I have been getting several offers from companies to post advertising on my blog. One actually is interesting me enough that I am actually really playing with the idea, it looks like fun. The other offer that keeps coming in is for people to do "guest blogs" here. I know it would give me more content, but also still playing with the idea. I still like the idea that the words you find here are mine alone, and therefore, I am responsible for either making you disappointed or entertaining you.
But what is even more exciting is that my blog is "doing well" in numbers, and it looks like an editor wants to work with me. I want to see what we can do over the weekend, so as another challenge, do you see the woman who looks like she is juggling to the right of this? Can you click on that to bring you to Top Mommy Blogs? Right now in the rankings I am #171 out of about 4500 blogs, and #8 overall in my category. I am only eight people away from reaching 500 on my Facebook writing page too, so if you enjoy the postings there, can I ask you to share it on your page? I am giving myself the deadline to finish my last three chapters of my book by the end of November, but I need your help too if I am going to be able to appeal to a publisher.
I already know in advance that I need to thank you all for "sharing" and clicking, you all will never know how much it means to have your support and wonderful words of encouragement.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
It's Monday...and time for me to start my confessions again.
So tonight I returned to TOPS(Taking off Pounds Sensibly)...and I thought that I had gone early in July, but low and behold, I have not been there or weighed in since June 3rd.
For those of you who know us, you know that we went through a very hard time the last few months. When I would be in Edmonton, and around the hospital I ate horribly, and I lost about seven pounds the first few weeks. But then when I started being back up in Fort McMurray, I found that I was stress eating, pasta and bread once again became my best friends. Tim was away a lot as well through the entire summer, spending days down in Edmonton almost every week. So I would then eat what the kids wanted. Add in that I felt like I never had time to even go for a walk, and well, you know what has happened. I have gained. I was so proud that from Christmas to June, I lost every week. But since then I have gained 5.6 pounds while going without checking in.
But tonight as I sit here, 5.6 pounds heavier, which puts me back at 189.6, I am more disappointed with myself than anything else. I said that I would keep making my health a priority, and I was going to stay on track. But I didn't, and I can say it was stress and it was the summer and all that, but those are all just excuses. And I am disappointed that once you throw stress at me, I revert back to dealing with my emotions with food.
So I am back in the confessional, I am back to making healthy meals, not just for myself, but for the family, and hopefully next week I will be able to report a loss. I was way too close to those 190's tonight for my own comfort.
How did everyone else do this summer? Ready to get back on track with me?
For those of you who know us, you know that we went through a very hard time the last few months. When I would be in Edmonton, and around the hospital I ate horribly, and I lost about seven pounds the first few weeks. But then when I started being back up in Fort McMurray, I found that I was stress eating, pasta and bread once again became my best friends. Tim was away a lot as well through the entire summer, spending days down in Edmonton almost every week. So I would then eat what the kids wanted. Add in that I felt like I never had time to even go for a walk, and well, you know what has happened. I have gained. I was so proud that from Christmas to June, I lost every week. But since then I have gained 5.6 pounds while going without checking in.
But tonight as I sit here, 5.6 pounds heavier, which puts me back at 189.6, I am more disappointed with myself than anything else. I said that I would keep making my health a priority, and I was going to stay on track. But I didn't, and I can say it was stress and it was the summer and all that, but those are all just excuses. And I am disappointed that once you throw stress at me, I revert back to dealing with my emotions with food.
So I am back in the confessional, I am back to making healthy meals, not just for myself, but for the family, and hopefully next week I will be able to report a loss. I was way too close to those 190's tonight for my own comfort.
How did everyone else do this summer? Ready to get back on track with me?
Friday, August 16, 2013
Easter weekend
After Shayleen's spinal test, I can remember sneaking out into the main hallway of the Stollery late Holy Thursday night, and calling Tim. Everything that I was going through felt too heavy to handle by myself. I was terrified that Shayleen was going to pass away and I was going to be there alone with her. I couldn't figure out why the doctors could not tell us what was wrong with her, and I felt so helpless sitting beside her bed watching her little body struggle.
The room that we were in at the Stollery quickly became my home. It had a little mattress on the flat surface under the window that faced out onto the inner workings of the hospital. The only meal that I can really remember going for was breakfast. Once the early morning tests were over she would fall into an exhausted sleep and I would literally run down the hospital cafeteria for my breakfast bagel and take it back to the room. I can remember waiting for the elevators there, and they seemed to take an eternity. I was always scared that she would wake up while I was gone, and would get worked up when I wasn't there. It happened twice, and I would hurry back into the room, forgetting my hunger, dropping the bagel, and swipe her up into my arms to try to find a position where she would once again be comfortable. The nurses put an order on her file that if you were not comfortable with Shayleen, you were not to attempt to pick her up or disturb her. Her little body was in constant pain.
And then it was decided that she would have to go for a liver biopsy. And they were going to do another spinal. I had to ask four doctors before they decided that they would go ahead and do the spinal when she was under for the biopsy. I was so relieved that she would be asleep this time around, wouldn't that be better for her? But first we had to prepare for the biopsy. I of course, went to immediately to the computer to find out what this test would be like for her, and the information I found there did not make me feel better. There was a high risk of bleeding from the needle that actually entered the liver, but there was also a risk of puncturing other organs, and she would have to be monitored closely during and after the biopsy. Plus she would now have to suffer through another spinal, and since she was so tiny she could not tell us exactly what hurt, or how bad it was. To prepare, I had to once again put Shayleen through a fasting. I would not be allowed to feed her after midnight, and she would be heading to surgery in the morning. That was the plan. At almost seven weeks now, Shayleen went through the eight hours of fasting, and even though her body was in terrible pain from the tests, the inflammation, and the unknowns, she was now more uncomfortable from hunger. But even feeding Shayleen was something that could turn into an experience. At the most, she would take a quarter of an ounce, and then seem full. I would wait, and walk, and burp her, and wait until she might take another quarter of an ounce. She seemed to be in pain even drinking, but I was terrified I was starving her all the time. And then another nightmare. Her IV stopped working, and they could not get it running again. They started trying to get her little veins to accommodate one at 10p.m., and every hour someone new would come into the room, and we would lay her little body down, hold her down, and fight to find a vein that would work. It was not until early the next morning that a former vet, who had started IVs on birds finally got it working. I remember collapsing in the chair beside the bed crying. It had been 10 hours of watching her suffer, and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
8a.m. came and went, her surgery time was bumped. We would now have to keep fasting her until lunch time. By the time 3p.m. rolled around, I was in tears again. I did not think that her poor little body could take any more. They came for her at 4p.m. The porter was a super sweet British lady, who was like everyone's Nanny. I was allowed into the operating room until they got her asleep. And then that kind British lady gathered me in her arms and guided me back to the hall. She came back to check on me every so often, and encouraged me to go get something to eat or sleep. I don't think I would have been able to move if someone had forced me. It was 7p.m. before she was in recovery, and 8p.m. before they finally brought her out, and we headed back to our room. And still no one could tell me anything, except that even sedated, Shayleen had fought back on the spinal, and they did not know if they had enough for a good test yet. And now, I still could not feed her. We had to wait two hours. It had been 22 hours since she ate....and she was seven weeks old.
Tim immediately heard in my voice that I needed to see my family. I had never been away for my boys except for one night when I had traveled to Baddeck with my sister's in laws and my mother in law a few years earlier before we left Cape Breton. I was stressed about how they were doing, and it was Easter, I had never missed a holiday with them all before. And now, they were giving Shayleen Saturday and Sunday "off" from any major tests, so hopefully they were going to tell us soon what was wrong, and how it was going to be fixed.
We had bought Shayleen her first Easter Sunday dress. And on Sunday, with her IV failed again, we were allowed to disconnect her and take her to Sunday mass on the fifth floor in her little pink dress. We came back from mass feeling more relaxed, and we gathered around her bed to take some family photos before I took off her pretty Easter bonnet and dress.
I was so happy to have a little girl to dress up....and I always loved little hats, so she had to have one. And then I took her pretty little dress off, and she was covered in an angry rash, it looked like her chest, back, and legs were on fire. I immediately pressed the buzzer hanging above her bed, and the nurses came running. An intern was called in, and I was devastated to hear that my desire to dress her up might have caused the irritation. An older doctor came in later in the evening, and as I sat rocking Shayleen, I asked him if it could be HIV. I had been googling things again, and wondered about the rash. He assured me that she would have been tested when she was born, so there was no way it was that, and then he wished us a good night. It was less than 10 minutes later when he returned looking a little shaken. Apparently the tests that they thought had been done in Fort McMurray at the time of her birth had not been done. A lab tech would be here shortly to test us both for HIV, Syphilis, and hepatitis. It would be at least three days before we had any results.
The room that we were in at the Stollery quickly became my home. It had a little mattress on the flat surface under the window that faced out onto the inner workings of the hospital. The only meal that I can really remember going for was breakfast. Once the early morning tests were over she would fall into an exhausted sleep and I would literally run down the hospital cafeteria for my breakfast bagel and take it back to the room. I can remember waiting for the elevators there, and they seemed to take an eternity. I was always scared that she would wake up while I was gone, and would get worked up when I wasn't there. It happened twice, and I would hurry back into the room, forgetting my hunger, dropping the bagel, and swipe her up into my arms to try to find a position where she would once again be comfortable. The nurses put an order on her file that if you were not comfortable with Shayleen, you were not to attempt to pick her up or disturb her. Her little body was in constant pain.
And then it was decided that she would have to go for a liver biopsy. And they were going to do another spinal. I had to ask four doctors before they decided that they would go ahead and do the spinal when she was under for the biopsy. I was so relieved that she would be asleep this time around, wouldn't that be better for her? But first we had to prepare for the biopsy. I of course, went to immediately to the computer to find out what this test would be like for her, and the information I found there did not make me feel better. There was a high risk of bleeding from the needle that actually entered the liver, but there was also a risk of puncturing other organs, and she would have to be monitored closely during and after the biopsy. Plus she would now have to suffer through another spinal, and since she was so tiny she could not tell us exactly what hurt, or how bad it was. To prepare, I had to once again put Shayleen through a fasting. I would not be allowed to feed her after midnight, and she would be heading to surgery in the morning. That was the plan. At almost seven weeks now, Shayleen went through the eight hours of fasting, and even though her body was in terrible pain from the tests, the inflammation, and the unknowns, she was now more uncomfortable from hunger. But even feeding Shayleen was something that could turn into an experience. At the most, she would take a quarter of an ounce, and then seem full. I would wait, and walk, and burp her, and wait until she might take another quarter of an ounce. She seemed to be in pain even drinking, but I was terrified I was starving her all the time. And then another nightmare. Her IV stopped working, and they could not get it running again. They started trying to get her little veins to accommodate one at 10p.m., and every hour someone new would come into the room, and we would lay her little body down, hold her down, and fight to find a vein that would work. It was not until early the next morning that a former vet, who had started IVs on birds finally got it working. I remember collapsing in the chair beside the bed crying. It had been 10 hours of watching her suffer, and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
8a.m. came and went, her surgery time was bumped. We would now have to keep fasting her until lunch time. By the time 3p.m. rolled around, I was in tears again. I did not think that her poor little body could take any more. They came for her at 4p.m. The porter was a super sweet British lady, who was like everyone's Nanny. I was allowed into the operating room until they got her asleep. And then that kind British lady gathered me in her arms and guided me back to the hall. She came back to check on me every so often, and encouraged me to go get something to eat or sleep. I don't think I would have been able to move if someone had forced me. It was 7p.m. before she was in recovery, and 8p.m. before they finally brought her out, and we headed back to our room. And still no one could tell me anything, except that even sedated, Shayleen had fought back on the spinal, and they did not know if they had enough for a good test yet. And now, I still could not feed her. We had to wait two hours. It had been 22 hours since she ate....and she was seven weeks old.
Tim immediately heard in my voice that I needed to see my family. I had never been away for my boys except for one night when I had traveled to Baddeck with my sister's in laws and my mother in law a few years earlier before we left Cape Breton. I was stressed about how they were doing, and it was Easter, I had never missed a holiday with them all before. And now, they were giving Shayleen Saturday and Sunday "off" from any major tests, so hopefully they were going to tell us soon what was wrong, and how it was going to be fixed.
We had bought Shayleen her first Easter Sunday dress. And on Sunday, with her IV failed again, we were allowed to disconnect her and take her to Sunday mass on the fifth floor in her little pink dress. We came back from mass feeling more relaxed, and we gathered around her bed to take some family photos before I took off her pretty Easter bonnet and dress.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Easy Shepherd's Pie
This is so easy, and one of Tim's favorites...and the kids all eat it too, so you know those recipes are keepers!
I peel and get the potatoes boiling first. I usually use about six to eight potatoes for a casserole dish that is 9X13. While the potatoes are cooking, I brown up about a pound and a half of hamburger. Nothing is exact, lol. I don't like as much potato, so I don't make them as thick on my end when putting it together...and you can add more hamburger depending on how many you are feeding.
As the hamburger is getting close to finished, add in about two tsp. of garlic, and about a half a cup of red wine(the wine is optional, but I find it gives a fuller taste). Then drain off any remaining fat after the wine is soaked into the meat. Add a package of onion soup mix(or two if you have more hamburger). Add some salt and pepper to taste, and at least one tablespoon of worcheshire sauce. Blend this all together well. Then add about three cups of vegetables. I like the frozen mix with carrots, peas, beans and corn...but I usually add in an extra can of corn because the kids like it. Then dump the mixture into a casserole dish, and top with potatoes which have been mashed. I add about two tablespoons of butter and one third of a cup of whipping cream or milk to the potatoes when I am mashing them.
Then top the meat mixture with the potatoes, and throw in the oven at 355 degrees for about a half hour to 45 minutes. I cover with tinfoil, but then take it off towards the end to brown the potatoes some, as that is how Tim likes it.
Hope you enjoy!
As the hamburger is getting close to finished, add in about two tsp. of garlic, and about a half a cup of red wine(the wine is optional, but I find it gives a fuller taste). Then drain off any remaining fat after the wine is soaked into the meat. Add a package of onion soup mix(or two if you have more hamburger). Add some salt and pepper to taste, and at least one tablespoon of worcheshire sauce. Blend this all together well. Then add about three cups of vegetables. I like the frozen mix with carrots, peas, beans and corn...but I usually add in an extra can of corn because the kids like it. Then dump the mixture into a casserole dish, and top with potatoes which have been mashed. I add about two tablespoons of butter and one third of a cup of whipping cream or milk to the potatoes when I am mashing them.
Then top the meat mixture with the potatoes, and throw in the oven at 355 degrees for about a half hour to 45 minutes. I cover with tinfoil, but then take it off towards the end to brown the potatoes some, as that is how Tim likes it.
Hope you enjoy!
Sunday, August 4, 2013
The Stollery
Once inside the emergency doors with Shayleen and our pile of luggage, and car seat, I felt a little off balance. I kept thinking that it could not be anything too serious, she just seemed like she was getting better. It had to be something related to the withdrawal, and they would help us and send us back to Fort McMurray.
We were moved into a cubicle before too long, but then the wait began. It was almost 4a.m. before we were brought upstairs to the fourth floor of the stollery, and put in a room which was a bunch of beds filled with tiny little sick bodies in one room. I had no idea how familiar the sounds of the alarms would become as I tried to close my tired eyes for a few minutes once out of the harsh, bright lights of the emergency room. But there was no way I could sleep, as I looked around the room at the other tired looking parents perched in chairs beside their children. They all looked so tired, but no one slept. Nurses bustled around and the sliding glass door to the room seemed to be in constant motion. It felt like some kind of portal to a whole new universe that I was completely unsure of.
The line of residents seemed to circle the room within a few short hours, and the telling of what I knew started, and would be repeated about 10 times that first day and a half. I called Tim with little information, except that I already felt exhausted and we were waiting to see doctors. By the middle of the afternoon we were moved into a room with a young teenage boy who had a head injury from a crash on his motorbike while not wearing a helmet. He was going to be fine, but was being kept for a few days observation. The little bugger is lucky I did not kill him myself during the next two nights. As Shayleen's pain grew, we would have to walk and sit and contort my body in a recliner chair to try to keep her comfortable. When I would find a comfortable position and she would settle I would freeze like that, scared that if I moved a muscle it would cause her more pain and we would start all over again. The shitty little teenager would be pleasant enough when his mother was around, but once she left he would constantly be yelling over Shayleen, telling me to "shut that kid up" and when I would quiet her, he would yell profanities such as, "It's about fucking time", which of course woke her up again. It was during the second night that a nurse was in the room and heard him...she did not hesitate, she wheeled him out into the hallway all the while scolding him that this poor baby was in terrible pain and that his behavior was unacceptable. He was none too pleased to be resting in the brightly light, bustling hallway for the rest of the night. Thankfully the next day we were put into our own room, and I remember it was actually a few hours before I even realized that we were in isolation, and people had to "gown up" to come in. I don't think it was until the doctors came in that day and started talking about precautions that I finally clued in. They still could not say definitely what was wrong with Shayleen, but she had been put into isolation in case others were carrying any germs that could make her even more sick.
It was late that afternoon when a tall, slender dark haired doctor entered the room, and informed me that he was the liver specialist, and within a sentence or two totally pissed me off. He was the first person at the hospital to ask me to explain my relationship to Shayleen. And asked several questions which made me wonder if he had even looked at her file at all. I answered honestly and said that she was our foster child, he immediately changed his demeanor and spoke very abruptly and with no compassion, feeling or respect. He went on to say that "this Indian foster baby" would more than likely need a liver transplant and it was more than likely because of all the alcohol her mother drank. He seemed so cold and I followed him to the hallway as he left. He had said he would be rotating with another doctor, so either I would be seeing him or the other doctor about the liver issues. When I followed him to the hallway, I think he thought I had another question. I don't know where I got my nerve that day, but he had made me so angry. I closed the door behind me and I told him to never come back in that room and address Shayleen as a "foster child", she had a name, and he could use it. I then went on to say that I wanted him to read her file, and try not to be a complete insensitive jerk when dealing with our little girl. To which he said, "I thought you were just the foster mom?" I wanted to kick him so bad.
It was the next day that it felt like the intense tests began. Shayleen had been undergoing the regular stuff, bloodwork, some x-rays and things like that. But then all of a sudden it seemed like they became more desperate to figure out what was wrong with our little girl. They did something called a long bone test, where they more or less strapped her down and extended her limbs as much as they could for a different type of x-ray. It was after that test that a social worker made a visit. Shayleen had so much inflammation in her joints that it looked like her arms and legs were broken. Naturally, since we were foster parents, the abuse questions began. I had always thought I would mind being questioned about a child in our care and whether or not we were abusing them, but I don't think I even completely clued in, at that point there were so many coming and going and asking questions that it did not register that this person was not trying to figure out what was wrong with her, but perhaps what we had done wrong.
And then that tiny little almost six week old baby had to go for a spinal test. The doctor came in to explain what would be done, but I knew already, having endured a few myself, and some bone marrow biopsies as well. I knew it would not be pleasant, and the doctor was surprised when I said that I would be accompanying Shayleen. She already was calming down at times by just hearing my voice, and I was not sending her off for such a horrible test by herself.
There were probably 8-10 people in the room at the end of the hall, just down from her room. It was like a mini-operating room and sterile in feeling. They took Shayleen and laid her on the big table, and she immediately looked even tinier. They began preparing trays and sterile kits around her, and she began to cry. A nurse put an arm around my shoulders and assured me that they would do it as quickly as possible and I could wait outside. I moved closer to the table, and a doctor said I could help by holding her head still when they got her in position. Four and a half years later, as I sit here writing this the tears still come, and there have been times that I think maybe I should have left the room...but that would have only made it easier for me, not for her. I can close my eyes and be there in that room, with the smell of alcohol, iodine, rubber gloves and cleanness. I can close my eyes and picture the way that curved that little baby into almost a horseshoe position so that her tiny little bum and lower back was exposed as much as possible to the doctor who then inserted the needle into her spine...over and over. They could not get a good draw, and the time seemed to go in slow motion as this little girl lay on the table screaming like nothing I had ever heard before. There were six adults with their hands on her tiny body, and still she fought back. I started crying, and the tears burned down my cheeks as my throat felt like it was being tightened with a vice. Finally they said they would not continue, but they did not think they had enough for a successful test. They would have to try again tomorrow.
Shayleen and I went back to her room and sat crying in the rocking chair for a while, her in pain, and I in pain for what she was having to endure. And yet I still could not imagine what was to come.
We were moved into a cubicle before too long, but then the wait began. It was almost 4a.m. before we were brought upstairs to the fourth floor of the stollery, and put in a room which was a bunch of beds filled with tiny little sick bodies in one room. I had no idea how familiar the sounds of the alarms would become as I tried to close my tired eyes for a few minutes once out of the harsh, bright lights of the emergency room. But there was no way I could sleep, as I looked around the room at the other tired looking parents perched in chairs beside their children. They all looked so tired, but no one slept. Nurses bustled around and the sliding glass door to the room seemed to be in constant motion. It felt like some kind of portal to a whole new universe that I was completely unsure of.
The line of residents seemed to circle the room within a few short hours, and the telling of what I knew started, and would be repeated about 10 times that first day and a half. I called Tim with little information, except that I already felt exhausted and we were waiting to see doctors. By the middle of the afternoon we were moved into a room with a young teenage boy who had a head injury from a crash on his motorbike while not wearing a helmet. He was going to be fine, but was being kept for a few days observation. The little bugger is lucky I did not kill him myself during the next two nights. As Shayleen's pain grew, we would have to walk and sit and contort my body in a recliner chair to try to keep her comfortable. When I would find a comfortable position and she would settle I would freeze like that, scared that if I moved a muscle it would cause her more pain and we would start all over again. The shitty little teenager would be pleasant enough when his mother was around, but once she left he would constantly be yelling over Shayleen, telling me to "shut that kid up" and when I would quiet her, he would yell profanities such as, "It's about fucking time", which of course woke her up again. It was during the second night that a nurse was in the room and heard him...she did not hesitate, she wheeled him out into the hallway all the while scolding him that this poor baby was in terrible pain and that his behavior was unacceptable. He was none too pleased to be resting in the brightly light, bustling hallway for the rest of the night. Thankfully the next day we were put into our own room, and I remember it was actually a few hours before I even realized that we were in isolation, and people had to "gown up" to come in. I don't think it was until the doctors came in that day and started talking about precautions that I finally clued in. They still could not say definitely what was wrong with Shayleen, but she had been put into isolation in case others were carrying any germs that could make her even more sick.
It was late that afternoon when a tall, slender dark haired doctor entered the room, and informed me that he was the liver specialist, and within a sentence or two totally pissed me off. He was the first person at the hospital to ask me to explain my relationship to Shayleen. And asked several questions which made me wonder if he had even looked at her file at all. I answered honestly and said that she was our foster child, he immediately changed his demeanor and spoke very abruptly and with no compassion, feeling or respect. He went on to say that "this Indian foster baby" would more than likely need a liver transplant and it was more than likely because of all the alcohol her mother drank. He seemed so cold and I followed him to the hallway as he left. He had said he would be rotating with another doctor, so either I would be seeing him or the other doctor about the liver issues. When I followed him to the hallway, I think he thought I had another question. I don't know where I got my nerve that day, but he had made me so angry. I closed the door behind me and I told him to never come back in that room and address Shayleen as a "foster child", she had a name, and he could use it. I then went on to say that I wanted him to read her file, and try not to be a complete insensitive jerk when dealing with our little girl. To which he said, "I thought you were just the foster mom?" I wanted to kick him so bad.
It was the next day that it felt like the intense tests began. Shayleen had been undergoing the regular stuff, bloodwork, some x-rays and things like that. But then all of a sudden it seemed like they became more desperate to figure out what was wrong with our little girl. They did something called a long bone test, where they more or less strapped her down and extended her limbs as much as they could for a different type of x-ray. It was after that test that a social worker made a visit. Shayleen had so much inflammation in her joints that it looked like her arms and legs were broken. Naturally, since we were foster parents, the abuse questions began. I had always thought I would mind being questioned about a child in our care and whether or not we were abusing them, but I don't think I even completely clued in, at that point there were so many coming and going and asking questions that it did not register that this person was not trying to figure out what was wrong with her, but perhaps what we had done wrong.
And then that tiny little almost six week old baby had to go for a spinal test. The doctor came in to explain what would be done, but I knew already, having endured a few myself, and some bone marrow biopsies as well. I knew it would not be pleasant, and the doctor was surprised when I said that I would be accompanying Shayleen. She already was calming down at times by just hearing my voice, and I was not sending her off for such a horrible test by herself.
There were probably 8-10 people in the room at the end of the hall, just down from her room. It was like a mini-operating room and sterile in feeling. They took Shayleen and laid her on the big table, and she immediately looked even tinier. They began preparing trays and sterile kits around her, and she began to cry. A nurse put an arm around my shoulders and assured me that they would do it as quickly as possible and I could wait outside. I moved closer to the table, and a doctor said I could help by holding her head still when they got her in position. Four and a half years later, as I sit here writing this the tears still come, and there have been times that I think maybe I should have left the room...but that would have only made it easier for me, not for her. I can close my eyes and be there in that room, with the smell of alcohol, iodine, rubber gloves and cleanness. I can close my eyes and picture the way that curved that little baby into almost a horseshoe position so that her tiny little bum and lower back was exposed as much as possible to the doctor who then inserted the needle into her spine...over and over. They could not get a good draw, and the time seemed to go in slow motion as this little girl lay on the table screaming like nothing I had ever heard before. There were six adults with their hands on her tiny body, and still she fought back. I started crying, and the tears burned down my cheeks as my throat felt like it was being tightened with a vice. Finally they said they would not continue, but they did not think they had enough for a successful test. They would have to try again tomorrow.
Shayleen and I went back to her room and sat crying in the rocking chair for a while, her in pain, and I in pain for what she was having to endure. And yet I still could not imagine what was to come.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
I literally waited 30 years for today!
Some will not understand the emotion behind this blog post, especially if you had good dental health growing up and are in way shape or form attractive in the facial department. I was never blessed in either department. We had an old horse dentist that came to our school when we were kids and I was so terrified of that man, that when his old nurse came to the classroom door I would pray that I would somehow be overlooked on the list. When we would walk down the hallway beside the nurse I would often ask to go to the bathroom so I could retch. When he finally stopped coming to the school I was overjoyed when I heard the news. But he left me with a great fear of dentists that followed me well into my adult life.
It was literally not until I met Dr. Michael Nemec and his staff, in Port Hawkesbury, Nova Scotia when I was 26 years old that I could finally go and sit in his chair and not almost rip the arm off during a visit. It was because of him that I first had the nerve to go see an orthodontist in Halifax with the hopes that I could some day smile. But the opposite happened, the "specialist" terrified me to death all over again as he said that the only way I was ever going to live pain free would be to have my jaw broken and extended(and then wired shut)....and at almost $10,000, he still would not make any promises, as he said the bone was rubbing on a nerve at the joint, and the surgery could make it worse. My best friend, Tammy Kersten was with me that day, and she said I was white as a ghost when I came out of his office. That was in 2003, ten years ago.
When I first moved to Fort McMurray, I scheduled my dentist appointments with Dr. Nemec when I went home, yes, he is that good. But I knew I was going to have to find a dentist for the family out here, so the search was on. I thought I had found a trustworthy one about two years ago, but after an emergency with Shayleen sent us to Dr. Brake's office, I knew I would be switching everyone to her immediately. Dr. Brake was my new Dr. Nemec, and the kids loved her too, so it was good all around. I know people will laugh at me, but I sincerely had such a fear that finding someone you are that comfortable with is something that is to be treasured.
After she saw me to fix a filling that the last dentist had left in a mess, she casually asked if I had ever thought of braces. I told her my story about the orthodontist from 10 years ago, and she said she knew another really good guy that came up from Calgary that I could go see for a consultation. And she thought for sure he could help me.
By that time, my teeth were so crowded that they thought I might lose at least two in the front on the bottom. They were pushed out so far that they were almost out and not even in my bite anyway.
It was May 28, 2012 when I met Dr. Kelly Brooke for the first time, and he did the following pictures that day.
Pretty bad, eh? I was always the girl in the pictures that never smiled...if I agreed to a picture at all. I was the girl who would keep her hand over her mouth if she started laughing while in a group. And I was the girl who really did not smile all that much. I am sure over the years people thought I was a stick in the mud, or bored, and I know others who said I was snobby. Little did they know that I was just worried about my ugly teeth.
By the end of my first visit with Dr. Brooke, I knew that if there was ever a man that was going to make a real attempt at fixing my teeth, and who I would be comfortable with, it would be him. But the cost was another worry, was I worth all that money, just for me? It was finally Tim(hubby) that made the decision for me, and insisted that I do this for myself. At first Dr. Brooke said it would take us any where from 18 months to two years to be ready to take the braces off. But today, just 13 months later, it happened!
On the first round to the mirror, before they cleaned them up, I was kind of like, okay, they look better. But when they cleaned the glue and gunk off and I went back for a rinse, I immediately started crying when I lifted my head and caught myself, my teeth, in the mirror. And you know what? I smiled...and then I cried some more. And you know what else I did, without even thinking? Sent Tim(hubby) a picture! And I came home and set up skype....all things that others may not even think about. But I have never once sent Tim a picture of myself in our 20 years together....so thank you Dr. Nemec, Dr. Brake, and a special thanks to Dr. Kelly Brooke, you all have made me smile, and that was no easy task. And it only took me 30 years! And thanks to Tim, who goaded me, paid the tab, and listened to me moan in pain and grumble about how embarrassing it was to have braces at 40. And here I am today! It will take some practice, but I am smiling!
And here is what the professional dentist pics look like.
And people will laugh for sure when they think of how I wouldn't smile all those years, but I will be these horrid pictures up. But really, that is how excited I am with this change, and how grateful I am to all the people that helped to make it happen, I really never thought it was possible.
It was literally not until I met Dr. Michael Nemec and his staff, in Port Hawkesbury, Nova Scotia when I was 26 years old that I could finally go and sit in his chair and not almost rip the arm off during a visit. It was because of him that I first had the nerve to go see an orthodontist in Halifax with the hopes that I could some day smile. But the opposite happened, the "specialist" terrified me to death all over again as he said that the only way I was ever going to live pain free would be to have my jaw broken and extended(and then wired shut)....and at almost $10,000, he still would not make any promises, as he said the bone was rubbing on a nerve at the joint, and the surgery could make it worse. My best friend, Tammy Kersten was with me that day, and she said I was white as a ghost when I came out of his office. That was in 2003, ten years ago.
When I first moved to Fort McMurray, I scheduled my dentist appointments with Dr. Nemec when I went home, yes, he is that good. But I knew I was going to have to find a dentist for the family out here, so the search was on. I thought I had found a trustworthy one about two years ago, but after an emergency with Shayleen sent us to Dr. Brake's office, I knew I would be switching everyone to her immediately. Dr. Brake was my new Dr. Nemec, and the kids loved her too, so it was good all around. I know people will laugh at me, but I sincerely had such a fear that finding someone you are that comfortable with is something that is to be treasured.
After she saw me to fix a filling that the last dentist had left in a mess, she casually asked if I had ever thought of braces. I told her my story about the orthodontist from 10 years ago, and she said she knew another really good guy that came up from Calgary that I could go see for a consultation. And she thought for sure he could help me.
By that time, my teeth were so crowded that they thought I might lose at least two in the front on the bottom. They were pushed out so far that they were almost out and not even in my bite anyway.
It was May 28, 2012 when I met Dr. Kelly Brooke for the first time, and he did the following pictures that day.
By the end of my first visit with Dr. Brooke, I knew that if there was ever a man that was going to make a real attempt at fixing my teeth, and who I would be comfortable with, it would be him. But the cost was another worry, was I worth all that money, just for me? It was finally Tim(hubby) that made the decision for me, and insisted that I do this for myself. At first Dr. Brooke said it would take us any where from 18 months to two years to be ready to take the braces off. But today, just 13 months later, it happened!
On the first round to the mirror, before they cleaned them up, I was kind of like, okay, they look better. But when they cleaned the glue and gunk off and I went back for a rinse, I immediately started crying when I lifted my head and caught myself, my teeth, in the mirror. And you know what? I smiled...and then I cried some more. And you know what else I did, without even thinking? Sent Tim(hubby) a picture! And I came home and set up skype....all things that others may not even think about. But I have never once sent Tim a picture of myself in our 20 years together....so thank you Dr. Nemec, Dr. Brake, and a special thanks to Dr. Kelly Brooke, you all have made me smile, and that was no easy task. And it only took me 30 years! And thanks to Tim, who goaded me, paid the tab, and listened to me moan in pain and grumble about how embarrassing it was to have braces at 40. And here I am today! It will take some practice, but I am smiling!
And people will laugh for sure when they think of how I wouldn't smile all those years, but I will be these horrid pictures up. But really, that is how excited I am with this change, and how grateful I am to all the people that helped to make it happen, I really never thought it was possible.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Off to Edmonton with our sick girl.
We entered week five of Shayleen's little life feeling a bit more confident. She seemed to be less tense, and was even sleeping for an hour or two in a row through the first few nights. But during the day Wednesday, she seemed to have a different scream when I was changing her, and I called Tim at work wondering if I should take her to the hospital. But then she seemed fine again, and I thought maybe I was just being a paranoid, over protective mom. She seemed to settle well that night, and fell asleep around 9p.m. All of a sudden at 11p.m. I got up and told Tim I felt like something was wrong, but when I checked on Shayleen she was sleeping soundly, her breathing even. It wasn't until when I touched her in the dark room that I realized there was something very wrong, she felt like she was on fire. I whisked her off to the emergency room and waited for them to tell me what might be wrong now. In the early morning hours a doctor said that the blood work results showed that her liver function numbers were a bit off, but that it was probably just a bug. I called our pediatrician in the morning, and she said we could find out for sure there was nothing wrong with the liver by doing an ultrasound. But Dr. James said it might not tell us anything, and it was not too pleasant since we had to not feed her for 8 hours. But I was too scared that there was something wrong at that point, and said I would handle it. We were unable to give the poor little thing a bottle after midnight that night, and I remember I arrived early at the hospital just in case we could get in sooner.
Unfortunately there was some kind of mix up, and they did not have paper work to do the ultrasound. I stood at the desk and while I never cause a "fuss", I banged on the counter asking for a manager...I was very reluctant to go through another night of such torture, and it was so hard on poor little Shayleen. Fate stepped in and a tech was going by at the same time and overheard, and felt pity for both of us, and said that they could straighten things out and get us in. It was the same tech just 45 minutes later who called Dr. James and sent us to her office immediately after the ultrasound was done. I called Tim from the parking lot, saying I hoped it was jaundice, or something simple, and I would call him back when I found out.
Dr. James had different news for us. She said that Shayleen's liver was four times bigger than what it should be, and we would have to fly to Edmonton that same day and find out what was going on. At that point they did not know why it was enlarged, but we would have to go to the Stollery in Edmonton to find out more. I left the doctor's office and almost didn't know what to do next, my own two boys had never been in the hospital except for the occasional trips to emergency for a fall or one bad lung infection that Mitchell had once at age four. And Edmonton seemed so far away when you have children still at home that needed me around. I headed off to my sister-in-laws to see what they thought, and I remember when I called Tim back at work, all he asked was what time would we have to leave, he would arrange to leave early so he could drive us to the airport. There was never any hesitation from either of us that we needed to be with her.
I had never traveled with a baby on a plane before, with the car seat and the bags of necessary supplies. And I had only been in Edmonton a few times, and never by myself. I was asking the flight attendant how far the hospital was, and if there was someone who could help me get the car seat and all the bags to a cab. As the flight was drawing to an end, the man across the aisle leaned over and insisted on helping me with my bags when we got off the plane. Rich Krahn was flying back to Edmonton from Fort McMurray after being up here for work, and as we made our way to the baggage carousel he said he had two daughters of his own, and could not imagine one of them being sick. He said the hospital was about 20 minutes away, and he would drive us. My guard was immediately up, and I politely declined. He knew I probably thought he was some kind of creep, so he called his wife and put me on the phone with her....she reassured me that he was just a really great guy and would love to help. I will never forget his kindness, as he carried all our stuff to his van and helped me to get Shayleen buckled safely into her car seat. I still don't know how much out of his way he went that night to safely deliver us to the emergency department at the Stollery, but the thought of his kindness stayed with me all these years, and fate again brought us together at a restaurant in Edmonton last summer! I got to meet his beautiful daughters and wife, and thank him once again for showing strangers so much kindness. It might not have meant much to him at the time, but for me starting this scary journey with this little baby, it gave me hope that I would not be alone. Below is a picture of us running into each other at a restaurant after four years...we were there to celebrate our anniversary with the kids, and he was there for his daughter's birthday....at a restaurant that he had never been at before.
Unfortunately there was some kind of mix up, and they did not have paper work to do the ultrasound. I stood at the desk and while I never cause a "fuss", I banged on the counter asking for a manager...I was very reluctant to go through another night of such torture, and it was so hard on poor little Shayleen. Fate stepped in and a tech was going by at the same time and overheard, and felt pity for both of us, and said that they could straighten things out and get us in. It was the same tech just 45 minutes later who called Dr. James and sent us to her office immediately after the ultrasound was done. I called Tim from the parking lot, saying I hoped it was jaundice, or something simple, and I would call him back when I found out.
Dr. James had different news for us. She said that Shayleen's liver was four times bigger than what it should be, and we would have to fly to Edmonton that same day and find out what was going on. At that point they did not know why it was enlarged, but we would have to go to the Stollery in Edmonton to find out more. I left the doctor's office and almost didn't know what to do next, my own two boys had never been in the hospital except for the occasional trips to emergency for a fall or one bad lung infection that Mitchell had once at age four. And Edmonton seemed so far away when you have children still at home that needed me around. I headed off to my sister-in-laws to see what they thought, and I remember when I called Tim back at work, all he asked was what time would we have to leave, he would arrange to leave early so he could drive us to the airport. There was never any hesitation from either of us that we needed to be with her.
I had never traveled with a baby on a plane before, with the car seat and the bags of necessary supplies. And I had only been in Edmonton a few times, and never by myself. I was asking the flight attendant how far the hospital was, and if there was someone who could help me get the car seat and all the bags to a cab. As the flight was drawing to an end, the man across the aisle leaned over and insisted on helping me with my bags when we got off the plane. Rich Krahn was flying back to Edmonton from Fort McMurray after being up here for work, and as we made our way to the baggage carousel he said he had two daughters of his own, and could not imagine one of them being sick. He said the hospital was about 20 minutes away, and he would drive us. My guard was immediately up, and I politely declined. He knew I probably thought he was some kind of creep, so he called his wife and put me on the phone with her....she reassured me that he was just a really great guy and would love to help. I will never forget his kindness, as he carried all our stuff to his van and helped me to get Shayleen buckled safely into her car seat. I still don't know how much out of his way he went that night to safely deliver us to the emergency department at the Stollery, but the thought of his kindness stayed with me all these years, and fate again brought us together at a restaurant in Edmonton last summer! I got to meet his beautiful daughters and wife, and thank him once again for showing strangers so much kindness. It might not have meant much to him at the time, but for me starting this scary journey with this little baby, it gave me hope that I would not be alone. Below is a picture of us running into each other at a restaurant after four years...we were there to celebrate our anniversary with the kids, and he was there for his daughter's birthday....at a restaurant that he had never been at before.
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