Dear Mama

We are loving the cold air and the holiday cheer and are looking so forward to Pumpkin’s second Christmas (the first one where she may have some teeny tiny idea of what is going on, or at least how to rip open gifts). It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. We just spent a great week with our Florida family, complete with Ganny-spoiling, Thanksgiving gluttony, and early Christmas presents. Unfortunately, coming back to the real world was, well…real.

It started with my losing my driver’s license somewhere between Ganny’s house and the airport. It was one of those “bright ideas” to save time at the security line I would put my license in my back pocket so I could whip it out at a moment’s notice. Well, having put that plan into action, I then proceeded to fold myself up onto Pumpkin’s new tricycle and “ride” down Ganny’s cul-de-sac (much to Pumpkin’s sheer delight). Unfortunately, all of the yoga-like positions I had to get into apparently pushed my license out of my pocket. More unfortunate still was the fact I didn’t realize it until we had checked our bags. Waterworks and frantic ripping apart of our bags ensued (probably in violation of every TSA rule imaginable since they had already been checked). I was too crazed for anyone to dare stop me.

So, at the suggestion of the curbside bag guy (who really just wanted my hysterically crying face out of his) I went to security with nothing more than a debit card bearing my name, a husband and a baby; oh, and a face full of tears. TSA ID-check guy number 1 listened to my sob story and then called his supervisor, who listened to my sob story and then called her supervisor, who listened to my sob story and then called his supervisor who advised me I would have to undergo “rigorous” security. I agreed and left Hubby and Pumpkin behind, afraid of what was in store. Luckily, I had nothing to fear because “rigorous” is just another word for you get to cut in the front of the line and go through the new “invasive” x-ray machine. That’s it. I got to cut. I was through security ten minutes before the rest of the fam. No strip or cavity search; they didn’t even empty the huge diaper bag I was toting. I think I may “lose” my license every time I fly (just joking TSA big brother, don’t put me on the do not fly list). At first I was thankful for the “kind” TSA employees until I really thought about the ineffectiveness of their “security.” If you have ID, high security; if you don’t, some security.

So we got back. You loyal followers will be able to guess what was next. That’s right, a trip to the Children’s Clinic with a sick Pumpkin. It all started with a little cough, which turned into a big cough, which started to concern mommy and Ganny so we took Pumpkin to the “minute clinic” at the CVS in Florida on Saturday for a diagnosis. Now, I’ve come to realize that there are as many diagnoses as there are doctors, but I can now add that there are even more because the nurse practitioner at CVS – who apparently slept at a Holiday Inn the night before our visit – added one more to the list. That was after she was unable to get her weight, her temperature, or look in her throat. Instead, she looked in a book. Literally. Not even Web-MD, a dusty old book. And which diagnosis did her magic finger land on??? Asthma. Yes, asthma, which my Web-MD training has confirmed cannot be diagnosed until 6 years of age. I’m convinced it was only because it started with an “A.” Lucky she didn’t diagnose her as an aardvark. So not only do we end up with a ridiculous diagnosis, but she actually prescribes an albuterol inhaler. To my surprise I did get her to take a puff off of it, but after one day I gave up.

So back in town and still coughing, we end up at the Children’s Clinic. Why I even go there anymore I do not know but there we were. I explain the symptoms: tight coughing, wheezing, unable to breathe, unable to sleep. We get blood work, a full exam, and a new diagnosis – restrictive airway disease. Sounded ominous (just as anything with the word disease at the end does to a mother). I listen intently to the treatment protocol, ask questions fervently, and resign myself to soldier through against this big bad disease. I immediately get on the phone and, from the car, have Pop checking the internet for anything he can find about RAD. Mayo Clinic’s explanation? Basically it is a fancy way of saying nothing; or more accurately, a fancy way of saying unexplainable tight coughing, wheezing, unable to breathe, unable to sleep. Even more accurately, a fancy way of saying “I don’t know what is wrong with your child.”

For now we are back on the breathing treatments. We haven’t done them in months and I have to admit defeat – 18-month old Pumpkin is strong; particularly when she is fighting with every ounce of her being not to be subjected to the torture session. Not only is she much stronger than me, but what before was just sad cries, is now furied screams of “NOOOO MAMAAAA!!!!” while I’m trying to wrestle her down, holding both arms and legs, while also manipulating the mask onto her face. Good times.

And speaking of “no mama” I learned another valuable lesson this week. Don’t laugh at anything you don’t want them to say or do again and again and again. Pumpkin is just graduating from one word communication to very caveman-like sentence formation of two word lengths. One of those sentences last week was “no mama,” which was very startling, and cute, and charming. We all got a big laugh out of it. If only I could turn back that clock, because now I’m getting “no mama’d” every time I turn around. Sometimes legitimately, see above re: the breathing treatments and sometimes simply when I tell her it’s time to eat/read/sleep/fill in the blank. Two nights ago as I rocked her little coughing body back to sleep in the dark I whispered to Hubby that I thought we should go back to the doctor and out of a dead sleep she said “no mama.” She has even added a little thigh push when she is close enough to reach me, as if to say both “no mama” and “get the heck away from me mama.” Not cute at all anymore. At least she still is.