At my request, we got a refferal to an allergist, even though the gastrologist didn’t think it was allergies causing Zack’s pain. I just wanted to try it, before agreeing to surgery that may or may not help, and may or may not cause pancreatitus, which may or may not leave him in the hospital for days, weeks, or months. The allergist perscribed a steroid inhaler (usually used for asthma, but instead spayed at the back of his throat and swallowed). It is working! His tummy fine, and it is no longer bloated! I’m so so so so happy!
It’s been about 9 months since Zack’s health took a major poop. Since that time the longest he’s gone without serious pain is about 2 months. Most of the time it’s just a question of how much pain he is in and how much/what kind of medicine will control it. This morning was the first time he actually cried about it. It amazes me how strong he is. And it breaks my heart that he is suffering like this. He is 19 years old and incredibly talented in so many ways. He is a genuinely good person with a strong desire to give back and help others. I hate that he is going through this and pray that the doctors can figure this out and fix the problem, so he can get back to his life. Praying.
Been awhile since I tumblered. My dad is recovering nicely, which is good. I’m enjoying teaching my second and third graders this year, also good. I’m praying hard that the doctors can figure out what is wrong with my son’s tummy so he can return to his normal life without pain or needing pain meds. That is frustrating. (understatement) I feel angry and sad that a 19 year old with so much talent, intelligence and personality is being held back by health issues. He remains positive, and is trying to work around the pain and pain meds to reclaim his life. He amazes me. Which is good. I haven’t completely felt like myself since May, when the severity of the pain and the frequency of the episodes got out of control, but I am thankful for Zack’s positive outlook, and the fact that we still manage to have fun together.
Every year on Melissa’s birthday I take flowers to her grave and bring home one or two. I used to make my closest friends come with me and sing happy birthday and eat cake at the cemetary. I think I’m keeping my crazy in check pretty well now,
Twenty years ago today I was lying on the couch watching All My Children waiting for my baby to be born. I had a strong feeling it was going to be a girl and had taken to calling her Melissa, although the sex had not been confirmed. The due date was 2 weeks away I had a sudden craving for cottage cheese, so I called my then husband, Frank, and asked him to bring me some. About the same time, I got a sudden strong feeling of sadness. Silly pregnant lady hormones. I guess I really wanted that cottage cheese. But after a while it occurred to me that I hadn't felt Melissa move in awhile. I nudged her.No movement. I nudged her again. Nothing. I started to feel nervous, so I went to my bedroom to lie down, and when I did, I felt her shift inside me like dead weight. Oh my Go! No! I got down on my knees and prayed. Let her be ok. Let her be alive. Even if she has a disability, I will be deal with that, just let her be alive. I called our doctor, and he told me to drink some juice, but then said, no, go to the hospital. Now. So I called Frank and he rushed home and drove me to the hospital. We were both trying hard not to panic on the way there, and joked that on the way home we would be laughing at ourselves. We got to the hospital and were rushed into a room where the nurse searched for Melissa's heartbeat. And searched. And searched. Finally she said, "There it is." I cried tears of relief, but then an older nurse popped in and said, No, that's maternal. Get her in a room." I was hurried into a room, and out of my clothes, and into a gown, and onto a bed and the ultrasound technician searched and searched and searched for Melissa's heartbeat and then finally he started to pack up his equipment to leave. "What did you see?" I asked him desparately. "I didn't see a heartbeat," he answered flatly. "You mean my baby is dead?" ""That's what that usually means," he answered. And then he left.