Take Isaac to gymnastics. While at gymnastics, he has a coughing fit. I, then, realize that I forgot to give him his nebulizer. (crap!) Every one is giving us the stink eye. You know, because he's gagging from heavy coughing and sounds like he may vomit.
While we are at gymnastics, Eliza seems to be walking funny. Like crooked. She seems to be a tad congested, so I'm starting to wonder if she has fluid in her ears and is just thrown off.
I gather the children up and head to Costco. I love, love, and adore Costco. Love it. However, the major downside is that its on the other side of town. There's no "good" way to get there. Oh, there's a straight shot road from my house to Costco, but there's about 11 hundred stop lights between here and there. (They're almost always red. Especially when you're in a hurry!)
Eventually, I get to Costco. I have intentions of getting hot dogs for lunch (mine with out a bun to be dairy free!) and then cruise around for a few grocery items, a gift for a friend, and Isaac's cool chair for his birthday.
When I pull into the parking lot, I realized I forgot to pack Isaac's drink. It wasn't a huge deal, since they sell drinks with the hot dog meals. But, I usually bring him a sippy cup and forgo the pop/lemon aid and get him water. I check my email and find that I got another doula job! (woot!!)
I grab the kids, throw them into a cart, and head in to return something. We make our way to the food, buy our goodies, and move onward towards the awesomeness that is Costco at Christmas. I find Isaac's chair (I was so worried it would be sold out!) and am confounded as to how to get it into my cart with the kids. I move Isaac into the front seat, which he says he DOES NOT LIKE! While he's shouting, I'm finagling the very large box into our cart, and my phone starts ringing. I glance at the number and realize it is the big-kids' school. I set the box down, ever so gently (bawaawa!) and talk to the school nurse. O is crying/screaming/freaking out because her ear hurts.
While I'm on the phone, Isaac tries to "help" and put his drink next to mine, in the back of the cart. Except, he only has the arms of a 3 year old, and not Stretch Armstrong arms. The drink falls 2 feet short of the actual cart, busts open, and spills its, very full, contents all over the floor. I hang up the phone, after telling the nurse I'll be there in.... um.... its lunch time and I'm at Costco, so... 45 minutes to an hour? I have to find some one to come clean this mess up because my measly 10 paper napkins just isn't cutting it. I'm searching around, and even find a friendly lady who is willing to help me find a worker. I finally find a guy with a name tag, ask him if he works here, and tell him of my shame. Thankfully, he takes care of it.
Shortly after, I make O a dr. appointment for 45 minutes from now. That's all they have left. I'll never make it in time to pick her up AND head to the doctor. I enlist E's help. (which sucks since he had to be out all day on Monday for O's growth hormone testing.) He plans to pick her up and agrees to meet me at the doctor.
Meanwhile, Eliza takes my bun less hot dog that's wrapped like a burrito in a piece of foil and tugs on it. It rolls out of its packaging, and right onto the floor. As I'm moving forward to get it, another person's cart runs right over it. Cutting my hot dog in half.
I rush through the line, pay for my things (which, after upon returning home, realize I forgot over half of my things.) I have no lunch, and no time to buy a new hot dog. So, I eat dried fruit and nuts for lunch. Along with my diet coke. Lunch of
Eliza screams almost the entire time in the car. I make decent time, and get to the doctor on time. While in the waiting room, Eliza seems to be getting sicker. O's pediatric endocrinologist calls. I take the call outside, but I can hear Eliza screaming for me as I walk out the door. The doctor is calling to tell us that O's tests confirm a growth hormone deficiency. He wants to schedule a MRI as soon as possible and get moving on growth hormone injections.
I walk back into the waiting room, sort of in a daze. Our favorite nurse calls us back. She takes a few notes about O, glances at Eliza and says "oh no! she looks sick!" She is looking pretty sick. Running a fever, too.
Our pediatrician comes in, looks in O's ear, declares an infection. she also glances Eliza's way and says "she looks rather puney." I asked her if she could just glance in her ears because she was walking funny earlier. There's nothing in her ears, except Eliza's pure hatred of being messed with. at all. Especially when she's sick. the dr. listens to her chest and it sounds yucky. Eliza gets her finger pricked (which she also hates, in case you were wondering!) and we are left with a diagnosis of it being viral, but to call if her fever spikes or her walking deal doesn't resolve in the next day or two.
On the way home, I'm starting to reflect on the Endocrinologist's call.
But, also nervous.
Relieved that all of the things we knew in our hearts were right. Like how my breast milk WAS fatty enough when she was a baby and didn't grow. How we DO feed her enough calories and fat. How she isn't just tiny.
But, nervous for what lies ahead.
Possibly daily injections. Until puberty.
Big changes for her. How will this affect her self image? She's always been the smallest. Always. I would think, after almost 8 years, it'd start to be part of your identity. How will that change when she starts growing 5 inches? How will she see herself? How will others see her? (obviously, we want her to be the height she should be. I'm not saying these things will change our course of action. It just has me thinking.) I imagine it would be similar to some one losing a lot of weight, or even gaining a lot of weight, in a short period.
But, again, relieved. Relieved to not have to do any more testing (other than the MRI.)
We arrive home and lay the littles down for naps. When Eliza wakes up, her fever is up to 104. I call the doctor's office. Unfortunately, they left for the day ten minutes prior.
We medicate both girls, and bathe and nurse and cuddle. Praying prayers of thanksgiving for a treatable diagnosis.Praying tomorrow is filled with a peace that passes all understanding. Praying the best for my baby girl O, and all of my kids.
It ended like that.