Now I Can Laugh, Too

A Mentsh Tracht un Gott Lacht* א מענטש טראַכט, און גאָט לאַכט

Friday morning, and the to-do list is pretty long.  Shabbat comes in late in the Spring, so that list can include the usual preparations (cooking, cleaning, etc.), plus a lot of the spillover from the week -- several work projects, in this case.  I would just get the kids on their ways and get down to work.

As usual, Blondini Boy pulled his wake-up-early-and-refuse-to-go-back-to-sleep number.  But something was up. When I gave him his morning squeeze, he pulled away with,  No!  My tummy hurts.   

Since he has been known to neglect that certain daily ritual, I wasn't too worried.  I would encourage him to sit on the toilet for a few minutes, and all would be well.

Within ten minutes he was writhing on the sofa.  He wouldn't let me touch him.  He wanted his bed.  He refused to walk upright.  His face was pale.  I took his temperature -- normal.  I tried to feel his abdomen.  He screamed in pain and then kept moaning.

Quick internal debate:  Do I call ER this second, or first consult a friendly neighborhood physician to confirm I'm not overreacting?  

The latter won out.  I discovered that our friend G was on call at the hospital (I'd been afraid to call because I didn't want to wake him up after a night shift).  He asked a few questions -- Is he walking with difficulty? (Yes).  Is he willing to jump up and down?  (No) -- and told me not to waste time, bring BB into ER right away.  He would meet us there.  I threw some clothes and favorite toy vehicles into a bag with my wallet, phone, and hospital ID, and put BB in the car. 

On the road, I tried to keep my focus, a vast selection of scary scenarios competing with a the beautiful winding road I know so well from my morning commute.  Appendicitis.  Peritonitis.  I imagined my little boy being called in for emergency surgery after being diagnosed with one of these. 

Or worse:  Neuroblastoma.  Wilm's Tumor.  Burkitt's.  All those exceedingly rare childhood diseases that my work experience has long since deceived me into believing are common.  (They are not).

Back in his car seat, Blondini Boy was looking paler and paler, his eyes nearly closed.  The trucks and bicycles that normally grab his attention passed by without remark.   My tummy hurts, Mommy, he groaned over and over. 

Seven minutes from the hospital, he wanted to stop.  Mommy, I have a pee-pee.  

You're wearing a diaper, I told him.  You can make your pee-pee right now.  I hadn't taken the time this morning to change him out of pajamas, and now there was no safe place to stop along the road.  

I have a pee-pee, and I want to make my pee-pee in the toilet.

He was insistent;  he knew what he needed.  We stopped in a parking lot at the entrance to a hiking trail along the road, where I offered a pee-pee in nature as the next-best option to a toilet.  

Two liters poured out of him, and that was it.  I peered into his strained little face and watched the tension drain away.  Does your tummy still hurt?  No.  

Unconvinced, I pressed his stomach.  Here? Here? What about here?  (Not a grimace).  Jump up and down.  (Three jumps).  Run over to that tree and look at the birds.   (But I don't want to scare them!)

Soon, the color had returned to his face, and we were heading towards home.   

Next week we'll be visiting our regular pediatrician to ask whether some organic problem might have gotten BB into this state in the first place.  I suspect he'll tell me it's nothing.  For now, I am relieved, thankful, and acutely aware of being safe and relaxed at home, as opposed to where we could have been, and still would be, now.  

And if something like this every happens again, I'll try to keep some things in mind:   Use caution, but try to stay relaxed and focused enough to check the obvious.  

* * *

ALN:  So tell me, what did we do this morning?

Blondini Boy:  This morning?.. We were going to the doctor, and then I made a pee-pee!

* * *

Yah, that pretty much sums it up. 

Shabbat Shalom.

ALN

___

* From the Yiddish:  A man plans and G-d laughs.

A Room of Everyone's Own

When thinking hospital, a lot of things come to mind, and not one of them is "privacy."  

We are always citing patients' privacy rights -- the subject resurfaced as a welcome reminder in a recent department meeting -- along with the acknowledgement that while everyone acknowledges the value of medical secrecy, standing up to its principles are no easy feat in a small, everyone's-my-cousin environment such as exists in our humble corner of the Middle East.

Then there's the flip side:  Where do hospital workers go to preserve privacy -- their own, their colleagues', their patients', their patients' families'?  

This morning after a meeting, I returned to my department via the stairs.  Between two of the upper floors, a tech staff member was lying against the stairwell wall, coffee in hand, three sections of the newspaper sprawled across several steps and over a chair on the landing. One flight later, a young man -- a volunteer, perhaps, or a pediatric patients' older brother -- had his waterproof tallit / tefillin bag resting, open, just under the handrail along my right side, while he was making his way through shaharit (morning prayers) there on my left.

Yesterday I walked into our department classroom a few minutes into our mid-day break, only to find one of our teachers working with a small patient while colleagues sat drinking coffee across the table.  

Aren't you going to take your break now?  I asked the her.  

She nodded at her pupil with a knowing smile.   I'm taking a sort of learning break, she replied, here with H.

I'll be the first to admit it:  I'm not the best example.  I don't always stop to take a methodical, sit-down-and-close-the-door-behind-you coffee break, and anyway, there aren't too many spaces in the department that provide the right conditions for such an effort.  As I've lamented before, I don't have an office.  For this reason I can (and have) spend up to ten minutes looking for a semi-private corner of the department to sit down with a staff member, for a conversation of the same length.

So where should we go to hold a private conversation?  The archives?  A stuffy, windowless security room with little ventilation to counter the stifling odor of multiple files.  The chairs in the waiting area across the hall?  Patients and staff walk through there freely, always within hearing distance.   I would even try the stairwell, but what an echo.  No privacy there.  

Only one other room option comes to mind.  It has a lockable door, but alas, it only seats one... 

Keep the balance,

ALN

Iodine Season

Spring is in the air... speaking of which, many thanks to Gila from My Shrapnel for a great HH #215, and that lovely Julie Andrews song!  But I digress...

Bike Season is officially here, so keep the iodine handy.    A couple weeks ago I brought what was formerly Elder Princeski's long-outgrown, hot-pink set of wheels into the local bike shop for a tire refurbish, and the guys could barely look up from their wrenches and chains, they were so busy sliming and realigning. 

(Slime is, of course, a registered trademark and the brand name of that funky stuff they smear on the inner tubes to make them self-repairing.  The bike shop has a huge tank of it sitting on the floor, next to their scattered worktable, and for a few extra shekels they'll apply it to your inner tubes, saving you much sorry later in the season).

The number of first-time bikers  on our block -- among them, our own Always the Imp --can appear greater than the total number of children around here.  The other afternoon I edged toward our driveway while noting at least a dozen (including a couple of my own) within a three-house stretch, wheeling about like scattering sparrows.   

The scene inspired me.  

A day or two later, That Guy I Married set off with Elder P to get her a new bike, accompanied by my long-neglected red frame, with its shredded seat and failing gear shifts, in the hopes that a renewed set of wheels would inspire me to re-commit myself (yet again) to some sort of reasonable, enjoyable fitness plan.

I can't speak for the future but so far, so good.  I've managed to get myself out on it two days in a row -- if only around the moshav, at this point.  Only 28 more days of this and I'll have myself a habit.  

Nothing like that burst of speed down a hill, that rush of air across the face, to remind me what every kid worth his weight in helmets already knows.  So get out the iodine, and get out there.

The hills are alive...

Keep fit, and keep the balance,

ALN

Finally, Finally, Finally

Ahh, how I wish I could stick to this writing business -- and all the other things in my life -- with regularity, enthusiasm, and a clear head.  I look around in jealousy and wonder at all the regular bloggers, and I know darn well most of them also have lives (Read: families, jobs, friends, hobbies households) that slurp their time down to the last drop.

I owe a big thank you to Ricki's Mom, who tagged me with the Honest Scrap Award nearly a month ago and I'm only getting a response together now.  In general, I owe a big thank you to Ricki's Mom because I find her writing interesting, honest, inspirational and empowering, and hers is one of the first blogs I run to when I've fallen out of the blog loop and want to get back on it.

Rules:  Ten honest things about me, then pass it on to seven bloggers.  Honestly, I dunno about the second part.  I wish I had the time to read seven blogs these days... but let's give it a go:

1.  I've been through almost every version of vegetarianism that there is (excepting, perhaps, fructarianism, which is just a little overboard for me).  Lacto-ovo, lacto, vegan, even juice diets.   For the past decade or so, I've come to terms with a lacto-ovo-pescetarian diet.  Works for me.

2.  I believe in balance.  Not a new concept to you, my readers, but how does it manifest in my life?  Example:  I consider myself an observant Jew, and cover my hair, but usually wear trousers -- as opposed to skirts -- because it's much more comfortable for me, physically and emotionally.  (This may be because I did not grow up in a religious household, but then again, maybe it wouldn't have mattered either way). 

3.  For an American, I use way too many Britishisms in my speech.  Probably the influence of That Guy I Married.  He's from London.  Not his fault.  

4.  I spent hours of my childhood either up in trees or down among the weeds and bushes.  I used to pet the bees I found there.

5.  My family is multi-cultural.  By this I mean that I have an Indian sister-in-law.  I have joined her family in their place of worship (they are Sikh, strict monotheists) and despite the many difficulties and challenges of intermarriage, I feel a certain kinship with them that is hard to explain in words.  (And they have the most beautiful clothes -- they have given me several outfits).

6.  I love to dance, and I don't mean folk dance.  Hip-hop, modern, street dancing.  I shut the blinds and open the windows and crank up the MP3 and go nuts.  Also while cooking.  I get chopped onions & garlic all over the place.

7.  Two years ago I decided it was (past) time to start reading in Hebrew.  I don't mean signs and menus, I mean books.  Novels.  Nonfiction.  It demands more concentration but -- I know this sounds crazy -- when I read in Hebrew, I get this feeling of the juices flowing in a different area of my brain, and I like it.

8.  I am ever grateful to RivkA  for getting me started in the blogosphere.  Before I read her blog, I hardly knew what a blog was.  Once I read hers, I thought -- what a great idea!  Now I'll be forced to write, my family will have automatic updates about my life, and I might even develop a modest fan club.  All for free.  What could be better?  (Then I discovered the catch:  I actually have to write regularly, and not just think about writing).

9.  I work with sick kids all day, of all different ages and cultures and sizes and shapes and intellectual capacities.  I've been doing this for quite awhile now, and I think I've got the basics down by now.  So why am I always wondering whether I'm doing the right thing with my own kids?  It's a mystery.

10.  Working with those very sick kids, for so many years has probably skewed my view of life just a bit, in that I tend to view life as a very limited thing, to be cherished and pushed to the fullest, every second.  Which is why I am in a constant, sleep-deprived and hypo-caloric state and cannot get enough of what this world has to offer:  family, work, hobbies, etc, etc.  Just dangle it in front of me, and I will probably try to pack it into my already-bursting schedule.  

Which reminds me, I have to go back to studying now (I have an anatomy-physiology exam on Thursday), push Always the Imp along on her bike, make supper, plan a work presentation, and book a trial lesson with the guitar teacher.  Among other things.

I really can't do seven right now, but can we settle for Coffee and Chemo, SuperRaizy, Shilo Musings, Here in HP and The Rebbetzin's Husband?  You're all it (and if you've already been through a round of this, please forgive me... I'm behind the times).

Keep the balance,

ALN

PS:   Mother in Israel -- you too!