Influenza Has Mommy?

Being a mommy does something odd to the psyche.  I think I'm so far deep into motherhood that, at some point, I forgot that I could actually get sick.  This isn't to say that I haven't been sick in the past 6 years, but more like I haven't been so sick that I couldn't ignore the symptoms along side the rest of the little humans in my life.  I'm fairly certain that I could be dry heaving into a garbage bag and any one of my three children would tap me on the shoulder and ask me if I could please get them some more milk.  Or wipe their buns.  Or could I please kiss their owie that they got when they smacked their brother in the face?

So on Saturday, I started to feel odd and easily exhausted.  On Sunday I started to cough uncontrollably.  On Monday I woke up and I thought I was going to die.  Fever, dry cough, congestion, you name it.  Total misery.   I couldn't stand up, I couldn't eat, drink, whine, nothing.

One thing you have to know is that Chris Garland is infamous for being a hypochondriac.  He will deny this until the day that he dies, but the fact remains that as soon as I mention a symptom, he literally has that exact symptom in about 3 nano-seconds, with of course the exception of things like a fever or congestion, etc.  For example, one of the very first symptoms I ever got when I was pregnant was cold symptoms.  My nose would get stuffy and I would swear that I was getting sick.  Then, coupled with a few other symptoms, I would take a pregnancy test and it would explain it all.  Chris got my "pregnancy cold" every single time and it was cured by my pregnancy test....every single time.  Mention a symptom, and Chris is instantly ill.  It's adorable/annoying/adorable.

So, over the weekend, Chris was obviously feeling "tired and sick".  He even took loads of over-the-counter cough medicine, even though he never coughed even once. Then Monday came, and he was refreshed and ready for the week.  I was hit by a Mack truck, but since I couldn't barely put a sentence together to express my symptoms, Chris was unscathed.  I stayed in bed for three straight days, with the exception of when I went to the doctor for ear pain and came home with influenza and antibiotics.

Which reminds me.  I'm sitting at urgent care, my head in my palm, coughing into a mask when the doctor gently asks me "Mrs Garland, did you get a flu shot?"

My mind immediately flashed to the traumatic events of every fall when I get my three children flu shots.  It is pure misery.  They cry, scream, go hysterical and respond to each other's cries as if their lives are truly endangered. As a tribe of psychos, they absolutely panic until the three of them see something shiny and then life goes on, leaving a rattled, exhausted mother in their wake.  Within four minutes, nobody remembers what happened except me.

But wait a minute...I obviously didn't get a shot that day at the pediatric clinic....and then I realized....I completely forgot to get myself a flu shot.  Me.  Unbelievable.

So I tell the doctor that I didn't get one....but can't stop myself from rattling off my life story just in case he thinks I'm a complete moron.  "I didn't get one, but I have three kids and they all got one.  I just forgot to get myself one.  See?  They are....covered, so...that doesn't count...but if the world had any ounce of justice in it, it would....right?"

"Mrs. Garland, I think you have influenza.  The real one" and then, as I look entirely defeated, he quietly jokes "do you need a mental health evaluation?"

Of course I do.  So when I come home and tell Chris, his face goes white and he takes a few steps back from me.  He says under his breath "Oh my God.  My wife has the black plague.  I'm going to die."

I step over all the garbage on the ground that has accumulated in the past 72 hours and return to my bed while Chris is giving the kids a bath.  I am so exhausted that I have to ask Chris to get me some water, but it takes him awhile to respond.  When he finally brings the water, which clearly he would like to hand to me with a 10 foot pole, he looks frazzled.  I ask him what is wrong, and no joke, he says "Oh nothing, just trying to handle my pre-flu symptoms."

So I was incapacitated for 5 straight days.  Chris got the kids ready for school each day and I swear, Adelai literally had a bee hive as she went to daycare each day.  For three straight days, they ate pizza and eggs for almost every meal.  They never had a bed time, but rather passed out on the floor and were placed into their beds.  They had free access to cookies and drank non-stop Gatorade.  It was probably the best time of their lives. And when I finally rose from my bed this morning, the house looked like a war zone.  Not to disrespect the survivors of WWII, but does anybody remember the scene in The Pianist when the main character finally comes out of the house at the very end and the whole entire place is decimated for as far as the eye can see?

 That was kind of like my house.  Except that instead of bombed out structures of houses, I had straight filth and garbage.

I used to feel like a total failure as a parent because my house almost always looks trashed.  No matter how hard I try, I have three little sabotages following behind me, ruining everything.  At least this experience has shown me that I do actually keep total filth and decimation at bay.  Sort of.

And FYI, Chris is still freaked out by me.  When I cough, he does everything short of duck-and-cover.  Luckily, he is still at the "pre-flu" stage, so I think we'll be just fine.

Although, speaking of the need for a mental health evaluation......

A Routine Shiner

She sat in her hospital crib, suddenly laughing hysterically at a simple toy.  It was clear that she was feeling the effects of the medication she had received as she swayed from side to side. She tipped over into the pillow, flashed her dimples at me and giggled.  Her smile takes up so much of her face, and I noted the curls in her hair as she grabbed my attention like she so easily does.  I reached to pick her up, but she nonchalantly said "no" and went about her play.  I noticed that she was beginning to drool from her lip, so I quickly attended to her as she folded her tiny body over to press her face into the mirror on the toy.  She was delighted by her reflection.  I was delighted by her delight, even though her ever increasing independence in the world was, at times, tough to accept....or should I say, tough to celebrate.  She owns me.

I tried to appear carefree for her for a few minutes until I realized that she wasn't looking at me anymore.  Then  I stopped.  No sense in pretending that my heart wasn't burning in my chest as the doctors ran through the simple, routine procedure.  The anesthesiologist told me how he would care for her and was completely taken by her grin.  "Are you trying to win me over, young lady?  You had me at your first giggle."  She brightened as if she somehow understood and then sunk into her pillow further with pure glee.  Her laughter filled the tense room. Not a care in the world.

As they were preparing to wheel her away, I overheard a surgeon giving a family a completely different scenario.  "This is a risky situation" and "we'll keep you updated on the progress if we make any...." As they wheeled my girl away, my eyes filled with tears as I was full of gratitude yet couldn't stand the image of her happy little carefree body being whisked away from her mommy.  She never looked for me.  She was growing up.  It's the kind of security that comes from being well-loved...knowing that your mommy will always be back...always come for you.
I will always come for her.

The 30 minute wait turned into two hours.  In retrospect, I think God just shielded me from this knowledge, because I didn't really notice.  The doctor came and explained that it had not gone well.  She was missing a tear duct in her eye that was responsible for 70% of the drainage in the eye.  He explained that she might have to have some kind of extensive surgery, but I didn't listen to anything he said.  I pictured her hair, recently having exploded into curls.  Her inquisitive eyes.  Her fingers...her toes. He gave me a reassuring smile, but I give that smile to patients all the time after I've given them a pep-talk.  I know it doesn't mean much. He left and nearly immediately, they called for the mother of Adelai Garland. I rose from my chair trying to hide the anxious desire to push down grandmas and shove people aside to get to her.

I entered through double doors and there were children lying in beds, along the walls.  Some were sleeping, some were moaning as they woke up, some were sobbing.  I saw Adelai being held by a nurse.  Her eyes were visibly swollen and, under her left eye there was a dark purple bruise forming.  Blood sat on her lip, flowing slowly out of her nose. Her eyes were closed, but she was whimpering and sort of flailing around, yet without much effort.  I said her name and she sort of lunged in the direction of my voice with a sob. I caught her, clumsy in my attempt to scoop her with all her wires.  She fell into my body with a sigh and was unconscious again.  Her breathing became calm and she was home.  I am still her home.

Her head still fits perfectly under my chin.  Her body bends perfectly into mine, as if God created me specifically for what her body would need on this day.  We blended like puzzle pieces.  As I sat and rocked her, I remembered what it was like to be pregnant with her and then to hold her newborn body as she lay like this....so trusting and so peaceful.  I hugged her tightly and took deep breathes for her, helping her to regulate her breathing further.  Her oxygen saturation got back up to 100% and they were pleased.  She woke up a little further, lifted her face suddenly off of my shoulder and stared at me, about 5 inches from my face, as if confirming that it was really me.  She was reassured and dove into me again.  Back to sleep.  It is really me.

Over time, she woke up further and suddenly, a switch was flipped.  She became angry and irritable.  She threw stuff, shoved me away as if I had made her hurt and sobbed inconsolably.  She screamed, ripping off her band-aid that eventually took the place of the IV and bled all over her favorite blanket.  A patience lives in me that is not my own, because I simply sat for awhile as she tried to hit me and waited for her.  Then, she reached for me again and I delighted in her return.

She has a black eye now.  The world has dealt her a blow.  She has spent the day content with staying on my lap for hours at a time.  When she is in pain, she suddenly turns on me, but she finds her way back to my lap.  I am her safety.  She will forget that tomorrow, but it won't change the fact that I am her home.

And when she forgets it, and then remembers it, I'll smile knowingly, with a heart bursting with love.  First, because I'm a mommy and I live for her.  But second, because I do that to my Abba Father all the time too. When I get a black eye and remember to run back to my Home, His heart absolutely bursts with joy.

I should probably remember that.  You should too.

The Doctor's Visit from H-E-Double Hockey Stick.

Today I took a 6-month-old, a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old to get the flu shot.  I do this sometimes.  Occasionally, I get overly confident that I've somehow mastered the combo, and I take on something totally ridiculous....like three flu shots on my own. 

Right off the bat, I chickened out.  I postponed Adelai's shot until tomorrow's check up and convinced myself that giving a 6-month-old 4 shots instead of 3 shots on the same day would be better.  I then called Chris and begged him to meet me at the doctor's office.  He was busy, but threw out a "maybe I'll meet you there."  That was enough to give me courage.  (He never showed....I guess bringing home money or whatever is important.  FYI, at the doctor's office, I could've cared less if he came home with a million bucks today.  I still would have asked him to help.  I like instant gratification, if you haven't noticed.)

So, we went.  During this entire story, picture me holding a happy baby in my arms, who is delighted until I lay her down in her car seat.  This ticks her off immensely and she screams, which makes my irritation level skyrocket immediately.  Therefore, she is in my arms the entire time.  Because that's apparently how God designed it.  (Love that guy, but seriously?)

The first hurdle a mother of three faces is getting the children into the building without one of them getting run over by a SUV in the parking lot.  Who gets out first?  How do you make them follow the rules while you are getting the baby out of the car?  How do you carry your thermos of vodka without spilling it on the baby?  (Ha ha, just kidding.  That totally was a joke.  Please don't call DHS.  I don't even drink.)

I instructed them with my kindest firm voice to go stand by the wall without moving.  The kicker?  They actually did it.  This caught me off guard.  In fact, I had to stare at them for awhile, trying to anticipate their next move.  "Chase and Justin?  You are....standing by the wall.  Okay...that's umm....that's good guys.  Thanks? I mean, you are kinda creeping me out and stuff...but good job!"  So we sign in, they run all around screaming with joy, people are staring and judging, etc.  I don't care though, folks.  I showered, kids are alive, nobody smells, things are going great. 

They run circles around the waiting area.  More judging, more staring, whatever.  They scream at the fish in the waiting area, pounding the glass right under the sign that says "Please be quiet and don't pound the glass." We get to the room, and we find out that both kids are able to get the flu mist.  Whaaaaaaaaaaat?  Did I actually just catch a break?  Records are checked, everything looks good, and the lady comes into the room with the mist.  Justin picks this moment to announce that he has to potty.  Chase chimes in.  They both do the "I have to pee immediately dance".  Sure, guys.  Why not stop everything to go down a hallway so I can figure out how to button pants with one hand, twice?  But we get it figured out.  I'm on a roll.  We come back. 

Justin volunteers to go first.  He takes the mist like a warrior.  It is at this moment that I realize Chase has his nose in the corner, covering his face with both hands.  When it's his turn, he starts to scream hysterically.  "I DON'T WANT THE NOSE SHOT!!!!"  He goes into full on panic mode, as if I'm about to hurl him off a cliff into the abyss.  The nurse steps out for a moment, to "give you guys a couple minutes..." and Chase crawls under the sink in the room.  Justin decides the mist is running down his nose or something, and starts emptying out drawers of paper towels, using at least 60+ towels to wipe his face.  I lay Adie down, and she starts screaming.  All hell has broken loose.  Oddly enough, it's more comforting to be in chaos than to be orderly lately.  This is my baseline. 

So what do I do?  I whip out the mommy-threat.  "Chase, you are not leaving this building without the medicine.  You either do the mist, or you take a shot.  You tell me.  You are doing it though."  Screaming (in stereo, since the baby was screaming too).  Crying.  Snot everywhere.  Justin opens the door and runs down the hallway.  I shoot Chase the I-mean-business-don't-mess-with-me-I-will-destroy-you look.  He agrees to the mist and gives me the I-hate-you-for-trying-to-kill-me look. Justin wanders back into the room (because he doesn't even notice my mommy glare) and Chase takes the mist, which I don't even think he noticed. 

All is fixed by the stupid stickers at the desk.  Are you kidding me?  Both boys leave the building with joy.  One has a Star Wars sticker, and the other a Spongebob sticker which they both want on their arms, directly on the skin. 

And here is the absolute worst part of the whole story.  Tomorrow, we are doing it all over again for Adelai's 6 month check up.  Right now, I can't think of a harder job than being a mother.  sigh.