they also have to be able to listen and empathize, because medical advice is all well and good, but unless you’re living it, you don’t totally get it. Maybe if I were having a life-saving transplant or something my criteria would be different, but for most things in my life, if a physician can’t listen, they’re useless to me. So anyway, Pediatrician fits all of my criteria and that makes me happy.

The two issues I feel comfortable discussing here are the sleeping problems and the skin problems. First of all, take a look at this (and enlarge it so you can see more than just the obvious ouchie):

…and tell me how you would feel if much of your body looked like some variation of this (and by the way, it has almost doubled in size since I took this photo)? Mattix was covered in scabies when we picked him up from the orphanage, even though the physician at the international clinic told me he had a “viral rash." Despite that crap medical advice, it became very apparent that Mattix had scabies when I picked caught them, too. He was so infested that it took three separate treatments with Elimite (Permethrin), each a week apart, to finally kill them all. However, he was left with horrible rashes and strange bumps, like the one above, all over his body. In addition, he had a number of other very severe skin issues going on that needed immediate attention.

I like Pediatrician because she’s not insistent that she’s the Empress of the Medical Field. She doesn’t insist she knows everything. (Because nobody knows everything, no matter how brilliant they are. To me, that’s the sign of a good doctor: one who knows what she doesn’t know and isn’t afraid to say it.)  She said she had a really good idea about the problem, but that Mattix needed to see their pediatric dermatology specialist. Our insurance doesn’t require referrals, but I always prefer that a general care doctor make suggestions because coordinated care is far superior to the alternative fragmented, head-doesn’t-communicate-with-the-body care. Furthermore, awesome Dermatologist was booked for like the next four weeks, but Pediatrician got us an aappointment for later in the afternoon (we actually had to wait another hour while she worked on it, and Mattix wasn’t so impressed, but she got it done).

In addition, we discussed the sleeping issues. This was very, very good. First of all, she looked at me and said, "We need to figure something out, because you can’t take care of him when you’re this tired." So yeah, I look that bad. I mean, I know I do, but when someone you don’t know that well tells you you look that bad, you know it’s really. that.

Really, everything we discussed was not new, but it was reassuring to have a good pediatrician’s perspective. Like I mentioned earlier, she treats a lot of internationally adopted children, so none of our issues are new to her. It was great to hear reassuring things and to know that this too shall pass, which I of course know, but when you’re drowning in it, it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have a game plan for the sleeping issues, so we’ll see how it goes over the next week or two. Also, I know that Mattix is never going to sleep well until his body ceases to cause him so much discomfort and pain. His skin is such a wreck. He tears at it until he bleeds. He scratches and cries and rubs. I can’t even imagine dealing with that on top of everything else he’s going through.

Which leads us to waiting for the aappointment with Awesome Dermatologist. Like I said, it was hard for Pediatrician to even get us an appointment with him, but she worked a miracle and got us in the same day. By the time the aappointment was scheduled, it was 12:00 and we’d been there since a little after 9:00. Mattix was tired and cranky, and the thought of hanging around until a 2:30 appointment was making my head spin. I was also tired and cranky and had not eaten since 4:00 the day before.  Except that we couldn’t even leave for lunch because we were sent to the waiting room while Pediatrician got us the name of an eye specialist so that we can have his wandering eye evaluated.

So we were sitting in the waiting room, and Matix was testy and squirmy, and I was tired and pissy, and the clock was just ticking but nothing was happening. And I realized that it was only 12:15 and there was no way Mattix was going to hang on for the rest of the day. So what’s a girl to do but call her mom?! My mom said she was on her way, so I saw a little glimmer of hope – maybe we could get through the day! By 1:00, we were still siting in the waiting room. Mattix had fallen asleep after two full bottles and some vigorous stroller shaking, so that was at least good. (By the way, if you’re stroller shopping, I highly recommend the Britax Vigour. Although the storage basket leaves much to be desired, the suspension alone makes it worth it. That baby can bounce, and that’s my only saving grace when Mattix is in it, it’s not moving, and he’s tired!) Too bad Mattix’s doody smell was taking over the waiting room. After a plethora of diry looks, I finally decided to ask one of the FOUR receptionists if just maybe, possibly, she could drag herself to the back and find out about the names. I mean, really, if the same person were sitting directly in front of you for an hour, wouldn’t you ask if you could help them with anything?  She apologized on behalf of Pediatrician, who was so busy she’d forgotten. Pediatrician really is that busy, so I wasn’t upset, but still…

Mattix was still out by some miracle, so we went upstairs to the lab to drop of the his stool sample. G.R.O.S.S. I do NOT do well with poo. (Refer to the plethora of poo stories during our VN trip, starting with this one.)  Collecting the poo for three days was about the worst experience of my life. I was given six rather large containers and had to collect poo samples once a day for three days. I had to divide up said poo samples into two containers each day. The first day I managed to gag my way through it by breathing out of my mouth and yelling inappropriate obscenities throughout the entire process (no, not in front of Mattix). The second day I puked my guts up midway through the collection (really), but still finished the job. The third day I called for Ed, ’cause a girl can only take so much.

I brought the above-referenced poo samples with me to drop off at the lab. Although I don’t believe Mattix has any parasites, like Pediatrician said, "He could potentially have intestinal parasites that he has had since birth and has learned to live normally with them. But you? You’ll know if you catch one." Well, I don’t want any of us to carry around any parasites, so I collected the crap. After that experience, I’ve decided that for future adoptions, we’re all shit outta luck (ha ha) ’cause I’m not doing that again, thankyouverymuch. Intestinal parasites can take over our house for all I care.

So I walked into the lab with the poo samples in the containers, in a Ziploc freezer baggie, in a grocery sack, and asked the gal at the front desk who could take the sample from me. She called for someone from the back, who came up front and asked for the requisition form. I explained that it had been written on the previous form when we had his blood drawn two weeks ago.

(By the way, all those labs came back great! Liver function, kidney function, and CBC were all normal; HIV, syphilis, Hep B & C, and all of the other communicable diseases were negative, and, the shock of all shocks to me, he was actually given all of the vaccines the orphanage claimed he was given. So, the good news is that he’s almost exactly on schedule for a 10 month old as far as vaccines go. He had three during our last aappointment, and he’ll have about three more in two weeks, and then he’ll be right where he should be!)

Anyway, I told the woman about the order being written on the past requisition form and spelled his last name for her. She went to the back, then returned a few minutes later and said they didn’t have any record of him, period. I said that they must have a record for him and asked her to please check again. She told me that there was no record so obviously he hadn’t been there. Okay, so I know I was tired and I know I was a little short on patience, but WTF? Usually I can last through the first few rounds of incompetence, but not today. Smart mouth took over, and I said, "Really? No record? That’s fascinating. I’d love to know whose medical information I was given this morning when we rec’d all of the results of his blood work from two weeks ago, which blood was drawn HERE. IN THIS OFFICE. TWO WEEKS AGO." I’m pretty sure my face was starting to turn red and steam may have been shooting from my ears. It probably sounds silly to get so worked up over this, but after going through the same thing over and over with Pediatrician’s office, I wasn’t sure I could take it again, not today. I hadn’t slept, my kid smelled like crap b/c he had been sitting in it for an hour (and I’m sorry, but if you understand how hard it is for him to fall asleep, you’ll know why I wasn’t willing to change that diaper until he woke up himself), I’m standing there holding a bag of crap, and I want to either eat lunch or puke (both equally). I thought my head was going to explode.

The look on my face must have said that I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so the woman went to the back office for a few minutes, then returned with Nice Lab Lady. Nice Lab Lady told me not to worry, that he IS in the system, but unfortunately, they couldn’t find the order for the stool study. She said I’d have to go back downstairs and have them write up another order for the lab work. Too bad everyone in that office was gone for lunch and the doctor was gone for the rest of the day. I explained that to her and I said that I would just go ahead and leave the sample and call the office tomorrow to have it straightened out.  Nice Lab Lady told me that she couldn’t take the sample with out the proper requisition form and that I couldn’t leave it until they had the order on hand. I explained to her that we had another aappointment in another building, that it would be impossible to get the order today because by the time that aappointment was over, everyone in Ped’s office would be gone for the day, and that I couldn’t possibly drive down here with him tomorrow because, look at him, look at me, does this look like it’s going well?! And she told me that she was really sorry, but she couldn’t take it.

And this is where I would usually become insistent, firm but courteous, then demanding, then whatever else is necessary to get the job done, but instead, I started to cry. Yeah, I actually started to cry.  Me, the girl who doesn’t cry, started to cry. I then thrust the grocery store bag towards her and said way too loudly, “For the love of God, just take this bag of his shit.”

Who does that? I’ve spent my entire life being calm, collected, and effective. Usually, the more frustrated or angry I become, the more level headed and calm I appear because that’s how I’m wired. I can get through any situation, any day, no matter how angering or upsetting. My husband hates to argue with me (not that we EVER argue, of course) because he says it’s not fair.  But instead, today, for the first time in my entire life, I cried because I was frustrated. I cried over a bag of my kid’s shit. In a children’s hospital lab.

Nice Lab Lady looked at me and didn’t see a crazy woman who was holding a bag of crap and falling apart. Instead, she saw an overtired, stressed out, concerned mom who just wanted to take care of her baby and get him home. She took my bag of crap, patted me on the back, and said, “Honey, I know exactly what you’re feeling right now. My daughter was a preemie and we were in and out of clinics and hospitals for months. And I know how frustrating this can be. I’m going to walk downstairs with you and get this taken care of right away.” And we walked downstairs, and just like I said, nobody was there to do anything about it. Nice Lab Lady told me not even to worry, that she would get it taken care of, and that the next time I heard about my bag of crap would be when the results came in. So I cried more.

But then the horrible stench of Mattix’s diaper, which had been festering in the heated waiting rooms, snapped me back to reality. After profusely thanking Nice Lab Lady, we headed into the ladies’ room for fun times. Mattix doesn’t do diaper changes, so it is especially great when they’re really dirty and we’re in a public place and I’m alone. Trying to get his clothes off, take the dirty diaper off, clean him up, and re-diaper him, all while trying to hold down 19 pounds of screaming strength, isn’t my idea of a good time. But we got it done, and just as we walked out, my mom arrived.

And it got better. Because even though I’m a grown woman with a child, my mom’s presence apparently still calms me and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. We walked over to the hospital cafeteria, where I was told that I couldn’t take Mattix because no children under 12 are allowed anywhere in the hospital. So Mom held Mattix while I ran in and grabbed some fruit, french fries, string cheese, and Diet Coke because yes, my once stellar eating habits are just that good these days.

Then we went to the downstairs lobby of Ped’s office where I ate and mom fed Mattix his favorite food, which just so happens to make my stomach turn - pureed green beans and rice – and yogurt. And yes, I let go a little. This was another topic we covered at the aappointment – me going overboard with only allowing Ed and I to meet Mattix’s every single last need and refusing to deviate even a little bit, even when it’s killing us – more on that another day).

The rest of the day was uneventful. He saw awesome Dermatologist, who just so happens to be from Ethiopia and mentioned that he was interested in adopting from there eventually. He is keenly aware of skin issues with children who have lived in orphanages, and so he knew exactly what we were dealing with and what to do about it. I felt reassured about the three separate scabies treatments, because he said that I had done everything correctly (finally!) and that we were 50% of the way there just because of that. He also said not to expect this to get completely better any time soon, but that things would improve dramatically in the next two weeks of treatment. Awesome Dermatologist kept telling me how cute Mattix is, which was a relief, because I was a little worried he would get annoyed every time Mattix tried to climb him, nearly tore a button off of his jacket, and stole the pen out of his pocket three separate times. It all really was cute, but you never know whether someone else will appreciate the "activity" like you do! And my mom got to see Monkey Mattix – the crazy, climbing, energetic, unable-to-sit-still little guy that I know every single day.

We got through the day, had new medication and new hope, and a long drive ahead of us, during which I sat in the front seat and listened to the poor little guy yanking out his hair, whimpering, and pulling at his ears until he finally put himself to sleep.

When we got home, Ed met me in the garage and took Mattix so I could go have all of the prescriptions filled. You know it’s been a long day when you’re looking forward to some "quiet time" in the pharmacy. It took them 30 minutes to fill the prescriptions; I’ve never enjoyed waiting for something quite that much.

This is what I was talking about when I said that nobody writes about the bad days. This was by no means some crazy, abnormal day. All parents go through this – whether they have bio or adopted kids. Except when you’re newly home with an adopted child and all you see are blogs filled with cute pictures and all you hear from everyone around you is that this must be perfect, you might start to wonder (at least I do) what’s going on with your family. How come everyone else has really cute pictures to show for their day, but you have a bag of crap and a meltdown in the lab?

I do have really cute pictures, though, even if one of them happens to be of Mattix giving me the stink eye at the end of our really long medical appointments day, when he finally had enough of me. And yes, he’s truly giving me the stink eye. He saves his super pissy look for his momma. Nobody believes me until they see him doing it. Well, I finally caught it on camera, although this is a fairly nice version of it because I caught it at the tail end:

He assumes the position and gives the eye for a solid 30 seconds until he’s sure that I’m aware of his irritation. Too bad for him I think it’s the cutest! He may be annoyed with me when he gives it, but that face melts my heart. He has sooooo much personality and I love that about him.

And finally, the other night, we let him try a few tiny little bites of ice cream. I always said I would never, ever, ever let my babies try bad, unhealthy, adult food. Never say never, because when this cute little face is staring at you, silently (or loudly) pleading for a bite, what can you do? I’m not quite to the point of filling up his bottle with Coke (I really saw a woman do that once), so I’m still a fit parent as far as I’m concerned. (And for the record, I dont’ even really like ice cream, so what does that say about my current mental state?)

"Hmmm, that looks good! I’d like to try some…."

“What is this stuff? I’m not sure…”

“It’s a little messy, but I’m thinkin’ it might be okay.”

“Okay, so I like it. Hurry up with the bites.”

“Finally! If only this lady weren’t such a pig, there would be more bites for me. I will give her a dirty look so she’ll stop being so selfish.”

“I’m sorry, what? Why can’t I have more? Forget it. Spoons are for girls, anyway. I’ll take care of this myself.”

And that’s where the photos end, because Ed had to put the camera down to help me with one very angry kid who wasn’t done eating ice cream, even though Mommy said he was done. This was the most hilarious three minutes of my week. He is SO CUTE. Who knew feeding your baby ice cream could bring so much laughter. He laughed his little butt off after every bite, and so did we! I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. I love this little man so, so much.