Hope everyone had a great holiday. Ours was low-key with lots of visits with friends and family. Alastair had a great time opening gifts, hanging with the fam. He definitely made out like a bandit with everything from a ride-on tractor to a monster truck play arena to the cast of the Backyardigans in stuffed animal form. Being a parent changes Christmas for you; the focus moves towards your child's happiness. So Little A had a great time; I had a great time. Granted I was still recovering from all the sickness that had been plaguing me.
New Year's was also pretty quiet. It was too freaking cold and my bladder still unpredictable to take in the Carytown fest. Adrian and I opted for the buffet at our favorite Indian restaurant, followed by taking in a fluff sci-fi flick, and a bit of bubbly before turning in for the evening.
I'm still a little disappointed that Christmas was kind of half-assed this year. No tree. No homemade, personal gifts. Yet we did get in two visits to the Botanical Gardens to see the awesome light display.
Since then, life has been pretty dull. I have thrice weekly visits to Cancerville Clinic to get tanked up on blood and platelets. (Keeping alive the survivors of the stupid zombie leukemia assault until help can arrive.) Adrian's started back to work which threw our little family into a bit of an upheaval. We had gotten used to having him available for Little A while I spent my time down at the clinic. Now we have a great couple from our church coming over to watch Little A. He is having a some difficulty adjusting to the change-a few weepy sessions at night and in the morning. But he's a tough nut, and I think he'll soon be rolling with the new arrangement.
I've recovered from my December maladies. Finally, my UTI has left the building and my system seems to have adjusted back to normal. My violent, consumptive cough is relegated to an annoying that pops up when I laugh too hard or when I go out into cold air. However, I have developed a persistent runny nose as of late.
Since I've gotten past the infection, my doc set up an appointment up at Johns Hopkins for me to have a consult and see if I'm an appropriate candidate for any of their clinical trials. I guess you could say it's like a medical audition. Though I'm not sure if it's a cold reading or I need to come prepared with comic and dramatic monologues. Anyway, that appointment is tomorrow morning. They want me there at 6:30 a.m. for blood work. Awesome, I know.
So here I am hanging out with my dad in a hotel in downtown Baltimore. We had a tasty tuna melt dinner at a pub around the corner. I'll be getting up at the ass crack of dawn to schlep up to the Metro station up the street. From there I'll be taking yet another medical adventure of unknown circumstances.
Wish me luck. Hopefully, I make it to call backs.
Showing posts with label Little A. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Little A. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Space Invaders
Taking a look out of the window, it looks like any other grey, rainy November morning. I don't spot either of the following 1.)Fire reigning down and the four horseman of the apocalypse descending to Earth to signal the end of times 2.) Rainbows, unicorns, gold doubloons, and hark the herald angels sing.
So the beat goes on.
And I still have leukemia. The only "change" I am really concerned about right at this particular moment is if the president-elect can come down here and lay hands on me and heal my cancery ass. Call me selfish, but right now I've got bigger fish to fry.
One thing I did read this morning that troubled me is the talk that the embargoes may now be lifted from Cuba with the new administration. Okay,first how about Cuba clean up their human rights(especially in regards to gays), reinstate religious freedom, freedom of the press, end censorship of books and the jailing of librarians, and start letting their people leave legally if they want to instead of forcing them to paddle the sea in homemade boats. Hey, how's that for a thought? You want some embargoes lifted? Work for them.
Last week, we had an invasion of sorts in the Amos household. I meant to write about at the time, but I think I was pretty well traumatized by the whole thing. On and off since we moved into this house (and actually we had the same trouble in our rental house from back in the day), we've had issues with camel crickets. For those of you unfamiliar with what a camel cricket is (also known in some circles as spider crickets), feast your eyes:
Yum, I know. These little boogers are even more revolting up close and personal, and they can jump like nobody's business. It may not look like it, but camel crickets can actually get pretty big, with legs and all enough to cover most of the palm of my hand. For some reason, they have always reminded me of the face suckers from the Alien movies. You know, these guys:
The sight of one of these things in the house is enough to paralyze both The Mister and me. Alastair just points at them and says, "Big bug, mommy." Of course there was that time about nine months ago when he walked into the kitchen carrying the carcass of a camel cricket, "Mommy, what's this, mommy?" I nearly peed myself and vomited and passed out all at the same time. But instead I managed to swoop down and snatch it away from him, exclaiming "Dead bug! Gross!" Oh how I hope one never jumps on him; he'll be traumatized. Then should that happen, I foresee hysterical panic all around at the mere mention of a camel cricket.
Occasionally, our cats will come through in their roles as latent hunters and catch a couple. Rarely though do they kill them, but choose instead to rip off their jumping legs, making them more interesting playthings. Once bored with the camel cricket, they generally leave its not-dead-yet body in the middle of the floor or their food bowl. Our favorite choice of dispatching these little buggers is the vacuum cleaner; sucks 'em right up with minimal contact on our part.
A year or two ago, my dad came and poked around under our house, sealing off potential entry points for the accursed creatures, and it seemed to work. We had minimal intrusions. Apparently, they've found a way back into the house because with the temperature drop last week, these hopping scourge of the earth were back with a vengeance. One night in particular, we dispatched somewhere between ten and twelve camel crickets in matter of a few hours. It felt like every time we came down stairs there were two or three more in the kitchen or dining room or careening around the den or the laundry room. I had these nightmare visions of the floor covered in these jumping minions of Satan. I felt like Ripley, fighting off the never-ending swarm of acid-spitting predators.
Since then, their presence has declined with the odd bugger popping up here and there, as if the word got out about the Purple Weapon of Mass Destruction (aka the Dyson vacuum) welded by the humans. The camel crickets are more weary of mounting another large invasion any time soon. But we are vigilant.
Here's to one good thing about The Big House: no stinking camel crickets.
Oh and one more thing. I'm losing what little hair I have left. AGAIN. And this time it's a mangy look I'm sporting. There's a nice clean bald spot on the top of my head. Hotness. Chemotastic hotness.
So the beat goes on.
And I still have leukemia. The only "change" I am really concerned about right at this particular moment is if the president-elect can come down here and lay hands on me and heal my cancery ass. Call me selfish, but right now I've got bigger fish to fry.
One thing I did read this morning that troubled me is the talk that the embargoes may now be lifted from Cuba with the new administration. Okay,first how about Cuba clean up their human rights(especially in regards to gays), reinstate religious freedom, freedom of the press, end censorship of books and the jailing of librarians, and start letting their people leave legally if they want to instead of forcing them to paddle the sea in homemade boats. Hey, how's that for a thought? You want some embargoes lifted? Work for them.
Last week, we had an invasion of sorts in the Amos household. I meant to write about at the time, but I think I was pretty well traumatized by the whole thing. On and off since we moved into this house (and actually we had the same trouble in our rental house from back in the day), we've had issues with camel crickets. For those of you unfamiliar with what a camel cricket is (also known in some circles as spider crickets), feast your eyes:
Yum, I know. These little boogers are even more revolting up close and personal, and they can jump like nobody's business. It may not look like it, but camel crickets can actually get pretty big, with legs and all enough to cover most of the palm of my hand. For some reason, they have always reminded me of the face suckers from the Alien movies. You know, these guys:
The sight of one of these things in the house is enough to paralyze both The Mister and me. Alastair just points at them and says, "Big bug, mommy." Of course there was that time about nine months ago when he walked into the kitchen carrying the carcass of a camel cricket, "Mommy, what's this, mommy?" I nearly peed myself and vomited and passed out all at the same time. But instead I managed to swoop down and snatch it away from him, exclaiming "Dead bug! Gross!" Oh how I hope one never jumps on him; he'll be traumatized. Then should that happen, I foresee hysterical panic all around at the mere mention of a camel cricket.Occasionally, our cats will come through in their roles as latent hunters and catch a couple. Rarely though do they kill them, but choose instead to rip off their jumping legs, making them more interesting playthings. Once bored with the camel cricket, they generally leave its not-dead-yet body in the middle of the floor or their food bowl. Our favorite choice of dispatching these little buggers is the vacuum cleaner; sucks 'em right up with minimal contact on our part.
A year or two ago, my dad came and poked around under our house, sealing off potential entry points for the accursed creatures, and it seemed to work. We had minimal intrusions. Apparently, they've found a way back into the house because with the temperature drop last week, these hopping scourge of the earth were back with a vengeance. One night in particular, we dispatched somewhere between ten and twelve camel crickets in matter of a few hours. It felt like every time we came down stairs there were two or three more in the kitchen or dining room or careening around the den or the laundry room. I had these nightmare visions of the floor covered in these jumping minions of Satan. I felt like Ripley, fighting off the never-ending swarm of acid-spitting predators.
Since then, their presence has declined with the odd bugger popping up here and there, as if the word got out about the Purple Weapon of Mass Destruction (aka the Dyson vacuum) welded by the humans. The camel crickets are more weary of mounting another large invasion any time soon. But we are vigilant.
Here's to one good thing about The Big House: no stinking camel crickets.
Oh and one more thing. I'm losing what little hair I have left. AGAIN. And this time it's a mangy look I'm sporting. There's a nice clean bald spot on the top of my head. Hotness. Chemotastic hotness.
Monday, November 03, 2008
It was a good Halloween
I feel like a boob for not posting anything all weekend, but the news I got on Friday wasn't good. The blue chemo was a modest fail; it destroyed the blast (leukemic) cells in my blood, but only reduced the blasts in my marrow by 20%. In order to be considered in remission, I need a lot more than that. My marrow's still got 70% blast cells. While it may not be considered a full success, the blue chemo did have some effect on the leukemia which means that it isn't completely imperious.
What really disturbed me is the statement my oncologist made, "We are starting to run out of options." The cancer has already proved resistant to chemo (or similar forms of chemo) that I've had in the past. There's obviously a finite number of types of chemicals used in treatment, so I can't get brand spanking new stuff but for so long.
I've always said I will fight this thing until the docs tell me there's no more weapons left in the scientific arsenal. To actually face a dwindling supply of ammo is very disconcerting.
Guess it's time to start researching clinical trials and start getting serious about a macrobiotic diet.
But there was a bright spot on Friday. Because my white counts were still fairly low, my doc let me put off my new treatment until today, meaning I got to go trick-or-treating and enjoy the weekend with my family.
It's funny how things change when you've got children. There are some things about your life (sleeping in on Saturday, making last minute plans) that vanish, and you feel the loss. Then there are are other things that change, and owing to the love you have for your child, you embrace the change.
Halloween is a big holiday for me and The Mister. We used to put a lot of effort into planning our costumes, decorating the house, and throwing our annual bash. This year, Little A cooked up his own costume idea (Puss in Boots from Shrek 2), and even dictated what mommy would be (a princess). We decorated the house, but not party level. Of course, we didn't have a shindig either.
And that was just fine. In fact, I wouldn't be too upset if we never hosted another bash. The joy in Little A's face while we went trick-or-treating is enough for me.
We started the evening having dinner with my folks, then we all (yours truly, the princess) donned our costumes and went to a few houses on my parent's street. Since spending so much time there, Little A has gotten to know the neighbors, especially two boys across the street who are his big buddies. From there we went home to hit our own street. Little A took to trick-or-treating like a champ, marching up steps, exclaiming "Trick or Treat!", and making his exit with "Thanks" or "Happy Halloween". The Mister and I were there behind him, Princess and Race Car Driver, loving every minute of it.
Now, even three days later, he keeps asking if Halloween is over. To get a piece of candy from his stash (one or two a day), we play trick-or-treat in the house where he knocks on a door and one of us opens it to distribute the candy.
I'm overjoyed that my kid loves Halloween as much as I do.
Well, currently I am hanging in room 122 of The Big House and waiting to get started with this new round of treatments. It's three chemicals I've never had before, nor have I had a chemical closely related to them. The hope is that these poisons will squish this cancer crap into remission and get us back on the bone marrow transplant track. The fellow, a nice young Southern guy, will be bringing me up some literature about the chemicals I'll be getting. That ought to be interesting.
Otherwise, I'll be here, trying to be productive and working on my writing, my reading, and my cable television viewing.
Prayers and supplications requested. And if anyone wants to dance around shaking a chicken and spitting rum into a fire on my behalf, I won't turn that down.
What really disturbed me is the statement my oncologist made, "We are starting to run out of options." The cancer has already proved resistant to chemo (or similar forms of chemo) that I've had in the past. There's obviously a finite number of types of chemicals used in treatment, so I can't get brand spanking new stuff but for so long.
I've always said I will fight this thing until the docs tell me there's no more weapons left in the scientific arsenal. To actually face a dwindling supply of ammo is very disconcerting.
Guess it's time to start researching clinical trials and start getting serious about a macrobiotic diet.
But there was a bright spot on Friday. Because my white counts were still fairly low, my doc let me put off my new treatment until today, meaning I got to go trick-or-treating and enjoy the weekend with my family.
It's funny how things change when you've got children. There are some things about your life (sleeping in on Saturday, making last minute plans) that vanish, and you feel the loss. Then there are are other things that change, and owing to the love you have for your child, you embrace the change.
Halloween is a big holiday for me and The Mister. We used to put a lot of effort into planning our costumes, decorating the house, and throwing our annual bash. This year, Little A cooked up his own costume idea (Puss in Boots from Shrek 2), and even dictated what mommy would be (a princess). We decorated the house, but not party level. Of course, we didn't have a shindig either.
And that was just fine. In fact, I wouldn't be too upset if we never hosted another bash. The joy in Little A's face while we went trick-or-treating is enough for me.
We started the evening having dinner with my folks, then we all (yours truly, the princess) donned our costumes and went to a few houses on my parent's street. Since spending so much time there, Little A has gotten to know the neighbors, especially two boys across the street who are his big buddies. From there we went home to hit our own street. Little A took to trick-or-treating like a champ, marching up steps, exclaiming "Trick or Treat!", and making his exit with "Thanks" or "Happy Halloween". The Mister and I were there behind him, Princess and Race Car Driver, loving every minute of it.
Now, even three days later, he keeps asking if Halloween is over. To get a piece of candy from his stash (one or two a day), we play trick-or-treat in the house where he knocks on a door and one of us opens it to distribute the candy.
I'm overjoyed that my kid loves Halloween as much as I do.
Well, currently I am hanging in room 122 of The Big House and waiting to get started with this new round of treatments. It's three chemicals I've never had before, nor have I had a chemical closely related to them. The hope is that these poisons will squish this cancer crap into remission and get us back on the bone marrow transplant track. The fellow, a nice young Southern guy, will be bringing me up some literature about the chemicals I'll be getting. That ought to be interesting.
Otherwise, I'll be here, trying to be productive and working on my writing, my reading, and my cable television viewing.
Prayers and supplications requested. And if anyone wants to dance around shaking a chicken and spitting rum into a fire on my behalf, I won't turn that down.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Positive Reinforcement
New course of treatment starts on Thursday. In the spirit of not being Debbie Downer, I thought I'd share a few good things about the timing of this new regimen.
And I will miss the Big Flea Market this weekend out at the old fairgrounds. Nuts.
More notes of positivity- Tonight at dinner we were trying to cajole Little A (world's slowest eater) to finish up his dinner so we could take a trip to the mall for new shoes. He asked if we could take the truck to the mall. I told him we would take the Mini so we could play the iPod and listen to Madonna. Little A's face lit up and he exclaimed, "Mommy I love you!"
Yes indeedy, my son likes Madonna.
- I get to watch the season finale of Project Runway over at my mom's house instead of in a hospital bed. I'm totally Team Leanne.
- This time around I'll be in the brand spanking new oncology ward. Fancypants new rooms and everything. Plus the new building is right off the parking deck so visitors don't have to go around the world in 80 days to find me.
- Another day to spend with my guys, work on Alastair's Halloween costume, and a few more button projects for my mom to sell at the church craft show on Friday.
And I will miss the Big Flea Market this weekend out at the old fairgrounds. Nuts.
More notes of positivity- Tonight at dinner we were trying to cajole Little A (world's slowest eater) to finish up his dinner so we could take a trip to the mall for new shoes. He asked if we could take the truck to the mall. I told him we would take the Mini so we could play the iPod and listen to Madonna. Little A's face lit up and he exclaimed, "Mommy I love you!"
Yes indeedy, my son likes Madonna.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Room Number 38
I'm here. Hanging out with the nurses. Watching cable. Catching up on e-mails and my bazillion Facebook messages. Waiting for this slow poke system to kick in so I can get my daggone chemo. I got up here on the sixth floor around 10 a.m. but I won't get my juice until around 6 p.m. tonight. Kablewy.
Really I need not complain. This is time without being hooked up to my perpetual buddy, Cletus the IV Stand.
So this regimen lasts five days, and if all goes well, I'll get kicked out sometime on Saturday.
Later today, I'll snap a few pix of my new view of street and lovely buildings. My room's a little on the small side, but I've got a little foyer area that cuts out noise and a large, freshly tiled bathroom.
My mom and Little A came by for lunch and brought me a nice bucket of goodies and sugar-based comforts. Little A had gotten pretty comfortable with hanging at the hospital, except after about an hour, he started asking, "Are we going home now?" He brought with him some new car toys and my old stuffed Garfield. Odd, I never thought that I'd see my own child playing with my old toys.
Thanks everyone for the positive comments and messages. Your love and kindness has become my life raft in these choppy waters.
Peace out from the Big House, cell 38.
Really I need not complain. This is time without being hooked up to my perpetual buddy, Cletus the IV Stand.
So this regimen lasts five days, and if all goes well, I'll get kicked out sometime on Saturday.
Later today, I'll snap a few pix of my new view of street and lovely buildings. My room's a little on the small side, but I've got a little foyer area that cuts out noise and a large, freshly tiled bathroom.
My mom and Little A came by for lunch and brought me a nice bucket of goodies and sugar-based comforts. Little A had gotten pretty comfortable with hanging at the hospital, except after about an hour, he started asking, "Are we going home now?" He brought with him some new car toys and my old stuffed Garfield. Odd, I never thought that I'd see my own child playing with my old toys.
Thanks everyone for the positive comments and messages. Your love and kindness has become my life raft in these choppy waters.
Peace out from the Big House, cell 38.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Step to the Beat, y'all
I'd love to relay in sordid detail the 30-second beat down between two teenage boys that I witnessed at the end of my street whilst getting my mail yesterday. However, I am woefully behind on my e-mailing. It's positively pathetic. Tonight I am going to try and catch up on all my unanswered e-mails.
So, I'll leave you with a few things to munch on until next I post something of interest.
I've been writing for a few other blogs lately. Check them out here and here.
Despite being an only child, I love to share, especially when a song gets stuck in my head. If you've been watching the Olympics, you'll probably recognize it.
And here's enough cuteness to crash your computer.
As a parent, you hope that your child will come to love or at least appreciate the same things you do. After our visit to King's Dominion on Sunday, I'm delighted to report that Little A is blossoming into a bona fide thrill seeker. Long may he ride roller coasters with Mommy and Daddy.
So, I'll leave you with a few things to munch on until next I post something of interest.
I've been writing for a few other blogs lately. Check them out here and here.
Despite being an only child, I love to share, especially when a song gets stuck in my head. If you've been watching the Olympics, you'll probably recognize it.
And here's enough cuteness to crash your computer.
As a parent, you hope that your child will come to love or at least appreciate the same things you do. After our visit to King's Dominion on Sunday, I'm delighted to report that Little A is blossoming into a bona fide thrill seeker. Long may he ride roller coasters with Mommy and Daddy.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Warriors! Come out and plaaaaaaaaaay!
I love swanky baby and kids' catalogs. The pages are filled with exorbitantly priced clothing, toys, and ephemera that every McMansion Mommy will want to have for her precious little Madison or Jacob. Sure enough, some of the clothes are pretty freaking cool, and we have been known to splurge on a few things for Little A from BabyGap or Janie & Jack. But there's no way in clear blue hell I am buying my kid a $94 pirate costume when we could throw the same thing together for free out of Mom and Dad's old Halloween digs.
Which brings me to Chasing Fireflies, one of the aforementioned swanky purveyor of children's goods. Flipping through one of their catalogs, I spied this awesome t-shirt.
It's the freaking Warriors, people! Holy smokes, how bad do I want this for Little A? Were it not for the fact that it retails at $44, he'd be wearing it right now.
Now, if you don't run with the Warriors, you can give a shout to your homies, the Brooklyn Furies.
Or the Delancy Hi-Hats.
For the uninitiated, The Warriors is a great Seventies cult flick about gang wars between various rather interestingly costumed fictional gangs in New York. It's all kind of awesome in a 3 a.m. on HBO kind of way.
Now, I'm not entirely unsure after reading the product description of the t-shirt that the Chasing Fireflies folks are totally ignorant of their merchandise's source material. But those McMansion Mommies? Can they dig it?
Which brings me to Chasing Fireflies, one of the aforementioned swanky purveyor of children's goods. Flipping through one of their catalogs, I spied this awesome t-shirt.
It's the freaking Warriors, people! Holy smokes, how bad do I want this for Little A? Were it not for the fact that it retails at $44, he'd be wearing it right now.Now, if you don't run with the Warriors, you can give a shout to your homies, the Brooklyn Furies.
Or the Delancy Hi-Hats.
For the uninitiated, The Warriors is a great Seventies cult flick about gang wars between various rather interestingly costumed fictional gangs in New York. It's all kind of awesome in a 3 a.m. on HBO kind of way.
Now, I'm not entirely unsure after reading the product description of the t-shirt that the Chasing Fireflies folks are totally ignorant of their merchandise's source material. But those McMansion Mommies? Can they dig it?
Friday, July 11, 2008
Snapshots from the Sixth Floor
So I have this one neighbor here, a Slavic gentleman, who is quite loud. His voice carries pretty well; he booms pretty well. I'm not sure why he's here, but he's convinced he shouldn't be. I hear him several times a day, telling nearly every nurse he comes across, that "I'm feeling much better today. I think I go home soon." The nurses are very patient with him. But he's still here.
Right up the hall is a dude who likes to sing. Or yodel. Or perhaps just moan.
Today I looked out of my window onto the sidewalk below and saw a woman dressed in a hospital gown, visible IV port on her hand. She was lighting up a cigarette. Now, I don't have any clue why she's here, but I can guarantee smoking isn't going to help. I really wanted to jack open my window and yell down at her, "Hey COW! Put that ciggy out or I'll vomit my leukemia all over your bleachy-blonde, white trash head!" Because she seemed like exactly the kind of moron who thinks cancer is contagious.
Oh and I got word from the bone marrow transplant that they've found eight potential matches for me. Hey ho. Now, we wait while these kind folks are tracked down for more testing and, hopefully one (or more) will be the right one for this girlie.
Finally, as we head into the weekend, more playing with mommy's webcam.
Little A and Mommy
Family Portrait
Yeah, it's our "Oh" faces.
And our monster faces.
Mommy wins this one. I look like freakin' thing that jumped out of John Hurt's chest. Sharbity shar, folks.
Right up the hall is a dude who likes to sing. Or yodel. Or perhaps just moan.
Today I looked out of my window onto the sidewalk below and saw a woman dressed in a hospital gown, visible IV port on her hand. She was lighting up a cigarette. Now, I don't have any clue why she's here, but I can guarantee smoking isn't going to help. I really wanted to jack open my window and yell down at her, "Hey COW! Put that ciggy out or I'll vomit my leukemia all over your bleachy-blonde, white trash head!" Because she seemed like exactly the kind of moron who thinks cancer is contagious.
Oh and I got word from the bone marrow transplant that they've found eight potential matches for me. Hey ho. Now, we wait while these kind folks are tracked down for more testing and, hopefully one (or more) will be the right one for this girlie.
Finally, as we head into the weekend, more playing with mommy's webcam.
Little A and Mommy
Family Portrait
Yeah, it's our "Oh" faces.
And our monster faces.
Mommy wins this one. I look like freakin' thing that jumped out of John Hurt's chest. Sharbity shar, folks.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
What a Difference a Year Makes: Independance Day Edition
Irvington Fourth of July Parade-2006
Irvington Fourth of July Parade-2007
Irvington Fourth of July Parade-2008
Irvington Fourth of July Parade-2007
Irvington Fourth of July Parade-2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Making of a Movie Buff
Today, we took Little A to see Kung Fu Panda, his first movie in a movie theater. This kid comes from a long line of movie lovers, so naturally he enjoys a good flick. He's already a big fan of Cars and The Incredibles, and even at his tender age will sit mesmerized through these rather long movies. But he's not yet had the complete movie theater experience, and this year we decided he would be old enough to have the patience for a full-length picture, to appreciate the big screen, and to not get freaked out at the dark or the volume.
By the way, how much does it bug me when parents bring age-inappropriate children to movies? Like an infant who invariably starts screaming or babbling in the middle of the film and whose parents seem to think the best approach is to try and calm the baby there rather than GET UP AND WALK OUT OF THE THEATER WITH YOUR SCREAMING CHILD. Or like the mother I saw with her two elementary-school-age sons at a showing of Jackie Brown because that's teaching them fabulous things about guns, sex, and profane language. Or like the mother we saw in line to buy tickets with her three-year-old daughter as we were leaving Iron Man at some time past 10 o'clock because that's an awesome time to see a movie with your toddler. Okay, sure I understand maybe not having the dough for a babysitter or maybe having a hard time finding a dependable one. But for crying out loud people, just suck it up and wait for it to come out on DVD.
Anyway, I digress.
We've been hyping this movie experience and Kung Fu Panda since I got out of the hospital after my first round of chemo. We've been watching the online trailers, reading the book, and we even got some Happy Meal toys. I've been pretty jazzed about this, my son's first movie-going experience. Once the doctors declared me no longer neutropenic, we got busy picking out a day and a showing. We packed snacks, put on a snazzy polo shirt with pandas embroidered in the corner, and set off to meet my mom at the theater.
Then due to a mix-up with the times, we ended up there an hour early. Snort. But it was good opportunity to grab a quick lunch.
Occasionally, there are moments when Little A does something that makes me wonder if he truly is the fruit of my loins. Today, for instance, he summarily rejected popcorn. My mom talked him into trying a piece which he promptly ejected from his mouth. Doesn't like popcorn. Huh.
We settled into our seats. Immediately, Little A seemed puzzled as to why we were being forced to watch commercials. I told him I wonder the same thing too some times. Once the movie started, Little A was mesmerized. The only time he talked out loud was to inquire about the usher who came into the theater to make his rounds ("What's that man doing?"). I loved seeing his big grin whenever he recognized a favorite line or scene from one of the trailers we watch.
But I think the whole event, coupled with the darkness and the fact that the sound was a little low, wore him down. By the last ten or fifteen minutes of the movie, he was starting to look drowsy, but I think the final battle scene roused him out of his stupor. All in all, he seemed to enjoy the experience. The scenes with the younger Tai Lung and Master Tigress being the most memorable so far.
Later, when talking about his experiences, Little A made sure to mention the "holes in the seats to put our drinks in." My kid remember the cupholders. Awesome.
The day's events have pretty well baked his noodle because it's taken me a good while to try and spin him down for sleepytime. Whew. I guess our big screen adventures will be few and far between, at least for now.
On one last note, I've got a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow. Just a reminder of my friends, the zombie leukemia cells. Let's hope and pray that the last scorched earth approach has kept them somewhat at bay. Otherwise, the Zombie Warrior's going to start investing in some nuclear goodies for her arsenal.
By the way, how much does it bug me when parents bring age-inappropriate children to movies? Like an infant who invariably starts screaming or babbling in the middle of the film and whose parents seem to think the best approach is to try and calm the baby there rather than GET UP AND WALK OUT OF THE THEATER WITH YOUR SCREAMING CHILD. Or like the mother I saw with her two elementary-school-age sons at a showing of Jackie Brown because that's teaching them fabulous things about guns, sex, and profane language. Or like the mother we saw in line to buy tickets with her three-year-old daughter as we were leaving Iron Man at some time past 10 o'clock because that's an awesome time to see a movie with your toddler. Okay, sure I understand maybe not having the dough for a babysitter or maybe having a hard time finding a dependable one. But for crying out loud people, just suck it up and wait for it to come out on DVD.
Anyway, I digress.
We've been hyping this movie experience and Kung Fu Panda since I got out of the hospital after my first round of chemo. We've been watching the online trailers, reading the book, and we even got some Happy Meal toys. I've been pretty jazzed about this, my son's first movie-going experience. Once the doctors declared me no longer neutropenic, we got busy picking out a day and a showing. We packed snacks, put on a snazzy polo shirt with pandas embroidered in the corner, and set off to meet my mom at the theater.
Then due to a mix-up with the times, we ended up there an hour early. Snort. But it was good opportunity to grab a quick lunch.
Occasionally, there are moments when Little A does something that makes me wonder if he truly is the fruit of my loins. Today, for instance, he summarily rejected popcorn. My mom talked him into trying a piece which he promptly ejected from his mouth. Doesn't like popcorn. Huh.
We settled into our seats. Immediately, Little A seemed puzzled as to why we were being forced to watch commercials. I told him I wonder the same thing too some times. Once the movie started, Little A was mesmerized. The only time he talked out loud was to inquire about the usher who came into the theater to make his rounds ("What's that man doing?"). I loved seeing his big grin whenever he recognized a favorite line or scene from one of the trailers we watch.
But I think the whole event, coupled with the darkness and the fact that the sound was a little low, wore him down. By the last ten or fifteen minutes of the movie, he was starting to look drowsy, but I think the final battle scene roused him out of his stupor. All in all, he seemed to enjoy the experience. The scenes with the younger Tai Lung and Master Tigress being the most memorable so far.
Later, when talking about his experiences, Little A made sure to mention the "holes in the seats to put our drinks in." My kid remember the cupholders. Awesome.
The day's events have pretty well baked his noodle because it's taken me a good while to try and spin him down for sleepytime. Whew. I guess our big screen adventures will be few and far between, at least for now.
On one last note, I've got a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow. Just a reminder of my friends, the zombie leukemia cells. Let's hope and pray that the last scorched earth approach has kept them somewhat at bay. Otherwise, the Zombie Warrior's going to start investing in some nuclear goodies for her arsenal.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Summer's Here
Here's your much needed break from Amanda's Health Woes with some unrepentant toddler cuteness.
I present to you, Little A on his playground:
And yes, that is the face he makes when you ask him to smile. Killer, I know.
This is his "serious driver" look. I believe at the time he told me he was driving Grave Digger.
This is Little A's dismount pose from the slide where he is "waving to his fans". I couldn't make this up if I tried.
The last few days here in RVA have been blazin'. Our recent nightly ritual has been kicking back with some hot sprinkler action.
I tried to get some action shots of Little A running around the sprinkler, but every time I raised my camera, he wanted to pose.
"I'm all soaking wet!"
I present to you, Little A on his playground:
And yes, that is the face he makes when you ask him to smile. Killer, I know.This is his "serious driver" look. I believe at the time he told me he was driving Grave Digger.
This is Little A's dismount pose from the slide where he is "waving to his fans". I couldn't make this up if I tried.
The last few days here in RVA have been blazin'. Our recent nightly ritual has been kicking back with some hot sprinkler action.
I tried to get some action shots of Little A running around the sprinkler, but every time I raised my camera, he wanted to pose.
"I'm all soaking wet!"
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Holiday. Celebration. Come together in every nation.
(No medical updates today, peeps. I had a great holiday weekend with the fam and want to focus on that. The news from Friday wasn't devastating, nor was it ohmygoshyouaremiraculouslycured. More details tomorrow.)
My holiday weekend started on Thursday. The Mister and I threw caution (and my neutropenic state) to the wind and took in a flick. The flick. Iron Man, baby. In honor of my fabulously supportive 'jibans, I donned my "Pajiba Bus(ted) Tour 2008" t-shirt, as well as my Jolly Roger do-rag over my bald head especially for the big event: The first real movie post Big House. It was as if the whole Pajiba crew was there to cheer and celebrate as I crammed my mouth full of movie popcorn and dark chocolate Raisinets.
Man, that movie was something else. It was in many ways the perfect comic book movie. Just enough back story and character development to make Tony Stark believable, but not waste vital screen time. Action sequences were kickin' but not overly long. Actors put in smooth, professional performances. And I laughed out loud more than a few times. I'm just delighted to have been able to see it on the big screen.
Plus, the trailer for The Incredible Hulk was intriguing. I think I might want to see this one. Who can pass up Ed Norton AND Tim Roth?
Saturday, Clan Amos headed over to the king of bog box toy stores, Toys-R-Us, on a mission to acquire some outdoor play equipment for Little A. The set we ended up with is perfect for our crazy toddler man. It's got a ladder, a slide, two walls with climbing hand holds, a cave, and... a steering wheel, the feature that ultimately sold us on this particular model. My little racer does love to drive. After his first few minutes on his new playground, Alastair announced, "This playground is neat."
During the time I was in The Big House, Alastair has totally moved out of babydom into little boyhood. Watching him play and listening to the things that come out of his mouth, I've realized how much he's grown in such a short time.
Adrian has taught him to exclaim, "Punk rock!" (which he sometimes gets mixed up and calls out "Punk up!" instead.), as well as to command someone to "Throw the goat!"
Tonight at dinner Adrian asked him where the million dollars was, and he replied, "Upstairs in bed sleeping." I explain that probably wasn't a wise investment of funds.
We have also established that "narcolepsy" is a magic word that sends Daddy to the ground with some voracious fake snoring.
Sunday, I enjoyed my favorite mom-shared pastime, shopping and spent most of the time digging through the Anthropologie clearance room. Hey, were I independently wealthly, I would be outfitted exclusively in their high-priced quirk.
Yesterday was full of outside playtime (resulting in some butt whooping allergy symptoms today), Indy car racing, and ice cream. I actually watched the entire race with The Mister, particularly enjoying Danica Patrick's minor hissy fit when a fender bender in the pits pulled her prematurely out of the race.
Listen to me. I sound like a freakin' race fan. Shivers.
Finally, I cannot express how excited I am to have So You Think You Can Dance back on television.
My holiday weekend started on Thursday. The Mister and I threw caution (and my neutropenic state) to the wind and took in a flick. The flick. Iron Man, baby. In honor of my fabulously supportive 'jibans, I donned my "Pajiba Bus(ted) Tour 2008" t-shirt, as well as my Jolly Roger do-rag over my bald head especially for the big event: The first real movie post Big House. It was as if the whole Pajiba crew was there to cheer and celebrate as I crammed my mouth full of movie popcorn and dark chocolate Raisinets.
Man, that movie was something else. It was in many ways the perfect comic book movie. Just enough back story and character development to make Tony Stark believable, but not waste vital screen time. Action sequences were kickin' but not overly long. Actors put in smooth, professional performances. And I laughed out loud more than a few times. I'm just delighted to have been able to see it on the big screen.
Plus, the trailer for The Incredible Hulk was intriguing. I think I might want to see this one. Who can pass up Ed Norton AND Tim Roth?
Saturday, Clan Amos headed over to the king of bog box toy stores, Toys-R-Us, on a mission to acquire some outdoor play equipment for Little A. The set we ended up with is perfect for our crazy toddler man. It's got a ladder, a slide, two walls with climbing hand holds, a cave, and... a steering wheel, the feature that ultimately sold us on this particular model. My little racer does love to drive. After his first few minutes on his new playground, Alastair announced, "This playground is neat."
During the time I was in The Big House, Alastair has totally moved out of babydom into little boyhood. Watching him play and listening to the things that come out of his mouth, I've realized how much he's grown in such a short time.
Adrian has taught him to exclaim, "Punk rock!" (which he sometimes gets mixed up and calls out "Punk up!" instead.), as well as to command someone to "Throw the goat!"
Tonight at dinner Adrian asked him where the million dollars was, and he replied, "Upstairs in bed sleeping." I explain that probably wasn't a wise investment of funds.
We have also established that "narcolepsy" is a magic word that sends Daddy to the ground with some voracious fake snoring.
Sunday, I enjoyed my favorite mom-shared pastime, shopping and spent most of the time digging through the Anthropologie clearance room. Hey, were I independently wealthly, I would be outfitted exclusively in their high-priced quirk.
Yesterday was full of outside playtime (resulting in some butt whooping allergy symptoms today), Indy car racing, and ice cream. I actually watched the entire race with The Mister, particularly enjoying Danica Patrick's minor hissy fit when a fender bender in the pits pulled her prematurely out of the race.
Listen to me. I sound like a freakin' race fan. Shivers.
Finally, I cannot express how excited I am to have So You Think You Can Dance back on television.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Mixed Nuts With a Seasoning of Marrow
Tonight I've been gimping about my house like a geriatric hip replacement patient. Now I can fully appreciate having gone through my four previous bone marrow biopsies in The Big House where I could laze about in bed and oxycodone was on tap. The biopsy went well; the doc performing it was actually a hemo-oncologist fellow and the pathologist observed and assisted. That's the double edged sword of being treated at a teaching hospital; there are lots of fresh minds on your case, but you are also something of a guinea pig. The fellow performed the biopsy fine, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that he was seriously digging for treasure in my pelvic bone. Plus he reiterated the findings of the two previous pathologists who did my other biopsies: I have bones of stone.
The biopsy results will be ready for my appointment on Friday. Here's hoping for good news.
Speaking of good news, my white counts are up. Other counts are holding firm. Of course, I forgot to ask whether or not this takes me out of neutropenic precautionary zone. A viewing of Iron Man is still in my near future, even if I have to wear my sexy mask and cover the seat in a surgical drape.
Other random news from down Amos Way:
My relationship with Little A has been firmly (and perhaps even stronger than before) reestablished. Yesterday, for the first time since my being home, he called specifically for "Mommy" after his nap. We spend lots of time snuggling and hugging and wrestling, and actually, he's gotten pretty lovey and cuddly lately. It's awesome.
He has also become obsessed with watching the online trailers for both Kung Fu Panda and Wall*E. Based on release dates, it looks like Clan Amos will have to betray their fierce Pixar loyalties and introduce Little A to the movie theater experience with a Dreamworks flick. Oh well. He'll love them both, of that I am certain. He can already sing the first few bars of "Kung Fu Fighting" complete with the "da da da da duh duh duh" part and can identify both Wall*E and his robotic girlfriend Eve.
I can't believe I've not posted this sooner, but my West Coast blogger buddy Girl With the Curious Hair is working with Team in Training, raising funds and preparing to run a half marathon in my honor this October. Mosey on over to her fundraising page and toss her some coin. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society does some awesome work for folks like me and their families, acting as a support system and an advocate for people who are battling blood cancers. Hopefully, this time next year I will have successfully kicked leukemia's butt and will be training for my own race.
Speaking of events in my honor, the blood drive was apparently a success. Forty-four people showed up to donate, and thirty-eight were able. I only wish I could have been there to personally thank every single donor or potential donor. That's thirty-eight lives saved. Kick Ass.
It appears that the esteemed Senator Teddy Kennedy and I are rowing in the same boat. I'd love to send him a card saying welcome to The Cancer and just suck it up because you've had a long life, outliving your more esteemed brothers, and even managing to dodge that whole Chappaquiddick business.
What the hell was up with the House season finale? Could it be any more Debbie Downer? And why did it have to air on the same day I get a rotten prognosis concerning my particularly nasty brand of Stupid Zombie Leukemia? And my anniversary? Jeezie-peezie people. Way to stick it in and break it off.
I really need to post a baldness picture soon because I am very proud of my naked skull. It's quite lovely.
The biopsy results will be ready for my appointment on Friday. Here's hoping for good news.
Speaking of good news, my white counts are up. Other counts are holding firm. Of course, I forgot to ask whether or not this takes me out of neutropenic precautionary zone. A viewing of Iron Man is still in my near future, even if I have to wear my sexy mask and cover the seat in a surgical drape.
Other random news from down Amos Way:
My relationship with Little A has been firmly (and perhaps even stronger than before) reestablished. Yesterday, for the first time since my being home, he called specifically for "Mommy" after his nap. We spend lots of time snuggling and hugging and wrestling, and actually, he's gotten pretty lovey and cuddly lately. It's awesome.
He has also become obsessed with watching the online trailers for both Kung Fu Panda and Wall*E. Based on release dates, it looks like Clan Amos will have to betray their fierce Pixar loyalties and introduce Little A to the movie theater experience with a Dreamworks flick. Oh well. He'll love them both, of that I am certain. He can already sing the first few bars of "Kung Fu Fighting" complete with the "da da da da duh duh duh" part and can identify both Wall*E and his robotic girlfriend Eve.
I can't believe I've not posted this sooner, but my West Coast blogger buddy Girl With the Curious Hair is working with Team in Training, raising funds and preparing to run a half marathon in my honor this October. Mosey on over to her fundraising page and toss her some coin. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society does some awesome work for folks like me and their families, acting as a support system and an advocate for people who are battling blood cancers. Hopefully, this time next year I will have successfully kicked leukemia's butt and will be training for my own race.
Speaking of events in my honor, the blood drive was apparently a success. Forty-four people showed up to donate, and thirty-eight were able. I only wish I could have been there to personally thank every single donor or potential donor. That's thirty-eight lives saved. Kick Ass.
It appears that the esteemed Senator Teddy Kennedy and I are rowing in the same boat. I'd love to send him a card saying welcome to The Cancer and just suck it up because you've had a long life, outliving your more esteemed brothers, and even managing to dodge that whole Chappaquiddick business.
What the hell was up with the House season finale? Could it be any more Debbie Downer? And why did it have to air on the same day I get a rotten prognosis concerning my particularly nasty brand of Stupid Zombie Leukemia? And my anniversary? Jeezie-peezie people. Way to stick it in and break it off.
I really need to post a baldness picture soon because I am very proud of my naked skull. It's quite lovely.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Where the Deer and the Antelope Play
Yes, indeed, I am home.
And home has worn me out. My house feels a little like a foreign land. The formerly natural daily routine has become awkward, like I've been thrust into a square dancing competition. My legs are sore from, I kid you not, walking up the stairs in my house. It's the most walking I've done in weeks. But I can tell you that it's a whole heck of a lot better than the heart palpitations that plagued me months ago whenever I went up the stairs.
Last night, I found it difficult to sleep in my own bed. I struggled for ages to get settled in what used to be a comfortable bed. I spend a month sleeping on a plastic encased mattress and pillows, with bed rails on either side, and no matter how much I lowered the dang thing, always on a slight incline. I was woke several times during the night by nurses to poke and prod me. Finally, I get home to my own quiet, darkened, comfy bedroom, and I turn into a freakin' insomniac. Then I woke at 4:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. Awesome.
So, this whole transition to life on furlough is going to take some time. Reestablishing my relationship with Little A seems to be turning into a process as well. There was a bit of a meltdown at breakfast this morning that depressed me, but by the end of the day we were frolicking in an empty box and imitating Dancing With the Stars. But I have to admit that it's mighty depressing when your toddler with whom you spent most waking hours is suddenly intrepid around you.
I go for my follow-up visit tomorrow morning. Before I left yesterday, the lab results were still inconclusive on my final neutrophil count. As a result, I am still on neutropenic precautions: no fresh fruits, flowers, plants, or veggies; strict hand washing; avoid public places where exposure to germs could be high. This is mildly frustrating since returning home and seeing all the blooming life in my yard and subsequently dying to get my hands in the earth and do some gardening. Plus, there's this little movie called Iron Man I'd like to catch. Here's to hoping that tomorrow's blood draw reveals a decent count that would allow me to get back more of my normal life and allow me to eat a freakin' apple.
Geez people. Give a girl a break.
In my last few days of incarceration, I added yet another book to my list, the hardcover Marvel Zombies, bringing my total tomes consumed to 15. Need some recommended summer reading?
For the next few days I'll be trying to ease back into my old routine and life around the house, unpacking my stuff (I swear it's like moving home from your college dorm room. I've practically got a whole new library which only contributes to my existing, ahem, problem with books.), and getting a small posse of sellables together for my church's yard sale Saturday. All this while I'm still trying to heal and my marrow attempts to get with the program of making my blood.
Overly ambitious? Or just me?
Glad to be back, folks. Stick with me; I guarantee this won't be my last medical adventure.
And home has worn me out. My house feels a little like a foreign land. The formerly natural daily routine has become awkward, like I've been thrust into a square dancing competition. My legs are sore from, I kid you not, walking up the stairs in my house. It's the most walking I've done in weeks. But I can tell you that it's a whole heck of a lot better than the heart palpitations that plagued me months ago whenever I went up the stairs.
Last night, I found it difficult to sleep in my own bed. I struggled for ages to get settled in what used to be a comfortable bed. I spend a month sleeping on a plastic encased mattress and pillows, with bed rails on either side, and no matter how much I lowered the dang thing, always on a slight incline. I was woke several times during the night by nurses to poke and prod me. Finally, I get home to my own quiet, darkened, comfy bedroom, and I turn into a freakin' insomniac. Then I woke at 4:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. Awesome.
So, this whole transition to life on furlough is going to take some time. Reestablishing my relationship with Little A seems to be turning into a process as well. There was a bit of a meltdown at breakfast this morning that depressed me, but by the end of the day we were frolicking in an empty box and imitating Dancing With the Stars. But I have to admit that it's mighty depressing when your toddler with whom you spent most waking hours is suddenly intrepid around you.
I go for my follow-up visit tomorrow morning. Before I left yesterday, the lab results were still inconclusive on my final neutrophil count. As a result, I am still on neutropenic precautions: no fresh fruits, flowers, plants, or veggies; strict hand washing; avoid public places where exposure to germs could be high. This is mildly frustrating since returning home and seeing all the blooming life in my yard and subsequently dying to get my hands in the earth and do some gardening. Plus, there's this little movie called Iron Man I'd like to catch. Here's to hoping that tomorrow's blood draw reveals a decent count that would allow me to get back more of my normal life and allow me to eat a freakin' apple.
Geez people. Give a girl a break.
In my last few days of incarceration, I added yet another book to my list, the hardcover Marvel Zombies, bringing my total tomes consumed to 15. Need some recommended summer reading?
For the next few days I'll be trying to ease back into my old routine and life around the house, unpacking my stuff (I swear it's like moving home from your college dorm room. I've practically got a whole new library which only contributes to my existing, ahem, problem with books.), and getting a small posse of sellables together for my church's yard sale Saturday. All this while I'm still trying to heal and my marrow attempts to get with the program of making my blood.
Overly ambitious? Or just me?
Glad to be back, folks. Stick with me; I guarantee this won't be my last medical adventure.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
A Bit of Parole and More Pelvic Drilling
Yesterday was bone marrow biopsy number four. My docs are hoping this biopsy will give them a better picture as to why my white counts are on the slow boat to China, as well as check the status of my marrow in general. Worst case scenario: They find that the stupid leukemic cells are still hanging about, and I'd be up for chemo round two.
I won't know results until later today or tomorrow. This uncertainty has been weighing pretty heavily on my heart. I've prayed a lot about it over the past day, but I'm human and unfortunately worry seems to be part of my genetic code. Can't seem to shake the stink of doubt and pessimism off of me.
More than anything, the prayers and thoughts of others have buoyed me through some of the darker portions of the past month. So I am calling in my troops to do what you guys have been doing tremendously well for me and that is all sending up those prayers and healing, positive thoughts and vibes.
I've been working on my healing imagery, and y'all sent me some pretty good ideas. I decided to go with the Willy Wonka candy factory pumping out white blood cells on a conveyor belt that slide into a big copper funnel and into my blood stream. I liked the Krispy Kreme idea, but thinking too much about doughnuts only made me hungry for one. I'm trying to get better not get fat.
Also yesterday, my wardens let me take a stroll outside the building (with mask on, of course) with my parents and Little A. It was a perfect day to be outside: sunny, in the seventies, light breeze. We went to the nearby Healing Garden, a gorgeous explosion of flora and fountains and sculpture in a little walled garden overlooking the hum of I-95. Little A had a great time dashing about the plants, getting his hand wet in a fountain, and then getting his head stuck in the metal gate (quickly remedied but not without tears). For the first time in I don't know when, I got to carry him around. The feel of his little arm around my neck was pure heaven. We stood and looked out over the highway traffic and called out what kind of vehicles whizzed by. Little A was particularly excited about a caravan of school buses and a TANKER TRUCK (his emphasis). Hopefully this afternoon, Adrian and I will be able to take a trip to the Healing Garden for more fresh air and sunshine on my skin.
This is the roller coaster of LeukemiaTown. Sunshine and biopsies.
Now I sit and wait, as I have for at least a week now. Only this time I'm doing a bit of the hand-wringing in anticipation of the news to come. That dark, negative part of my gut instinct tells me that not only will I be stuck in the Big House for Mother's Day, but in all likelihood, my anniversary as well.
Nuts.
Oh and in other news, for those of you in the RVA area, there is a blood drive in my honor to be held at Dumbarton Elementary School on Thursday, May 15 from 3-7. More on that to come.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
My Son is Sweetness Personified
This week has been particularly rough for me, health wise. Monday night I started running a low-grade fever that clung to me like a tick until yesterday morning. I would randomly be overcome with chills and cold sweats. At night I could barely sleep for the sweating. I've also developed random bouts of light-headedness; yesterday morning it was so bad Adrian had to stay home for about a hour to supervise me because I was worried I was going to pass out.
Today was a similarly challenging day. In addition to my heart palpitations, I know wander around feeling like my head's in a fishbowl. Poor Little A is starting to become attuned to the fact that his mother is all busted up. He wants to play with the same passion and energy that he shares with his daddy, but more often than not he hears from me, "Mommy's sick" or "Mommy doesn't feel well." My patience with him is limited, especially when I'm spinning with dizziness or stricken with palpitations, and I find myself losing my cool more and more.
This morning we were playing in his room and getting ready for a trip to Target. Little A got up to go downstairs, and I asked him to wait a bit for mommy, that he needed to go slow for me since I didn't feel well. He came over and threw his arms around my neck for an embrace, then stood back and proclaimed with an enormous grin, "Mommy better!" He hugged me a few more times, each with the same satisfied grin that told me he was giving me the same comfort I give him when he bumps his head. And he was. For a few moments, that outpouring of love seemed to block out all the physical discomfort I was having.
I did feel better. For a little while anyway.
Tomorrow I go to a cardiologist for more poking and prodding. Maybe this doctor will be my fairy godmother. More than likely, as my pessimist mind likes to assume, I'm headed for more medical square dancing. Swing your partner! Do-si-do! Paging Dr. House?
Dear readers and interweb buddies, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It's like I told The Mister: I want my old normal back. When normal meant climbing a flight of stairs without feeling like my chest was on fire and my heart was about to burst.
Today was a similarly challenging day. In addition to my heart palpitations, I know wander around feeling like my head's in a fishbowl. Poor Little A is starting to become attuned to the fact that his mother is all busted up. He wants to play with the same passion and energy that he shares with his daddy, but more often than not he hears from me, "Mommy's sick" or "Mommy doesn't feel well." My patience with him is limited, especially when I'm spinning with dizziness or stricken with palpitations, and I find myself losing my cool more and more.
This morning we were playing in his room and getting ready for a trip to Target. Little A got up to go downstairs, and I asked him to wait a bit for mommy, that he needed to go slow for me since I didn't feel well. He came over and threw his arms around my neck for an embrace, then stood back and proclaimed with an enormous grin, "Mommy better!" He hugged me a few more times, each with the same satisfied grin that told me he was giving me the same comfort I give him when he bumps his head. And he was. For a few moments, that outpouring of love seemed to block out all the physical discomfort I was having.
I did feel better. For a little while anyway.
Tomorrow I go to a cardiologist for more poking and prodding. Maybe this doctor will be my fairy godmother. More than likely, as my pessimist mind likes to assume, I'm headed for more medical square dancing. Swing your partner! Do-si-do! Paging Dr. House?
Dear readers and interweb buddies, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It's like I told The Mister: I want my old normal back. When normal meant climbing a flight of stairs without feeling like my chest was on fire and my heart was about to burst.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
My First Tale
It's not nearly as long and full of turns as the mouse's tale, but it resides at Blog Me A Tale. Go read it. Tell me what you think.
And I swear all subsequent lengthy ramblings posted there will not necessarily involve my kid, despite his being insanely good subject material. Occasionally, I do need to remind myself that there's more to Manda than the Fruit of Her Loom.
And I swear all subsequent lengthy ramblings posted there will not necessarily involve my kid, despite his being insanely good subject material. Occasionally, I do need to remind myself that there's more to Manda than the Fruit of Her Loom.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
A Conversation With Little A
Place: Casa Amos living room as LITTLE A and MOMMA A prepare to leave for a trip to Costco.
LITTLE A: Momma got gum in her mouth.
MOMMA A: Yep.
LITTLE A: No got camel in her mouth.
MOMMA A: Nope, no camel in my mouth. Actually it's been a long time since Momma had a Camel in her mouth. Or a Marlboro Ultra Light, for that matter.
[There is a pause as LITTLE A digests this little nugget of information.]
LITTLE A: No got camel in mouth.
LITTLE A: Momma got gum in her mouth.
MOMMA A: Yep.
LITTLE A: No got camel in her mouth.
MOMMA A: Nope, no camel in my mouth. Actually it's been a long time since Momma had a Camel in her mouth. Or a Marlboro Ultra Light, for that matter.
[There is a pause as LITTLE A digests this little nugget of information.]
LITTLE A: No got camel in mouth.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Oh Solo Mio
I've been schlepping through the past few days as Single Momma A while Papa A plays race car driver down at VIR. Needless to say, I've not had an amazing amount of energy for blogging or anything else besides the bare minimum to keep the house in order and watching La Vie En Rose (Yes, Marion Cotillard deserved her nekkid gold man.). It's actually not been too bad; Little A has kept his theatrics to a minimum as I am sure he sees the strained weariness behind my shark eyes.
Our first night alone was pretty uneventful; Little A, exhausted from the weekend, decided to buck his recent trend of waking up after a few hours sleep for comfort and then rousing the household at around 5:30 a.m. He slept soundly all night, waking a little before seven. Momma A was relieved to get uninterrupted sleep. Energy is highly coveted when in Single Momma mode.
Yesterday we spent a few hours at one of our favorite RVA haunts, Maymont Park, admiring the farm animals and the construction vehicles that were working on the new bird habitat. Momma A decided that it would be a fabulous idea to trek up the steep hill to Dooley Mansion whilst wearing thirty-one pounds of Little A on her back. Halfway up the steps, after background grunting courtesy of Little A who obviously sensed my struggles, I had to take a breather or we all would have come tumbling down. We followed our park exploits with lunch at Crossroads, though the shop's co-owner, my friend, and member of the Little A harem, Olivia was off for the day.
Last night, my parents had us over for dinner (and for catching up on Project Runway). Grandparent-induced activities always delay bedtime, but Little A took his bath and headed to sleep with little fanfare. However, I was roused from my bed a little before 4 a.m. this morning by his plaintive cries. We went through the comforting routine of new diaper and story, and I laid him back down. Forty-five minutes later, he was calling for me again, this time with complaints that the room was too dark. At this point, I was way too tired to fight his fears, so I scooped him up and headed for my bed to crash back out together. Scold me if you like, but Single Momma A mode is prone to making last minute compromises.
The hour or so of sleep we got before my alarm went off was some of the sweetest I've had in a long time, snuggled close together under the blankets with a chubby arm tossed around my neck. Only wish I could have indulged in more as I've been a narcoleptic all damn day.
While I look forward to Papa A's return tonight, I've enjoyed flying with only my nutty kid as co-pilot. He's good times . Mostly.
In an hour or so, I hope to be indoctrinating him in the art of baking by enlisting his assistance (to use the term loosely) in making The Best Damn Cornbread Ever.
Our first night alone was pretty uneventful; Little A, exhausted from the weekend, decided to buck his recent trend of waking up after a few hours sleep for comfort and then rousing the household at around 5:30 a.m. He slept soundly all night, waking a little before seven. Momma A was relieved to get uninterrupted sleep. Energy is highly coveted when in Single Momma mode.
Yesterday we spent a few hours at one of our favorite RVA haunts, Maymont Park, admiring the farm animals and the construction vehicles that were working on the new bird habitat. Momma A decided that it would be a fabulous idea to trek up the steep hill to Dooley Mansion whilst wearing thirty-one pounds of Little A on her back. Halfway up the steps, after background grunting courtesy of Little A who obviously sensed my struggles, I had to take a breather or we all would have come tumbling down. We followed our park exploits with lunch at Crossroads, though the shop's co-owner, my friend, and member of the Little A harem, Olivia was off for the day.
Last night, my parents had us over for dinner (and for catching up on Project Runway). Grandparent-induced activities always delay bedtime, but Little A took his bath and headed to sleep with little fanfare. However, I was roused from my bed a little before 4 a.m. this morning by his plaintive cries. We went through the comforting routine of new diaper and story, and I laid him back down. Forty-five minutes later, he was calling for me again, this time with complaints that the room was too dark. At this point, I was way too tired to fight his fears, so I scooped him up and headed for my bed to crash back out together. Scold me if you like, but Single Momma A mode is prone to making last minute compromises.
The hour or so of sleep we got before my alarm went off was some of the sweetest I've had in a long time, snuggled close together under the blankets with a chubby arm tossed around my neck. Only wish I could have indulged in more as I've been a narcoleptic all damn day.
While I look forward to Papa A's return tonight, I've enjoyed flying with only my nutty kid as co-pilot. He's good times . Mostly.
In an hour or so, I hope to be indoctrinating him in the art of baking by enlisting his assistance (to use the term loosely) in making The Best Damn Cornbread Ever.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Six for Sunday: Cool Stuff in Toddlertainment
1. Steve Martin wrote a children's book! How awesome is that? This begs the question, at what age would it be appropriate to introduce Little A to the comic genius that is The Jerk, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, or Bowfinger?
2. I like to peruse the Easy Reader section of the Children's Library while Little A does some post-story time socializing. I discovered amongst the more generic books about animals, counting, and ABC's are some books with fairly specialized subject matter ranging from deaf siblings, trailer living, divorce, as well indentured servants, mom losing her job, and George Washington's farm animals. If you're ever looking for some amusement and a dash of enlightenment, browse children's literature. There's so much more out there than just Curious George and Carl the babysitting Rottweiler.
3. More proof of the awesomeness that is Pixar: One of Pixar's main character designers is William "Bud" Luckey , the creator of Woody from Toy Story and the short film Boundin'. Back in the day, Bud wrote and animated a ton of shorts for Sesame Street including The Alligator King, a personal favorite. Remember the Alligator King and his seven sons? Here's a refresher:
4. And speaking of Pixar, my mom and I have decided that this summer Little A will be old enough to have and hopefully enjoy his first real cinematic experience. Considering his love of all things Cars and mechanical, I think Pixar's latest offering will be perfect.
5. Yesterday, Clan Amos visited a new furniture consignment store on Lakeside Ave. where we stumbled up a wooden train set and big train table for $150. It's sturdy and in near pristine condition. Considering that some tables alone are $150 and this particular set retails for over $200, I think we got a sweet bargain. While mom and dad have been building elaborate train track configurations, Little A enjoys finding new and exciting ways to inflict disasters about our miniature town and bring the whole set up crashing down.
6. This has absolutely nothing to do with Toddlertainment, but fellow blogger Girl With the Curious Hair, sent me a link to this article. Looks like those nutty Virtue folks have got some stiff competition in the Holy Body Products market.
2. I like to peruse the Easy Reader section of the Children's Library while Little A does some post-story time socializing. I discovered amongst the more generic books about animals, counting, and ABC's are some books with fairly specialized subject matter ranging from deaf siblings, trailer living, divorce, as well indentured servants, mom losing her job, and George Washington's farm animals. If you're ever looking for some amusement and a dash of enlightenment, browse children's literature. There's so much more out there than just Curious George and Carl the babysitting Rottweiler.
3. More proof of the awesomeness that is Pixar: One of Pixar's main character designers is William "Bud" Luckey , the creator of Woody from Toy Story and the short film Boundin'. Back in the day, Bud wrote and animated a ton of shorts for Sesame Street including The Alligator King, a personal favorite. Remember the Alligator King and his seven sons? Here's a refresher:
4. And speaking of Pixar, my mom and I have decided that this summer Little A will be old enough to have and hopefully enjoy his first real cinematic experience. Considering his love of all things Cars and mechanical, I think Pixar's latest offering will be perfect.
5. Yesterday, Clan Amos visited a new furniture consignment store on Lakeside Ave. where we stumbled up a wooden train set and big train table for $150. It's sturdy and in near pristine condition. Considering that some tables alone are $150 and this particular set retails for over $200, I think we got a sweet bargain. While mom and dad have been building elaborate train track configurations, Little A enjoys finding new and exciting ways to inflict disasters about our miniature town and bring the whole set up crashing down.
6. This has absolutely nothing to do with Toddlertainment, but fellow blogger Girl With the Curious Hair, sent me a link to this article. Looks like those nutty Virtue folks have got some stiff competition in the Holy Body Products market.
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