Three Ring Circus

We phoned the paeds rooms to be told once again, in a mocking tone, that there was absolutely NO WAY that we could see him. he was booked out until September…2010! How stupid are we to think that we might actually be able to get in to see the only doctor who knows anything about Ivy?

When David (phone phobia, friends, remember?) mentioned that the dermatologist asked us to keep in close contact with the paed the receptionist snarled… "well, I think you’ve got that covered".

I have to say that when David relayed this to me, I was upset, no, I still am upset but my angry tears have stopped. For now.

I feel guilty for interrupting their more important lives with my niggly little problems…say, a child who won’t get better.

I feel hurt knowing that they think we are pains in the behind.

I feel bad for feeling those things because, really, I shouldn’t.

As David says, it shouldn’t matter what the small minded people think. It should only matter that we do what we have to do to make Ivy right. It’s true.

I can’t help feeling awful though. Like I have broken some rule that clients will not disturb their doctors. Ever.

I admit, the last few months have been full on and we have needed to call constantly for more scripts, to see what to do next, to throw ideas around. I know they are all over it. I can hear it in their voices but do they think we are having the time of our lives? Do they think we are calling just because we are lonely out here in the boonies?

I would love to ask them. I would like to know, would they not do the same for their babies? If they had a child who was chronically ill with SOMETHING that no one can adequately diagnose, wouldn’t they be worried? If their toddler cried all day long, had discharging ears, blistered bottom, a wet chest, would they not want to do ANYTHING they could to help that  little child?

I think they would.

So, why does the receptionist judge us?

Why does it hurt so much that she does?

I hate this.

It’s been a very big week in our house.

Ivy has been incredibly unwell. We went to see a dermatologist about the blistering on her bottom and were sent away with more creams, more blood tests and Ivy, who was still so sick and weak that she could no longer hold her own bottle.

We went to have the blood tests but the pathologist refused to do them because a) he couldn’t understand the doctor’s writing and b) they couldn’t do the third blood test on Fridays.

Huh? This is at our major tertiary hospital and the pathology unit can’t perform a test on Fridays because????

So we took our sick little girl home and I proceeded to break the doctor’s handwriting down. See? Being a nurse comes in handy sometimes!

He ordered

Serum zinc levels

Biotin Carboxylase levels

Essential fatty acid levels.

While this is interesting information, all it does is open the gaping wound of nurse/control freak need for medical discription and stress with the aquired reading.

In the meantime, we have been putting the creams on and encouraging the girl to eat and her bottom is looking good and she has started to keep something down, other than Cruskits. This morning I’m going to try Weet Bix.

Last week we went to the solicitor in regards to the ESM’s request that I sign everything over to her. I wanted to thank every single one of you who commented and gave me advice and told stories of similar encounter’s. It was so good to read those and helped me get some perspective.

Basically, you were all right and I haven’t signed anything and won’t be in the near future.

The solicitor thinks we have a case.

I’m working on a fun post. I am I promise you.

It’s just that I have my hands full at the moment. I never knew that one little girl could cry so much.

Bare with me.

I won’t show you the photos but trust me it was bad. So bad that when the paed got the email with said photos attached, he called me straight away.

Those who have been reading my blog for a while will know that when our paed calls us before 6pm, when you’ve called at office opening, it’s a big thing.

Over the course of the weekend her nappy area had turned into one big blister, those blisters had popped and the skin sloughed away. She was sick and miserable but had come good on the return of her trusty Erythromycin.

The good doctor said hospital and I argued.

Because she was ok.

Because she was happy.

Because it’s her birthday for goodness sake and who wants to spend their birthday with a drip in their arm?

Not to mention the party and the guests. What do I tell them?

He called back three times, so I took her in.

When we arrived, no one knew we were coming. The nurses were at their bitchiest and sent me to admissions, claiming they would not touch her until they had the paperwork. So I went to admissions who knew nothing of us either and sent us away until they could contact the paed…whose office was closed until 1 pm.

I arrived at 11am. It took me an hour to find a parking spot, people. An hour.

Anyway we went back down to the ward and the nurse boogieman sat us in a corner and said she would not do one thing until we were admitted properly and then whined about how inappropriate it all was.

I just wanted to go.

The doctors came and checked her out, the paed came, the dermatologists came. They all had differing opinions but none of them involved IV antibiotics. At 6:30 pm they let us go. They couldn’t say what the blisters were so they gave us antibacterial cream, anti fungal cream and a barrier cream in case it was contact dermatitis. UGH.

At least we are home. Ivy is tucked up in bed and after a very eventful day that had nothing to do with organising a birthday party, I think I am going to bed too.

Just wanted to say thank you to Mary, who helped to juggle the day, I would have struggled without you.

Ivy slept through the night.

 Oh. Yes. She. Did.

Okay, she woke a couple of times and they said there was one episode of apnoea… maybe. They were very non commital about it all.

But for all intensive purposes, she had a great night’s sleep and a great night’s sleep means no tonsilectomy. No tonsilectomy means another year of terrible chronic illness. The truth is, I’m not sure I can cope. There I said it. No super Mum living under this roof.

ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

The nurse came in at 6am and little miss ‘I never sleep through the night’ was still asleep! She asked me if this was a usual night for Ivy. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Ummm, no, if this was a normal night, I would not be here having a sleep study, I would be at home with the other children. I would not have put my baby through electrodes  being plastered on her scalp and all over her face. I would not have held her down while she screamed blue murder as the oximeter was applied to her toe or the nasal prongs under her nose.

To say I felt like a fool is an understatement. To say I was made to be a liar by my precious daughter, a bigger one.

So we scrub the plaster from her curls and pack ourselves up, hoping to scurry away with tails between legs but we are stopped by the nurse. Don’t worry she says, alot of patients sleep through the first time, it just means she’ll have to repeat the test.

I don’t think so.

We won’t have official results for eight weeks. EIGHT WEEKS! Lucky this isn’t life or death.

I inwardly laugh. Nothing happens quickly around here. Not. A. Thing.

As instructed, we phone the ENT doctor to give him initial results and to talk to him about whether we will go ahead with the adnoidectomy without the tonsilectomy.

I have already discussed this at length with the paediatrician, the afternoon before the study and have decided that it is better the devil you know than the one you don’t and Ivy and I will fumble through another horrible year of illness, wait it out until she is three, an age that is deemed acceptable to perform T & A’s with little risk of bleeding, rather than put the Ivygirl through two general anaesthetics in six months.

Just to add to my merriment David calls to tell me that the ENT doctor has closed his rooms until December.

Why would I expect anything more? (Insert crazy laugh of choice here).

At least the paed appointment was more productive.

So as not to bore you I will put it in point form.

• Ivy’s last lot of bloods came back ok, except for her t cells. Which were low.
• He explained this might indicate immune deficiency (yep, knew that already) but that her
• Ig’s were all normal, so maybe not. He said;
• Ivy was a complicated case,
• he didn’t know what else to do for her at this stage and could we try
• long term low dose antibiotics for a while. (hmmm, I thought we had been on long term antibiotics for oh, say, TWO YEARS already)!
• Anyway, I said I would give it a go because
• Ivy’s bowels and gut are now playing up with the high dose aggressive antibugs
• Ivy has lost close to 700g (by hospital scales) in three weeks (600g by paeds scales).
• She will only eat bland foods and that isn’t helping her to get better, it’s not even helping her bowels.
• She is lethargic and miserable for alot of the time.

The paed’s reasoning is if we can keep infection at bay and not hope for a cure, (because he has seen the light and knows that is not likely to happen) for an extended amount of time, it might give her a chance to pick up her game, start to feel better and therefore give her an increase in appetite and allow her to put on the weight she has lost.

I’m all for wellness at this stage.

• Ivy has had blood tests again (results pending)
• and stool samples have been sent too (pending)
• Low dose Erythromycin started yesterday

This afternoon, she is playing outside, in the grass with Noah and Maddy. It’s nice to hear her laughing for what seems like the first time in ages. She looks… small and tired but play and laughter has gotta be good. In anyone’s books.

As for me, I was as open and honest as I could be. I told him I didn’t know if I could do it for another year, watch Ivy struggle and be helpless in, well, helping her. Nurses and control freaks don’t like not being in control at all and I am both of those. He suggested we limp through 2008 together. Hmmm, I don’t know if I will hold my breath.

I’m thinking an increase in the crazy pills are in order.

I asked him about doctors being friends with clients and all the rest of that stuff that has been bubbling through my mind and blog of late but, as this post is so long, I might have to leave all that for another day.

Oh, pictures of Ivy during sleep study to follow just as soon as I work out how to download from my phone. My husband has seemed mysteriously absent for a large part of this month but I will hit him up for some much needed IT help soon.

* Edited to add, photos now up - thanks Dave, sorry for the poor phone camera quality.

Leading up to the birth of Ivy and Noah (part two). Part one here

Wednesday came and I had the infusion. I did feel alot better, in truth but the pain I was complaining about, constantly, had not decreased.

I started to niggle on and off after the infusion but it settled. My fear did not and the gentle pushing from the midwives to have a tour of the NICU was very distressing. The tears fell often. I was classed as antenatally depressed (and I was, I knew it).

I needed to keep it together though so that I could have weekend leave to see the girls’ dance concert on the Sunday. That was my goal.

The Saturday was supposed to be my first ever baby shower. Nothing like doing things backwards.

I had a little mantra that I would chant everyday…just hold on until after the dance concert, just hold on…

Just when I thought it was never going happen.

The Sleep unit called us and Ivy is having  her sleep study tonight!

We came to the top of the cancellation list!

We are going straight after we see our wayward paed.

After two nights of waking up every hour on the hour if she sleeps through tonight, I am going to scream!

Wish us luck.

Ivy had a hearing test today and passed. That’s the good news.

When the audiologist checked her ears out she found:

Grommet out on the right side and rip roaring otitis media. (Her ear drum perforated on the way home).

Grommet in on the left side but discharging again.

Poor baby.

The paed is missing, presumed dead.

* Sorry, rant ahead*.

It’s November people, November!

Warm weather, hot actually. So why is Ivy still sick? Why, a mere 36 hours after stopping the antibiotics, is her nose running green and her chest sounding like the old rattling carriage of my school train? Why is her temperature high? Why, Why, Why?

Can anyone tell me?

Can anyone explain to me why, when I asked for a word with the doctor yesterday, I got an appointment a week from now and an angry, short response from the ruler of the world (his receptionist)?

Can I tell you how weird and inconvenient that is?

It’s weird because the paed said he didn’t want to see her until Ivy’s birthday or just after because, until that magical day, he can’t prescribe her Singulair (an asthma medication) and it’s weird because in a weeks time, she will not be acutely unwell.

It’s inconvenient because I had actually made an appointment for Imogen and Madeline to see their paed in Sydney next Wednesday, the day I now have an appointment with Ivy and Noah’s paed, in Newcastle. That’s two hours to Sydney and two and a bit hours back to Newcastle in the space of five hours. I don’t think so.

When I explained this to our gate keeper, she said it was that day, that time or nothing. The paed had ‘created’ that appointment for Ivy as it was. *SIGH*

Luckily our Sydney paed was more flexible and our time was changed to the following Thursday.

Thank goodness for friends in high places who have Bactrim on offer!

All I want for Christmas?

Ivy to be well and no need for the paed !

Rant over.

I was reading an interesting post by Dr Rob the other day. He was speculating the possibility of doctors and patients being friends and, in that context, disclosing information when having a particularly bad day. He wondered why patient’s asked how he was and attempted to probe into his life outside of his practice. He noted that he felt uncomfortable being dishonest and telling his patients that his life was fine, if it was not but in giving any personal information about himself  asked if that was crossing the line of professionalism.

I haven’t been able to shake this post for several days and have been going through it in my head.

Now, I know I have had a go at our paed for speaking about his hectic week, when mine was falling apart at the seams. I am willing to concede that I was stressed at the time and clearly feeling selfish and sorry for myself. As is usually the case when you are trying to contact a doctor.

I’m sorry for that, I am, because when I thought about it, I would much rather know if the twins’ paed is feeling out of sorts, so I know where we stand. 

I responded to Dr Rob’s post. I said that I knew when our paed was not feeling great because of his body language, his concentration levels and his ability to elaborate on things without being prompted.

Having thought about it, obsessively, for the last 48 hours, I have come to the conclusion that his disclosure of his difficulties and struggle to balance his professional and his home life means alot to me. It kind of puts us on even ground. Makes him human.

I know that we are not friends. We do not socialise but we do have a relationship. We talk. I am very open and honest about how I feel about doctors (he laughts it off). I have to say, I have come to feel comfortable with him, like an old slipper, really. I will question him if I am not sure about what he is proposing and I have sometimes challenged him too (I said sometimes, Mary, Tracey). I am one of the people who ask how he is and, I guess, I do like to get an honest response.

After all, he knows all about my babies. He knows my obstetric history, he knows our family and genetic history. He knows about my parent acopia and he has phoned me in the middle of complete and utter breakdown and listened as I bawled down the phone without hanging up in fear. The other day he saw me in the hospital, in trackies and a spew/snot/tear stained t - shirt with my hair like a birds nest and dark circles of worry under my red rimmed, tear filled eyes.

Now I don’t know about you but there are only a few men who have seen me that way… and he is one of the three on my list.

So to hear a bit about his life seems to balance things out.

This brings me to Andrew. The doctor who was there when William was born and was also the doctor who I trusted with the birth of Ivy and Noah. Things were weird between us for a while. After everything we went through together with William, I considered us friends. We spoke as friends. We shared things that friends would. He knew how I was feeling at a time when I was really bad at letting them show. If we were in town, we would drop in to see him. I have worked with him too as a midwife and we have shared a continuing ‘friendship’ through our work.

When I came to him pregnant with Ivy and Noah we instantly changed back to the professional relationship of doctor and patient. I hated it and all my trust in him evaporated because I thought we were friends and he was clearly not reciprocating. It was getting close to d - day and I was not sure I wanted Andrew to care for me any more because I felt he was putting up a fascade, not being honest with me.

Until there was an intervention by our mutual friend, Carolyn, and Andrew and I actually talked. The relief was instant (for both of us, I think). Things have been ok since and we have been able to find some balance.

Again, with Andrew, we don’t really socialise but I still feel that we are friends; because of what we went through together, because of what I have disclosed to him. So, our relationship is different again from that of the paediatrician. I appreciate him immensely.

What do you think? Is it possible to be friends with a doctor?  Does it change things too much? Should we keep our distance and not ask how our doctor is feeling, want to get to know them in the same way that they know about our lives?

For me, those questions have definately been food for thought.

Just on a side note; I suppose I’m thinking alot about this because I am going to read William’s and my hospital notes today with Andrew and straight after that we have Ivy’s sleep study interview…

Ivy is a bit better today and so, I am too.

Noah hasn’t deleted any email, tried to post his disgust at the lack of attention he felt he was not getting on my blog or in anyone elses comments section, therefore, I have come to the conclusion that he is feeling better about the events of today as well.

We read books. ("No - No, read it Clarey? Yes? Yes?"). Translation: Please read me Hairy Maclary 500 times or until I get bored with it.

We snuggled while Ivy slept from 9 until 12:30.

We watched some Wiggles ("I like it, Mar - mee, the big red car!"). Translation; I do enjoy watching those men driving the big red car.

We danced to the Fisher Price Piggy Bank music.

"O - oh, I’m a piggy bank with some coins big and small,

with lots of colours you can learn them all.

We’ve got red and orange, we’ve got yellow and blue!

What’s your favourite colour? We’ve got green one’s too"…

I know, I know, I seriously need some adult conversation!

Ivy only grizzled and wanted to be a velcro baby for half the day today (the other half she slept) so I’d have to say a little bit better for the Ivy girl means a whole lot better for everyone else.

Here’s to more ‘a whole lot better’ days.

Oh my goodness today was a big day!

Last night Ivy took a backwards slide and decided she would cry all night. I don’t know for sure what was going on but by the morning, her temperature was through the roof again. Come daybreak though she was brighter and I thought the worst had passed.

Sadly I was wrong.

The girls had to be in Newcastle for their full dress rehersal of their dance concert this morning. Early. I found out about this on Friday night when Ivy and I came home from the hospital. I don’t know why I forgot… stupid! Vague headed me.

To say I was in a panic was an understatment. I hadn’t paid for costumes, I had to do full make up for three girls and buns as well.

Anywaaaaaaay.

We made our way into town and Noah was his usual happy, easy going self but Ivy…oh, Ivy! She cried and asked to be picked up and when we picked her up she cried some more. She scowled at anyone who came anywhere near her and smacked out at the other children. She was pale and her nose was running terribly.

We had planned to spend the day in Newcastle but Ivy was so very unwell we decided to go home.

She slept on the way home but woke in an even worse mood.

Poor baby.

She just could not tell us what was wrong. Despite panadol she followed David and I around, everytime we put her down (for a toilet break, to hang out school uniforms, to start preparing dinner) saying … ‘it hurts’. Even taking her outside (her treasured outside) just didn’t cut it today.

I felt so sad  that there was nothing that I could do to make it better for her.

David left to pick up the girls and that is when Ivy really lost it.

It is mentally and emotionally exhausting when she is sick and I would love to just sit and cuddle her all day but I have Noah and the other kids to think about too. Maybe the paediatrician was right. Maybe we should have stayed in the hospital for an extra couple of days.

You’ll all be pleased to know that she is tucked up in bed asleep now, medicated with pain relief, antibiotics and chest rub.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

It has to be.

After a few horrible days in the hospital Ivy is home. Re-intergration into the house has not been smooth but we’ll get there. Thank you to everyone who sent their well wishes. It meant alot and helped us to get through.

I know I am a little behind but I need to do a little bit of house keeping.

The 1st of November marked the beginning of NoBloPoMo, which I am taking part in. I haven’t quite worked out everything yet but I do know I’m supposed to post every day of November! So far so good, even if I did have to get the technical consultant/new sub editor to post for me.

The 1st of November also marked our official countdown to Ivy and Noah’s second birthday, which falls on the 30th.

It is one of our busiest months with dance concerts, camps away, end of school activities and that all important lead up to Christmas.

Today is David’s mum’s birthday! Happy Birthday Grandma, hope you have a wonderful day!

Now, back to our regular program!

She sits in the chair of the darkened room, hunched over the small, defeated, ball of her child. She worries over this baby because she is always ill.

The day has been a big one. Crying, clinging and high temperatures. After the first convulsion, the child, a girl, has not moved from her lap until the next fit exploded from her body and left her motionless once again.

She is scared and feels alone in the place where she is. She cannot think who to call for help, except for her husband, who is still two hours away from home. The boy child has pottered around for most of the day, seemingly unnoticed but she has seen him, her heart aches to pick him up and cuddle him. Kiss him and tell him she loves him but for now, it is as if she is bolted to the chair by the weight of the girl, unable to move for fear of another convulsion.

Another daughter has remained home today and she is grateful of the help. She does not think she would have survived this day without her there.

For all the world, she wants someone to take this out of her hands.

Finally the paediatrician calls and the decision is made to go to the hospital.

She has a dislike for hospitals, even though she works in one and her trust for doctors is little but the paed has assured her that she will spend as little time in the emergency room as possible and because the girl child is not recovering well from the last fit and because she feels as though she can do no more for her baby she admits defeat and takes her. For the first time in days feels relief.

The emergency staff are efficient and kind. There are people everywhere, movement and blurs of people striding past in their urgency to provide care. In one booth she and her baby sit; the child is still on her lap but she watches everything. For an instant she wishes she were on the other side, giving the care instead of needing it.

Soon the girl child is ready, is canulated and a drip has been started. During it all the girl only cries a little and while everyone comments that the baby is brave, she knows that the girl is beyond caring.

They arrive in the children’s ward in the early hours of the morning. The nurses are friendly and sweep the pair into their room to sleep for the last few hours before sunlight.

It comes too soon and the girl child remains silent and unmoving. Her eyes have a glassy, vacant stare. Her breath comes in quick, sharp gasps. The child only moves when the nurses come to check her drip. Then she screams.

She is still worried about her baby but now it is a shared concern as the paediatrician arrives and looks her over. Another night, more antibiotics. Another 24 hours and the girl will be fine, he soothes the mother. She looks into his green eyes (had she noticed that before?) and finds reassurance and a kindness for the girl child.

Friends ring and some come to visit. The day is both long and short at once. The girl child picks up when the boy and her daddy arrive but she tires easily and when they are gone she falls asleep.

She can see improvement though and feels in control again as she snuggles next to her baby.

Now another morning is here and the sun is shining in from the window. The girl child has woken, like the day.  Fresh and new.

She smiles for the first time in days and kisses the girl child, who responds with a hug.

It is going to be okay, she thinks as she feels her heart begin to beat once more, as she hears herself exhale from the breath she has been holding.

By the Threeringcircus Technical Consultant, recently promoted to Sub-editor:

Your regular author sends her apologies for being unable to blog today.

Aparently it’s been too long since our last hospital admission. Despite our best efforts at managing the situation, we eventually conceded defeat and young Ivy was presented to hospital late yesterday.

As of this afternoon, things are improving - although I can’t include Ivy’s demeanour in this sweeping statement. She certainly has her mother’s critical eye for healthcare standards.

Unfortunately our insurance does not extend to bedside internet access. Nor did the recalcitrant Technical Consultant make alternative arrangements for same.

As a private patient, Ivy did receive a complimentary newspaper with an interesting cover story. I think the irony was lost on her, as her focus was more on stressing the insult of having an I.V. line in the back of her hand. When Noah took pause from his latest book fixation to inspect Ivy’s bio-enhancement, he was told in no uncertain terms, that the "hurts" was not to be touched. As always, chocolate proved to be the most effective distraction.

Hoping to return the the regular schedule shortly.

*Thinks to self: I should know not to bag out my paed (ever) because karma has a way of teaching you a lesson.*

Ivy is sick again. *sigh*. Will this never end?

With a tummy bug and a very sore bottom, my poor little girl, the one who is usually constantly on the go, has been very still today.

Get well baby. One day Mummy will learn that what goes around comes around.

On the weekend we bought and decorated Ivy and Noah’s new pottys. Ivy’s has stickers of handbags and shoes all over it and Noah’s is adorned with pirates. (Yes, they are waterproof stickers, friends).

With the other kids, we introduced the potty slowly. Imogen and Madeline went shopping and chose their own and their first pairs of undies. Lily was more or less the same but she didn’t like the potty, so she chose a toddler seat.

Initially we sat them on to ‘get a feel’ for using it before bathtime and progressed to them sitting on the potty when a parent was… sitting on the ‘great white throne’. For us, this worked really well (especially for the big twins) and they all trained quite easily. We had some cute little quirks along the way, like Maddy insisting she wear her pink sunhat everytime she needed to go but all in all, it went quite smoothly.

Summer is rapidly approaching, as is Ivy and Noah’s 2nd birthday and thoughts are turning to toilet training the toddlers (I think mum just wants to see me do away with my obsession with modern cloth nappies, just quietly) and I’m not sure this pair are going to be so easy.

For one, I have no idea how to toilet train a boy. I’ve never had to do it before. When Mal finally trained out of nappies he went straight to the standing position.

Secondly, we are almost nine years down the track from TT from scratch, I think I might have become rusty in my skills.

Thirdly, I have never had children sit on the potty and then proceed to race them down the hallway, scooching it along with their powerful legs, laughing at each other’s attempts to outscooch the other.

Finally, even though I spent a large part of today explaining to Noah, that you sit your bottom down on the potty he still insisted on wearing it as a hat. (Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘potty mouth’).

Truthfully, I am no hurry to have them using the toilet. Nappies are sometimes messy, sometimes they are inconvenient but having a two year old in undies brings about a whole new set of issues, let alone two toddlers in undies. I think the fact that the boy is wearing his as a fashion accessory speaks volumes about how ready they  are aren’t.

Oh - ho people! I found this in my blogging travels tonight!

I want him for our paediatrician, even if he lives in the States and has a moustache!

Seriously though, I do like our paed.

For anyone out there who has followed my blog for a while, you know how I feel about doctors, in particular paediatricians (and ENT doctors). I have whinged and whined my way through Winter.

Today, though, I have vowed never to complain about the services offered to me by our paed…okay, maybe I won’t be able to keep that vow and maybe it is unrealistic, given the way I distrust doctors in general.

When I read this story in one of my favourite blogs and followed the links to this blog, I admit I was thankful for all that our paediatrician has done for Ivy and Noah. I was also thankful that we don’t have the health care system that people living in the USA have to deal with.

Both of these mums have triplets, born prematurely and both have had issues with their paediatricians. Go and read for yourself.

If you are Australian, you will be gobsmacked. If that is not enough to peak your interest, how about ‘called security’,  ‘have us arrested’ and ‘dismissed from the service because the doctor didn’t like his tone’ for key statements?

If you are American… is this normal? Are these the kinds of things you have to deal with regularly?

Please tell me that all doctors do not have an etiquette policy. Please tell me that you are not all told that you will not be seen if you stink or if your children are too sick?!?!?!?

Like I said…speechless.

Luckily I can still type.

At 8am: Some of the kids (Ivy  included) have woken up with colds. Imogen will be staying home because she is too sick for school.

I realise that my quest to start the Christmas shopping is not going to happen.

It is cooler this morning and the sick children have begged off our daily morning walk, which I was kind of looking forward to but what is a girl to do? Break out the chocolate I say!

Ivy has a check up with the ENT doctor and I will begin my ‘negotiations’ to have her adenoids and her tonsils taken out.

Ivy finally has an appointment for the sleep clinic. It’s only taken ten months to secure.

The big kids have told me about three children in South Australia who are critically ill, two of whom are in a coma, because a highschooler gave them some ecstasy tablets and told them they were lollies.

I am very thankful that my children have had the knowledge of the devastation of drug use for as long as they can remember.

At 11pm (Don’t say anything - I know I should be in bed): Imogen is sleeping ok and I think her temp has broken. Ivy’s temp is going up and Noah is calling out in his sleep (asking for a book).

 Ivy is scheduled for adenoidectomy straight after the sleep study and if it shows that Ivy has apnoea, she will have a tonsillectomy too, although our friendly ENT doctor was quick to tell us that he felt she did not suffer from apnoea (yeah, like he has to sit up with her in the wee hours because her sleep is interrupted by gasping and hysterical crying) and there would be no need for tonsillectomy.

Can anyone say FIGJAM?

I now know that I hate predictive text on my mobile phone. When I tried to text David this afternoon, that… "Immy is sick" it predicted that I was trying to say…"Limbo is shmuck"

Is shmuck a word?

My friend and I have decided we are going to write a book. She and I are both midwives and we are both parents to a large number of children. This is not going to be just any book. It is going to be a text book, directed towards medical students. It is going to primarily look at bedside manner and how to treat clients with respect. We think it will, not only be a best seller, we agree that in a few years time it will be a text that will be compulsory reading for med students, particularly future doctors who are thinking of practicing in paediatrics. It will be a text that is to be read first, before the "Westmead Children’s Hospital Paediatric Handbook".

I know, I can almost hear your eyes rolling out there. I know I go on and on about how bad the medical profession is up here but I am just going to have to get it off my chest again.

Sorry.

The first and most important thing for any doctor who thinks they are going to put their hands on any of my children (and this one is mostly for the ER doctors); Tell me your name! Introduce yourself. It’s not so hard…

"Hello, my name is….Peter Paediatrician, how are things?".

See? Easy, isn’t it?

Don’t come charging in, grunt in my general direction and then try to examine the baby. It just won’t happen. Call me strange but I would at least like the reference of a name when I am trusting you with my child.

Secondly, if I bring any of my children to a doctor it is generally because I feel they are unwell enough to need one. I don’t run off to the hospital or the paediatrician just because they have a sniffle. Don’t treat me like I am a paranoid woman, who has no idea. Hospital is not the most thrilling place in the universe and I most certainly would not be there if I had any other choice. The thought of sleeping in a Jason recliner for however many nights doesn’t really do it for me either so why you would think I, or any other parent, would race up to the hospital at the first sign of illness is beyond me.

 Don’t belittle the parent’s concerns by making benign comments like…"oh she looks alright to me…" or…"why did you bring him up here, he looks like he is ok from where I am sitting". Statements like this are generally made before examining said child, so how can you make a judgement call like that? Also, it makes the parent second guess themselves and they often start to believe that they have over reacted. Before you make observations like that, why don’t you stop and listen to the parents. They know their children better than anyone. better than you, that’s for sure. 

It’s the same with regular specialists (ie;paeds). If they turn up for appointments and the children are well (for the first time in months) please don’t make the parents feel as though they are supreme idiots by making sweeping statements like…" Oh, they are doing really well". How can you say that? You are not available to see them when they are sick but the distressed phone calls to your rooms should alert you that they are generally not well and this is a welcome break from the norm. The parents have worked really hard to get them better (without much help from you). How about a little support? How about some empathy for the ill health that the children have seen and the tough Winter the parents have endured? Would that be asking too much? Don’t blow it off like it’s nothing. That is so degrading.

As a general rule, it is a good idea to build some kind of rapport with the client. It’s good to have a basis of trust when you are going to be either touching the patient or the child of the parent. Don’t come across as some kind of over the top salesman and expect that the client/parents will trust you. They won’t. They will think that you are just trying to placate them, telling them what they want to hear. They will get the impression that you are two faced and dishonest. The clients/parents will start to doubt you.

An ER nurse said to me a few weeks ago that the worst thing about doctors these days was their lack of bedside manner.

What do you think? Is it important to you?

Our Paed says I am too fussy about doctors that my expectations are too high. Maybe I am. Are you happy to go to any old doctor or do you like to go to someone who is actually interested in looking after you in a holistic way?

When I was working,there was stress. Worry about how we would find babysitting, stress with working night duty and then staying awake all day to look after the babies, worry about how David could juggle his responsibilities at work and at home but there was no worry about money. Ever. If we wanted something we would get it. If we needed to go food shopping, consider it done.

It was just too much for me though, when everyone was sick all winter. I had a kind of mini mental breakdown, I guess. I just didn’t want to do anything. Except blog. Except to put it out there into a forgiving, guilt free universe.

I wanted William, I wanted what should have been. I wanted a beautiful birth, a  live baby. I wanted the nightmares, the insomnia to stop. I wanted normalcy.

Ok, so I also knew that I couldn’t change anything. Nothing is ever going to bring Will back. Nothing. So realistically, I guess I wanted to be able to enjoy my family again. I was scared that I would never feel that warm contentment with my children anymore. Especially with Ivy and Noah.

I would cry alot. Torn between what I wanted, needed almost, to bringing in an income and helping out with money (and in turn, decreasing David’s stress). 

David has always been there for me. When my brother died, he was there. He pulled me up out of depression and made sure I went on to become a nurse. When I wanted to do midwifery, he supported me all the way but when it came to money, I always felt that subtle pressure, that expectation. So when he said it was ok for me to stay at home, I felt bad. Guilty bad. It really didn’t matter how he put it, how he felt my staying at home would benefit him, ease the pressure at work, I still felt that I needed to work. Until the first bout of croup gave me little choice but to resign.

So, for the last four months I have been at home. I have been seeing some people and taking some medicine. I have started to feel better, about the role I played in William’s death, about my family and how important they are to me, about my relationship with Ivy and Noah and for a large part, I have let go of the guilt of not working. I see the importance of being at home and I am loving it.

Until today.

This morning was the first time in a long while that I have felt that pressure to go to work, that old guilty bad creeping in.

Ivy and Noah’s birthday is coming and then it’s Christmas.

I love Christmas but I don’t. I love to see the kids’ faces early on Christmas day. I love the joy that they get from the things they really want, being under the tree. I don’t like the cost, the stress of balancing things out so everyone gets the same.

I know the next few weeks will be a juggling act of needs and wants. David knows it too. This morning he is stressed. About money. About juggling in an off pay week. I know that if I were working, there wouldn’t be a week where we would have to stretch the budget to breaking point.

What do I do? Should I go back to work? What would you do?

Would I just be walking straight back into the same old worries and be just as stressed, if not more so?

Am I ready to be the stress juggler again?

I think we need to talk about what our needs are, regarding Ivy and Noah’s care. I think that you don’t quite understand what our expectations are of you. I want you to know because, I have come to like you, even trust your opinion and I would like to continue having you as Ivy and Noah’s doctor.

When we first met you, it was after a horrible, sickly Winter. I knew it would be like that because all of my children have not enjoyed good health, so I expected that the babies would be the same.

Our hospital referred paediatrician had been no help, was hard to contact and when we did manage to aquire an appointment, she belittled our concerns. When the twins were put in hospital, on oxygen for a week because we were unable to see her and I went elsewhere, she became angry and said that we could not give the babies ‘bitty’ care, that they needed someone, who knew their history and could treat them appropriately. So we made the decision to find a new paed, one, who could give us good continuity of care. When we asked around, the NICU nurses said you were wonderful. Good with the parents.

With regards to our needs; as I am a registered nurse, I am quite able to manage most things at home for a prolonged period. I am comfortable with asthma plans and medication and I am vigilant when they are ill.

I am not overprotective because we have experienced a neonatal death. I have eleven years as a parent of sickly children and I know how to look after them. I feel that I am looking after their health to the best of my ability. We are their parents. It is what we are supposed to do.

If we make a phone call to your rooms to let you know that the babies are ill, it is because we are starting to struggle. It is not just to say hello. Giving two children nebulisers every two to three hours is exhausting and you often start to second guess yourself, after a week of sickness, in the wee hours of the morning.

We appreciate it when you phone us back to discuss things, it gives us reassurance and helps us to continue on at home. That is basically all we, David and I, as the parents need, unless the children are desperately ill, then we will manage Ivy and Noah’s chronic illness at home.

On the Thursday and Friday of last week, the twins were very unwell and we phoned you as a courtesy, to let you know that we were starting prednisone. You called us back, which was good and asked us to call again on Monday. Sunday saw Noah in hospital and Ivy was very close to it, however we managed to keep her at home. We called you on the day you asked us to with no response. On the Tuesday, when Ivy was worse we called again.

Today is Thursday and we have still had no response. I would have liked to discuss a few things with you regarding medications but as you have not been in contact with us, I have had to make my own decisions on these. I find this quite stressful and worry that I will be doing the wrong thing for the children. It would have been good to run these things by you.

I find it very hard to trust doctors. As you know, the services in our area are poor and to find a good general practitioner is near impossible. Our last GP has just left the practice he was in and so we have to start looking again. You have known Ivy and Noah now for over twelve months, you know the family history and our concerns. We feel that we have built up a good rapport with you and we are guided by your opinions.

Our expectations are that you will be there for Ivy and Noah’s health and for us as their parents. Our only ask is open, honest communication when we need it. We value this the most.

I understand and am thankful that Ivy and Noah’s condition is not life threatening however, constant chronic illness is tiring and often hard to control. It would be helpful to have a good support team, something that is strongly recommended by Westmead Children’s Hospital. We also understand that you are extremely busy and that we are not the only family that you are looking after.

Thank you for everything you have done for us, to date. I hope that you understand our needs a little better now and that you will be able to support these.

Kind regards,

Ivy and Noah’s Mum

Happy Father’s Day for yesterday to all the Dads, new and repeat offenders. Hope you all had a lovely day. To my sweet, wonderful Davey, the best father I have had the honour to know. You mean the world to us.

David has been a dad for a long time now. When he became a father, he didn’t get the gentle introduction to parenting in just one baby. He was handed two girls approximately one month after Mother’s Day 1996. Was he overwhelmed? Yes. Was he shocked at how full on fathering can be? Yes. Did he complain? No. He just dug in and helped 50/50. He took on all the aspects of parenting newborns and he did it well.  When Lily came into the world two years later she became his world and he hers. Four years later he lost his first born son and was devastated, rocked to the very core of his being. Now with Ivy and Noah, he has undying patience and love for them both. He has taken two boys who are no relation to him, except through me, into his heart and home and loves them like they are his own. He is a good man and a wonderful father.

He deserves to be celebrated and celebrate we did.

Traditionally we start the morning off with breakfast in bed and then presents. At lunch we had a picnic and for dinner, his favourite - spaghetti bolognese. While the other children and David were engrossed in parcel unwrapping, the babies were off making their own fun with the discarded packaging. Tiny shreds of paper were scattered from one end of the bedroom to the other (and all so quietly too)!

Do you know how hard shredded paper is to clean up from carpet? Especially when the offending distributors follow you around taking your sweepings and re distribute them?

AJ was missing from the morning’s festivities as he had gone with my mum and ‘Grahampa’ to see the football for his birthday present. He’ll be turning 11 in about 13 days. Mum picked him up on the Saturday and he stayed the night with them too. All parties report that they had a ball! That’s good because AJ has been a little quiet and withdrawn of late.

The girls have been playing with their Barbies again in the last few weeks and Saturday was Barbie fasionista day. The girls took scraps of material and fashioned formal gowns. I think they had a nice morning just relaxing  and pottering around the house. After AJ left we made our way down to Sydney to see David’s parents and sisters. It was nice to have everyone together.

The babies made their way through the weekend with varying degrees of asthma but at the end of the day we did make it.

We saw the paed this morning and despite his frustrating lack of response on the Thursday he rallied well and took very good care of Ivy and Noah (and their mother). He made sure that we had enough scripts to go away with (only 11 days to go) and said if we run into strife to call him and he will phone diagnose. (Sometimes I think he has found my blog and my posts of doctor frustration).  Anyway, you’ll all be pleased to know that Noah is over the hump. Ivy? Ears, nose and throat all infected again, chest as well. We are on another course of Erythromycin, Ciproxin and Hydrogen Peroxide,hope it does the trick!

There is horses flu everywhere in NSW. It started up here in the boonies, apparently. Horses all over Australia are being quarantined so as not to infect the rest of the equine community. It leads me to wonder what it would be like if you were standing next to a horse, with the flu, when he sneezed… gooey springs to mind, wet, ummmm… green?

Here is a joke as told by a 3rd grader (column 8, Sydney Morning Herald) ; Q:Where do the horses go when they have the flu? A: They go to the horse - pital!!!

It seems there is alot of that going around, the flu I mean and sneezing. When you are the mother of atopically challenged children, you don’t hate Spring but you don’t love it either. The weather here has been the typical asthma inducing type, gloriously and unseasonably warm in the day, with hot gusts of wind and freezing at night. Out of the seven children, four are currently dealing with their asthma. For the older girls, it’s more a case of compliance to their medication and upping the dose accordingly but for Ivy and Noah it is a series of nebulisers, preventers and then prednisone when things get bad…and nebbing two cranky toddlers every three hours is about as bad as it can be (for me) before we seek hospital admission.

Although, I am slowly (so slowly) coming to the realisation that gaining admission to hospital in the boonies is harder than it is in the big smoke.  Personally, I think it has more to do with paeds than with anything else. When Imogen and Madeline were little and I was inexperienced in asthma induced problems, I would ring their paed (a wonderful female doctor) and she would see me. In later years, we had a standing letter for the hospital and if I phoned the doctor she would more often than not meet us in the children’s ward. She was, in my opinion, a true paediatrician. Not only did she look after the girls’ well being but when their parents were getting a touch of the crazies, she could see it and would use her ‘assertive practitioner skills’ to guide us into hospital, so that we could have support too. She was a Godsend. Fast forward eleven years and my how things have changed!

Now, you can’t even get in to see your paed. You have to beg the receptionist for five minutes of his time. When you make a mercy call in the morning, if you are lucky, he will call you back at dinnertime…when the babies have really lost the plot, are crying at the top of their lungs, other children are scattered throughout the house in varying stages of undress, showering or getting redressed, because, on top of everything else, you have agreed to let the school aged children go to the fundraising disco, which has been scheduled for, you guessed it, dinnertime.

If you say you are not coping and that your week is like a living hell, the new age paed will be encouraging of your feelings of self doubt by belittling them and cussing about how horrible his week has been. (Of course it is impossible for a lowly SAHM/midwife to have a worse week than a doctor). If you then concede to being able to cope at home for a few more days on the understanding that you will be able to see him first thing Monday morning, you can then expect to be told that his schedule for that day is ‘disasterous’ and he can only squeeze you in at 8am (breakfast time and leaving for the bus time).

Unless you throw a mother (pardon the pun) of a tanty and tell the doctor that you are not going to make one more decision regarding the health of your babies because HE is the doctor and should be ‘guiding’ we parentals (medical training or no), do not expect the millenium paed to aquire ‘assertive practitioner skills’ anytime in the forseeable future. You see, he does not want to make the wrong choice at the risk of being sued. AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

While I very much like our paed, I find him very frustrating…hang on, there is a common thread here. I find all doctors frustrating! Well, what do you know? Is that what they call an epiphany?

What is the Noah - ism for glasses? :Eye - ses, of course!

He is becoming so aware of his surroundings now, noticing things and naming them. It is really interesting to watch. Maybe it’s because I am older and have a better understanding of the different developmental milestones or maybe it’s just because Ivy and Noah are my last babies and I don’t want to miss a single thing, who knows but every new day is an adventure, a new discovery.

Noah was sitting in front of his bedroom window this morning, just watching the world go by, silent and still. Very unlike Noah. When he heard me come into the room he turned to me and pointed outside… ‘rainging’ he said. Just like that. It was raining too, pouring infact, so much so that the scene outside was quite blurred through the rain on the window. Our backyard is starting to resemble a swimming pool again. I hope it stops soon. Imogen and Madeline are in a school production, held every year up here in the Hunter region, called Starstruck. It was supposed to be on in June but was postponed because of the flooding. The performances are all set to start again this week. On Thursday. It would be a shame if it had to be cancelled because of more poor weather. Praying for sunny days here.

AJ’s soccer team made it to the semi finals this weekend. Unfortunately the team lost this round and so his next game is in Singleton. I really hope they win this match. They have played extremely well all season. We need good weather for this too.

For those lovely friends who have been worried about the babies with their gastro, thank you. It means alot to know that you all care. Noah turned the corner on Friday and Ivy, although still not 100% is alot better and they are both eating and drinking now. Maddy and Mal seem to be the only ones who avoided the bug this time around. Fingers crossed that is the last we see of it for 2007.

When gastro has seeped into the very pores of the house and you fear that there is no light at the end of that proverbial tunnel, who do you call for help? You call the two grandmas, of course.

On Thursday, when I was fearful for my son’s life, my mum, "Gran" (or Gan, if you are Noah) came for a ‘visit’. She sat with me and listened while I blubbered about how worried I was. She rocked the little girl, who was also very sick, in the rocking chair, made cups of tea and was generally a shoulder to cry on. She looked after me, mothered the mother. When, in the early afternoon hours, I decided enough was enough and took Noah up to the local hospital (I know, I said I wouldn’t but some fools never learn) she stayed at home and waited for the big kids to get back from school and calmed them. After almost a week coping on my own, she was some welcomed adult companionship. There was no hesitation about coming out to help, even though we had poo and spew from one end of the house to the other.

The next day, having picked up the scent of a family member in need, "Grandma" (Mamar) David’s mum came to my aid. Even though Noah was feeling slightly better and ventured off my lap to move over to hers, my arms were now full with the very sick little girl. More sitting and rocking, more cuddling of babies, more cups of tea, food, washing on and off the line, conversation and reassurance. Even after sage warnings that the gastro bug was a nasty one and she would catch it, she still made her way up to the boonies.

Quietly and efficiently these women work their magic. They are just there when you need them the most. We are very lucky to have them in our lives.

When I took Noah up to the local hospital the doctor came in and looked him over and declared him ‘not sick enough for hospital’. I was upset, to say the least that we were being turned away. Noah, who was a semi comatose ball of lethargy on my lap did not have a heart rate high enough (it was only 149 bpm) his tongue and mouth weren’t that dry, his eyes weren’t sunken enough and vomiting three to four times a day for four days was just not enough. I felt that we had hung in there long enough and the fact that Noah hadn’t moved from my lap in over twelve hours was a bad sign, that and the fact that his temperature was high and his hands and feet were deathly cold (a sign that the body is peripherally shutting down, keeping circulation close to the major organs) but not bad at all, according to the doctor. So, with a bottle of hydrolyte I left the hospital, feeling for all the world like a paranoid mother. When I arrived home the paed called and we discussed things. His cries of ‘for the love of God, don’t bother with the local hospital anymore.’ did not fall on deaf ears this time. Never the less, we pushed through the night with sips of water, terrible stomach cramps and tired, fragile babies and parents… and we made it - just.

Ivy was not in good form today but again, we will push through the night and hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

Today, with the thought of having to transport vomiting children anywhere, I am thankful that I have a bus with vinyl flooring.

Also; David’s take on how to effectively establish communication with the paediatrician - "Ring early, ring often!"

*** WARNING, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SICK OF HEARING ABOUT THE SICK*** (hey, I just realised I can use colour on this blog!)

It’s very early on Monday morning and I know now that Lily’s vomiting was not just a random act of kindness, in wanting to paint my bathroom. In hindsight, it was foolish of me to relax after a respiratory illness as bad as the flu that has just swept through our house. It was foolish and complacent (there is that word again) of me. Did you know that some viruses can cause respiratory infection AND tummy upsets? Adenovirus springs to mind and, obviously, in this house, influenza too. I have had personal experience with my friend adenovirus. Imogen aquired it some years ago and after a particularly nasty ‘cold’ with asthma involved, it travelled through her system, into her gut and…well, you can imagine the rest. So, now gastro has come to reside in this house. As far as I can tell, it comes in varying forms of disgusting. From the throw everything up and feel better in 24 hours to the nauseated feeling of something isn’t quite right that lasts for days and everything in between. Yuck. If there is one thing I hate more than snot, it’s vomit and if there is one thing I hate more than vomit, it’s diarrhoea. Somebody get me a bucket…

When David discovered Ivy had…soiled her bed in the wee hours of the morning he rapidly made his way to go to work. He washed and dressed (while I cleaned Ivy up - he did strip the sheets for me) and while I was dirty (pardon the pun) that he was about to make a clean (oh I crack myself up) getaway, I also had to laugh because his running commentry really lightened the mood.

Ivy and Noah were sitting on the bed, carrying on with their regular banter of babble, squeals and screeches, when Ivy made a rather loud rasberry "thbrrrrrrrr!" sound. David pipes up …’it was like this’ he explained in a high pitched imitation of Ivy’s voice. Then Noah let out an almighty blurt "Thbbbbrrrrttttt"…"more like that, actually," said David, "I’ll tell you how it really happened". Narrating on his son’s behalf. I fell about the bed laughing, the babies staring at me as if I had forgotten to take my crazy pills this morning. Seeing my mirth, he made to leave and I grabbed him and said, "You think you’re going to work and leaving me with the gastro kids, think again Buster!"

His reply to that? "Buster thanked the mice for the wonderful party… and then he ate them" (apparently an old family saying) and with that vacated the quarantined house. I live in a crazy world people, how is one supposed to stay sane?

…until our holiday but who’s counting and wasn’t the weather beautiful today?

Today I was supposed to move all my scrapbooking stuff into Ivy’s old room, wash mountains of sheets, make some lycra boots, clean up my room and rearrange the loungeroom. I was supposed to go food shopping, weed the garden and wash down the stroller. Supposed to.

What I actually did was two loads of sheet washing (which the lovely Maddy hung out for me), a load of school uniforms, I scrubbed down the stroller and while I waited for that to dry, I got in the car with the family and went food shopping…for picnic yummanas. Then we went out to Hunter Valley Gardens for a picnic and basked in the late Winter sun, ate antipasto on paper plates, munched on TOOBS, watched Ivy try to play football and Noah being pulled around in his blue carcar. After we had had our fill of all things delicious we went for a walk and found ourselves in front of the Ice Cream Parlor at Oscars.

For those of you who don’t know, I am an ice cream addict (self confessed). I have lovingly passed this trait onto all of my children (even the non biological kids). The (almost) hardest part of the day was choosing the flavour…the hardest part, really, was having to share with Ivy the ice cream hog!

Did I tell you all that we put Ivy in the big bed? Yep. And, did I tell you that she slept through the night for five nights in a row? No? I didn’t tell you? That’s probably because I was sleeping or catching up on sleep or dozing, dreaming, napping, snoozing, catching some zees, anything you can imagine (don’t get too carried away, people, remember we are parents of seven children and we really are tired) without a baby in the bed. Did I also mention that five nights is just enough time to become complacent and expect that she will continue to do so? Wrong! So wrong. You should NEVER become complacent! Because just when you are least expecting it, she will throw you an all nighter, just to put you back in your place. If you do relax then you can also expect that her brother will wake up too and together they will make your night almost too much to bare, add to that an early morning (4:30am) vomit (picture the toilet literally painted in spew, walls, door, floor, sink…anywhere else BUT the toilet) from Lily and your night is set! Oh and don’t forget to have one of Lily’s best friends sleeping over for the night. PERFECT! That’ll teach yer, yer pesky parents!

Seriously folks, five nights is a cause for celebration in this house!

In other baby news, did you know that it takes Noah roughly 10 seconds to steal the "helpme" (torch) from his sister, even though she is waving it from side to side and screeching at the top of her lungs, and when you need two hands to push - pull the tape measure in and out of its casing, your mouth is a handy place to hold your father’s mobile phone, so that your brother won’t take that too?

Hmmm, that’s about it for this week. Let’s see what mid August has to offer!

We went to our paed today for a check up following the flu and every ENT infection known to man that attacked Ivy’s little body. He looked her over and declared her …’the best he’s EVER seen her’! Yay for Ivy and yay for the antibiotic. We are going to stay with the erythromycin for a few more days and then trial her off it. Fingers crossed in the immortal words of the ENT doctor.

David came with us this time and we sat for a long while in the car afterwards. It was like one long exhale. After some  delicious minestrone soup and crusty bread (David and babies, not me, don’t touch the stuff), we joked about placing bets on timing for the next illness. His bet was for just before we leave for Queensland, mine was a little more optomistic, with her going down at least a week before, so that we could get on top of it before we go! I know, we sound like freaks but such is life with Ivy. We might as well laugh when we can, so humour us, ok?

It was beautiful in the Hunter Valley today and this afternoon Ivy and Noah played outside in the sunshine. I discovered that it is not only my little girl who loves shoes but my little man too…and not your big clumpy sneaker or boot either. He is rather partial to a good patent leather shoe, thank you very much! It was with that information and an impromptu photo shoot that I went to  a scrap class with Jen Hall. Those of you who are into Scrapbooking will know her as one of The Masters and that she has a quirky eclectic style that I love.

We arrived late and were a bit rushed to catch up but I soon found my pace and got to complete a whole layout uninterrupted! I had a really great time and I hope I can do it again very soon. I got to look at some of her pages and OMG! I have so much to learn. Her layouts were absolutely amazing. I would love to be able to scrap with abandonment as she has. Her artistry shows no fear.

The good news?

Ivy is getting better!!!

Yes, she is on the road to recovery. Finally.

It’s all because of my new love…Erythromycin. How can one little antibiotic be SO different from another?

Here are the good bits;

Normal temperature for 24 hou