Doctor Mom, Heal Thyself!

Suburban moms earned the nickname "Soccer Moms," but I have earned the name "Doctor Mom." Just like many of my fellow suburban mothers don't play soccer, I am no doctor.

However, 3 of my 5 children have regular doctor's appointments every week. In the past week, I've missed 5 appointments. It's very daunting to me. How could this happen? The easy answer is that I'm failing at balancing these appointments with the other needs in our lives.

I missed the first appointment because I didn't know that my daughter needed another prescription for her physical therapy until it was too late. The next two, were during the time that I needed an emergency meeting. I called ahead to reschedule, but it was already the day of the appointments. Not very thoughtful to the doctor. The fourth and fifth visits were the rescheduled visits and they completely floated out of my mind. I came home from physical therapy, sat down, and then received a phone call from another doctor's office reminding me that my appointment was scheduled 5 minutes ago.

Even before my week of missed appointments, things were not boding well for me.

A few months ago, I had to drive from a medical appointment to the church where my oldest daughter takes classes in order to act as study hall monitor.  I was so focused on my tight schedule that I drove halfway to the church before it occurred to me that I wasn't driving to the doctor's office. We were late but made it.

Another time, I arrived 4 hours early for the kids' appointments.

And since the physical therapy office is so close, I have been able to easily correct my forgetfulness with a quick 5 minute jaunt to their office.

I wish that I were driving my kids around to soccer practices. Instead, I am driving to doctor appointments three days a week. As a Doctor Mom, I need to heal my own mind.

A Good Report From the Orthopedist

Back in February, my oldest daughter broke her ankle. It was a painful way to end an otherwise FUN time of jumping on an indoor trampoline.  Since that break, her whole body and this family has been off kilter.

For example, in the first 7 weeks after that break, her sleep schedule was off. I swear, it brought me back to those first months after the arrival of a baby. Not able to climb the stairs to her bedroom, she slept in our recliner in the living room like I did after each birth. The pain kept her awake all night. By the morning, tiredness finally did what the painkillers couldn't: she forgot about the pain as she slept away the morning, awaking after lunch due to the pain and realizing the day was half gone.

The living room was a pile of her school books, painting supplies, clothes from upstairs, and anything else a 13 year old needs.  The recliner sat in the middle of the room so that she could view the TV from relative comfort. Her toiletries relocated to the kitchen sink. A bottle of shampoo hung out there so long that it looked normal among the kitchen supplies.

Her inability to do things for herself, her need to be waited on hand (and foot), and her inability to help us with anything around the house made me feel like I had another toddler instead of a teenager. She'd regressed back to needing me to do everything for her like she did so long ago.

While she suffered the prolonged pain of this break and the house took a downward spiral into disorganization, the doctor relayed bad news last month. He didn't see her bones coming together. Normally, he would perform surgery to insert a screw for such a case. Except, her break was at the growth plate. He didn't want to interrupt the growth she is still experiencing.

She began physical therapy in a last try to promote healing without surgery. After a month of PT, she is a different girl. She hobbles around on that broken ankle without the aid of the boot or crutches. She sleeps in her loft bed upstairs. No longer does she cry out in pain when we touch any part of the left side of her body. She zooms through her school work, helps the younger children with their school, and even began helping with chores again.

From the outside, I could see she was healing. So I wasn't surprised when the doctor today pronounced that she is also healing from the inside. Her bones are coming together without the aid of a screw; her growth plate escaped any hinderance.

I'm very grateful for her healing and hopeful that she really will regain all the range of motion she lost with this break. It's good to have her back.

Mac-and-Cheese Directions Confuse Us

I've joined the club. I am now buying gluten free bread like the rest of you. Pancake mix is now free of that devilish ingredient. Did you know that you can now buy cookies without gluten? Chicken nuggets, fish sticks, and frozen burritos all come gluten free too.

And so today, I gave my son a box of gluten free mac-and-cheese to make. Busy with other things, I told him to follow the directions. I mean, hey, I was right there in the kitchen if he needed help.

He boiled the water, cooked the noodles, and then was confused. The box told him to pour all of the powder cheese into the boiling water along with the milk. Sure he was wrong, I stopped him. When he showed me the picture on the box, I kind of scratched my head and gave him the green light.

Well, it turned out just as you would expect. All of the cheese and milk went down the drain when he strained the noodles and he was left with only plain noodles. But gluten free noodles.

After the mishap we looked at the box again. Only then did we both have clarity. No longer looking for the directions to confirm adding the powder to the pot of boiling water, we saw that the picture was really showing the powder being added to a cup of milk.

All of this reminded me of the first time I tried to make mac-and-cheese. Senior year of college, I went to a party off campus.  Since there was only beer and no food to satisfy my hunger, I asked the host for something to eat. He was busy, and threw at me a box of mac-and-cheese.

I froze. We didn't eat that back at home. I had no idea it came in a box. Butter? I had to look for butter in the fridge? Milk, too? Was I supposed to dump everything in the pot at once? I was flustered. In the end, I gave him back the box and went hungry.

It seems that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But at least my son will be prepared to satisfy his hunger should he find himself at a college party with no food.

The Post-Easter Purge

My 11 year old boy continues to have extremely painful aches in his body. After reviewing some tests, the doctor told us that his gut is inflamed and suffering from a yeast overgrowth as well as the inability to absorb carbohydrates. At least, I think that is what she said. Typically, I have to be told something 10 times before I understand the specifics.

In order to rid his gut of this imbalance, we are taking him off gluten and sugar. And because this might help with some other ailments in the house, the rest of us will try to phase the gluten out and replace it with appropriate foods.

We are all groaning at this verdict. Easter was on Sunday, and that day is like the springtime Halloween in terms of candy. Chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, jelly beans...the kids had a glorious stash.

Had.

They had a glorious stash until the temptation to partake of the forbidden pleasure was taken away. Now the candy no longer calls their names. No longer must I endure them begging for candy. They aren't beckoned to eat of the sweetness because there is nothing left. Zilch. Zip. Nada.

While walking a visitor to the door on Monday (the day after Easter), we happened upon the 3 year old in a terrific mood. He was surrounded by empty, torn candy wrappers. All of his siblings baskets lay on their sides at his feet. Around his mouth was a goatee of brown juice. With wild eyes, he looked up at us and smiled.

During the time I was busy with the visitor, this little scamp had eaten every last one of his siblings candy. The kids were in an uproar, and I couldn't stop laughing while I pretended to be mad. The little dude got rid of all that sugar in one sitting.  Sparing us of any sugar imbalance, I'm holding my breath for whatever malady will manifest in his little body from that gorge.