(MommyJD) Along with a Fence, I Need a Bubble

If my baby girl gets sick one more time, I just might hire someone to design a plastic bubble for her to live in. I have a feeling Michael Jackson desired the same thing for his kids but settled on masks. That will be my back up plan if the bubble is too expensive.

You see, KJ is 7 months old now and and currently experiencing "Strike 2" as her pediatrician calls it. Strike 1 occurred in February when she caught a bad cold from her brother. After 3 days of her looking miserable with a fever and cough, my husband and I finally

got a clue that this was serious business. Since my husband was the only one in our house not sick, he took her to After Hours care as soon as it opened that Sunday morning. They were gone for 4 excruciatingly long hours. When they returned I found out that my baby had been through quite an ordeal- they gave her shots, an x-ray, and lots of drugs to get her 104 temperature down. I was told to take her back to the doctor first thing Monday morning to see her regular pediatrician, which I was happy to do as there was no real improvement in her condition. She was still wheezing and coughing and her x-ray showed pulmonary consolidation- basically there was lots of gunk in her lungs because she didn't know how to get rid of mucus.

Sitting in the doctor's office while the doctor debated over how to treat my little ladybug was more than overwhelming. But when he told me that he wanted to admit her to the hospital I nearly lost it. I didn't want to get on the phone while still waiting for clear instructions so all I could do was start texting my husband, sister, and mother-in-law. I'm sure my one line of "she's being admitted to the hospital" was scary for them as well. I managed to gather myself, hold in my tears, and make my way to the hospital to make sure my baby got better fast.

After 3 very long days in the hospital, KJ was discharged with a diagnosis of RSV, bronchialitis, and pneumonia. We came home with a nebulizer for breathing treatments and a can of Lysol to disinfect our entire house. My son began a new regimen of scrubbing his hands as soon as he got home from school.

Fast forward 4 weeks and my preschooler comes back from his germ-infested school with another cold and a low grade fever. He loves his baby sis to death and has to always be near her, up under her, next to her, across from her, etc. He has a conniption if she is not sitting chair to chair next to him at the dinner table and throws a tantrum if she cannot sit in his room to watch him play. So needless to say, I was nervous about her catching his cold. Despite my attempts to keep my two kids apart, baby girl got sick. Again.

I watched her cough develop for 2 days until one particular bark sent me straight to the phone to call the doctor. I took her in the next morning and, after examining her, the doctor applauded my instinct to bring her in before this advanced into something worse. So here we are with more meds, more breathing treatments, and a new pre-diagnosis of childhood asthma (which comes with even more expensive meds). This kid is determined to single-handedly reach our family insurance deductible for 2012.

Thus, for the past week I have been praying for Jesus to be a Fence around my sickly child and to heal her quickly. Before even reaching her first birthday KJ has stressed me out by testing coombs positive (jaundice), having an umbilical hernia, spouts of eczema, fevers, wheezing, RSV, bronchialitis, pnemonia...sigh, I definitely need a bubble.

(Mommy JD) I'll take my salad dressing with a side of lettuce...

I've previously admitted that I have the palette of a 10 year old. Which is absolutely horrible since I'm almost 30. My husband is my own personal vegetable police and the nagging increases when I'm pregnant. Don't get me wrong, I eat some vegetables, some of the time. I just don't eat the "recommended" half a plate of vegetables at every meal. And since I do most (all) of the cooking, my son doesn't get many veggies either. And the po-pos never let me hear the end of it.

Anyway, two weeks ago I took my glucose screening test and I was so worried- I just knew I had gestational diabetes because of my poor diet. Well I apparently dodged that bullet, but I wasn't expecting the news about my low iron that I received today. I also have an elevated white blood cell count. This was all too much information and big time fuel for the vegetable police (whom I share not only a home with, but also an office). So now I have a script for iron pills and a new goal to eat better iron-fortified foods.

I am responsible for the life two children now. Time for mommy to grow up.

(2 Karats and a Kid) Taking it one day at a time and enjoying my son...

Mommy-ism #6:  It takes a village to raise a mother...

Somewhere, on the corner of "Psycho-Therapy Ave" and "I'm Every Woman Blvd,"  someone told women everywhere that we have to keep the imperfections in our lives private.  We are surprised when "Susie Q" ends up having an heart attack at the age of 40 because "she always had a smile on her face" and we are astonished to hear that "Betty P" pops Prozac and Valium with her morning "Cup of Joe" because she always seems to "have it sooo together."

But the fact of the matter is that behind every mentally sane and stable woman is either:

a) a good therapist,
b) a vodka of the month membership,
c) good sex followed by a deep tissue back massage,
d) a handful of supportive women who are there to say the right thing at the right time.

A woman who enjoys ALL four of these things could surely solve the Middle East Crisis. Give a woman THREE out of four of these things and she is probably a self-made billionaire.  But for the average working woman, we just have Oprah, a cheap bottle of wine, a "quickie", and a girlfriend or two on speed-dial who will pick up anytime of the day to help us through tough times.

Yet, when we take a closer look at the people around us, it oftentimes becomes apparent that we have much more support than we previously assessed.  Perhaps, its a coworker who has been there to talk you off "the ledge", a group of women that you know through an extracurricular activity, or a friend that you have reconnected with through Facebook.  Either way, God has a way of putting the right people in your life at the right time.

For me, Mommy JD (the coauthor of this blog), was an unexpected source of support for me throughout my pregnancy and after Roman's birth (although I'm sure she didn't know it).   There was never a question that was too dumb to ask (ie. "What are receiving blankets for??  What do babies sleep in??  Do babies need ID to ride on an airplane?).  And the truth is that I don't know if I would have been able to get through the initial days after Roman's heart diagnosis without her advice.

A few days after our consultation with the cardiologist, Mommy JD text messaged me to see how Roman and I were doing.  Still a bit overwhelmed by the news,  I told Mommy JD what was going on because everything about her radiated with perfect "motherliness" -  and I was hoping that she had a  "What To Do When Your Child Has A Heart Defect" book by her bedside to tell me how to handle this situation. 

After spilling my guts over the course of several text messages, Mommy JD simply responded back by telling me that she had had a similar experience, to research everything that I could about the condition, and most importantly that "everything would be okay" and to "enjoy my son".

As anxious as I was prior to telling her, something about her words make me feel better.   

"Everything will be okay...Enjoy your baby."

For some reason that I still can't understand to this day, I truly believed that everything would be fine after that.  I didn't know how things were going to work out -- but I knew that I couldn't allow myself to think that far ahead.  Much of the anxiety that I felt up until that point wasn't because of any physical symptoms that Roman displayed but because I kept wondering whether his heart issue would keep him from playing varsity basketball, or keep him from playing with his cousins when he went down south for the summers, or from becoming a firefighter if he wanted.

Upon telling another girlfriend, she told me that she was going to pray for Roman's COMPLETE healing...WITHOUT surgery!  Up until that point, I hadn't thought to pray that aggressively - I mean, who was I to ask for God to perform a darn miracle?  The cardiologist said it was a 30% chance that the hole in Roman's heart would close on its own so the most I could pray for was that God be with the doctors and surgeons in the operating room when the time came for us to have surgery.  But I was moved by the level of faith that my girlfriend had over my situation and thought, "What the heck! I'll try this gangsta praying out for myself!"   So when I prayed I asked for God's will to be done but also prayed that he would begin to heal Roman's heart and that he would never feel the effects of his condition.

After receiving those messages, I looked down at Roman who was laying on my chest and promised him, myself, and God that I would take things one day at a time from that moment on.  As long as God was willing to give us a day - I would spend my time loving and enjoying him with my husband.  Everything else beyond those two goals would just have to work themselves out and I truly began to trust that they would.

(2 Karats and a Kid) Mommy 101: DO. NOT. FREAK. OUT.

Mommy-ism #5:  Whatever happens -- Do. Not. Freak. Out. YOU are now someones protector and superhero -- and superheroes do not lose their cool.


A week had passed since Roman had come home and I was finally starting to get a rhythm.  Pat had gone back to work and during the day and my mother would come over to assist with the baby while I napped.  From the very beginning, Roman and I napped in the same bed during the day, and most times when my mother was in the other room assuming that we were sleeping, I was in fact, lying there staring at him wondering how could someone so little evoke such an immense feeling of love.

The truth is that babies are scary, frightening, and powerful little beings.  Though they look helpless they in fact can bring a 300 pound man to his knees with a smile.  Imagine every type of love that you have ever felt - a first love, a friend's love, a parent's love, love for a pet - then imagine putting all of that love into one person and THEN you can imagine how powerful a child is.

While in the hospital, during one of the morning rounds, the on-call pediatrician conducted a routine check of Roman's vitals.  As she laid the stethoscope on his chest, immediately I say a flash of apprehension on her face.  Though I had only been a mother for less than 24 hours, immediately I knew that something wasn't right.

Over the course of the next two days, after testing and further examination, we were told that "everything would be okay" BUT that Roman had an "heart issue" that would require us to consult a cardiologist for further information.

When the day came to finally go to the doctor, I anxiously prayed that there was some mistake and that we would be dismissed to go home and enjoy our little boy without worry.  Yet, after an hour with Roman's pediatrician, we learned that the ultrasound revealed that our son had a congenital heart defect, called a ventricular septal defect (vsd), which was more simply described as a "moderate to large hole in between the lower two chambers of his heart."


While the doctor tried to assure us that this defect was "fairly common" and "easily repaired with surgery" if it didn't close on it's own - hearing the words "HEART. HOLE. DEFECT. SURGERY" was enough to nearly give me a heart attack.

As we drove home from the pediatrician, I tried to put on a positive face for my husband but I was devastated.  Perhaps it was a combination of sleep deprivation,  fatigue, and my crashing of hormones but a battle raged within me where my fear was overtaking my faith. 

I was a wreck.

When we arrived home I went into our room with the baby and cried for the greater part of an hour. 
[Imagine Pookie from New Jack City + an embattled wife from a Lifetime movie + a homeless mother from a T.D. Jakes movie = Me.]   I was afraid like I've never been afraid of anything in my life and I didn't know what to do.  Suddenly, I wished I could put Roman back in my tummy where I knew he was safe because the realness of being a parent felt like too much for me to bear and I didn't know if I was ready for what it would take to get through this situation.

About an hour into my nervous breakdown, my parents showed up at our house, only to see my bloodshot eyes when I opened the door.  I don't know if I have ever felt as if I needed my parents more than I did that day.  I needed to feel safe and protected in a way that only parents could provide and seeing them instantly made me feel better.

Over the course of the next few hours while my parents visited, they never solicited further details about the doctor's appointment or Roman's heart issue - they simply filled the time with jokes, random stories, news tid-bits, and my father's upcoming retirement.  When I briefly mentioned Roman's appointment, my mother simple smiled and said, "That Roman will be just fine. I already know this - so I'm not worried one bit."

For the first time that day, I believed he would be okay too.

In the back of my mind I wondered how my parents could be so confident and unfrazzled in light of the news but it wasn't until they were headed out the door that I saw a tear in my father's eye that I got "it".

As my parents, my mother and father put on a brave face. Yes, they were worried and anxious because they knew that their child was in pain.   Yet, as my parents, they knew that they had to embody the hope that I struggled to find in that situation.  As my protectors, they had to convey confidence because they knew that I looked to them for some sense of security, for some level of assurance, and for some confirmation that everything would be okay.

On the day that felt like one of the scariest days of my life, I learned how to be a parent.

I realized from that day forth, Roman would look to my husband and I to be assured that "things would be okay."   From that day forth, no matter how much I would want to run "home" into my parents arms, now I would have to the person who convinced my son that there was no obstacle that we couldn't solve together as a family.