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 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.

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…

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?

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

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?

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?

David’s flu has been passed on to Ivy and Noah and Imogen.

Yesterday Ivy had a very scary febrile convulsion and my acopia reared it’s ugly head. The paed (with his great plan) went home and was ‘uncontactable’ (is that a word?) according to his receptionist.

So we went to the local hospital. I only have two words to explain the experience…NEVER AGAIN.

When Ivy decided it was a good time to fit, it was about 3:10pm. The kids were on their way home, via bus and Mal was coming home via his bus and was not due until 4:30pm.

It’s amazing when something freaky happens how nurses just go into nurse mode. I stayed calm (I surprised myself), waited it out, stripped her down, wiped her down with a warm washer and when I got her temp from 40.2 to 39.5 I phoned David…and lost the plot entirely. Noah was an absolute angel while all of this was going on (bless his cotton socks). David called the paed’s rooms (the second for the day) then the hospital and I called Mum, who made the hours drive out to our house and arrived just as Mal came home. By that time, Ivy’s temp was 38.4 and she was alert again. I grappled with a trip up to the hospital but in the end (after David phoned them and asked the triage nurse if it were necessary) decided I had better get it checked out, so almost two hours after the event I found myself in A&E.

Of course there was nothing they could do (aside from give us another course of antibiotics - her ears and tonsils were infected) and the nurses were very kind but they treated me like some kind of white trash idiot, who knew nothing. (Maybe they know something I don’t…hmmm).

This morning both Ivy and Noah are alot better (although still not up to their usual standards of mischief). Immy is still in bed nursing a sore head and asthma.

Here is a favourite saying of my Mum’s,

Yesterday is gone…forget it!

Tomorrow never comes…don’t worry about it!

Today is here…Live it!

Oh, i’ll be living it alright. I’ll be living it in the laundry catching up on a day’s worth of lost washing time!!!

We had a wonderful day on Sunday! We went to Samuel and Joel’s first birthday. It was lovely being around so many little ones. Sammy and Joel were all smiles all of the time. They took the people and presents in their stride. Gorgeous, happy little guys. I took my camera but I forgot the memory card so no photos for me just sweet memories. Ivy and Noah played on the outside equipment throughout the afternoon. Ivy didn’t stop for anything. David and I shovelled food into her mouth while she was climbing the slippery dip. Noah, bless his cotton socks, being male, could not master the playgym. He could climb up and get into the body of the colourful plastic but from there, he was stumped. Instead of trying to work it out, he head butted the sides and the front screeching ‘getttouuuuutttt!!!!!’ All the while Ivy was climbing the stairs, swinging from the bar, to the floor and through the exit over and over again, barely giving her brother a sideways glance.

We had to stop to give them both ventolin through the nebuliser a few hours in but otherwise we thought they did ok, asthmawise. After the croup went straight to  an exacerbation of their asthma and we had been struggling to control the rattle and hum of our wheezy babies.

On the way home Ivy and Noah started to cough and wheeze and wheeze and cough. By the time we hit Pennant Hills, they could barely catch their breath. We entertained the idea of driving straight to the hospital but somewhere between the Berowra exit and Gosford, they fell asleep, hands above their heads, necks extended, rapidly grasping at each breath. I just wanted to get them home. I thought that if I could get them there, I could medicate them and get through until morning. SO we pushed on. By the morning and having nebbed them 2nd hourly I was exhausted and so was David. Ivy and Noah were largely better, having made it through the night. A little shakey from all the ventolin but better.

I was disturbed though and not taking the series of the nights events well at all. In a paediatric world this is known as ‘parent acopia’ The parent’s inability to cope with the situation. Often hospital admissions of children are made because of this, according to some. It got me thinking, where do we go if we feel that we can’t cope? I haven’t been in that situation for such a long time. Do we go to the closest hospital? Do we go to the hospital that our paed is attached to? Do we go at all? Because, when you get to 2nd hourly nebs, there’s not alot more a hospital can do for you. It really would be because I couldn’t handle the babies being sick anymore. Of course, I wouldn’t be silly. If Ivy or Noah were in trouble I would take them but hospital is a last resort in this house.

Parent acopia was very real for me on Sunday night. When I asked the paed today we made a plan. He said my problem wasn’t that I didn’t cope. It was that I coped too well. Essentially, he made it ok for me not to cope. He let me know that most parents wouldn’t cope with 4th hourly nebs, let alone 2. He made my acopia acceptable… for me. So now, if I get to Sunday night’s stage of complete and utter breakdown, I can go to his hospital and we will take it from there.

We have a plan and I like plans!

On Monday I met some lovely nurses. We introduced ourselves and our area of work. When I announced that I was a midwife the medical and surgical nurses all commented on how lucky I was and how easy my job was.

Ok, birth is a normal life experience and most women enjoy a healthy pregnancy, have a normal birth and are independent of cares during their postnatal period. Having said that, I don’t think midwives have an easy job at all. For a start in our position we are expected to have some medical and some surgical skills. We have to be ready to treat episodes as scary as eclamptic fitting and postpartum haemorrage right through to being able to prepare and take a lady to theatre for caesarean. Our position is not so much the physical as the emotional. We deal with mental health issues, people with developmental delay, we look after ladies from all walks of life with differeing expectations. We deal in new life and birth and an important right of passage but we also have to have knowledge and compassion for those who lose their babies and for those who lose their right to birth in a way that equals their expectations. Midwives work hard every day. We are lucky though. Lucky, that on a daily basis, we are invited into something as important as a baby’s birthday. That, for a few hours we have an insight into a woman’s life, her family, her very being. I think that we are so priviledged to be a part of something so beautiful. Midwives are the lucky nurses

Thought I might break it up a bit.

So Monday was stressful and all I wanted was for David to stay home for Lily’s birthday. We had an appointment with the ENT which I was reluctant to go to on my own. David had other plans though. After seeing Lily into her ninth birthday and watching the gift viewing he went to work. I was angry with him for SO many reasons. Too many to go into. By 9am I was a blubbering ball of stress. Some days are BIG days when everything seems to get on top of me. I’m willing to bet that most people probably have days like these. Today was my meltdown day. I bet my mum didn’t expect to hear me crying down the phone to her at 9:05am. I don’t even really know why I was crying. Anyway. She came over to soothe her eldest daughter and together we went to the ENT doctor.

He studied Ivy’s ear, sucked it out, listened to all I had to say and then made his recommendations. (As arrogant as I find him, he also has quite a good sense of humour and a gentle way with Ivy).

1. Don’t let Ivy get sick.

2. Sell her on Ebay

3. Offer her up for medical research.

4 Continue the current treatment of hydrogen peroxide with an addition of a combination antibiotic/antifungal topical eardrop solution. See her in three weeks and take her adenoids out as soon as possible. (Still way too young at this stage).

We briefly touched upon the possibilty of a contaminated grommet being the root cause of Ivy’s problems, with the infection being persistent in one ear only. This notion was quickly dismissed however, as inconceivable. Given the doctor’s track record of perfection, the suggestion that he be in any way responsible simply could not be entertained.

Move along people, nothing further to see here…

So there you have it. Ivy, I think, is officially in his too hard basket.

While we were in his rooms a young girl came in with a cough and proceeded to bark all over Noah and Ivy. I looked at Mum. I didn’t need to say anything. Some call it pessimistic. I call it realistic. 

Noah has croup tonight, Ivy will follow, I’m sure. Give her 24 hours to brew something nasty up for me.

Ahhh, Winter. Ahhh Doctor’s rooms. David’s suggestion of putting Ivy and Noah in a bubble is sounding better with each passing cold!

Ivy is up down, up down. I am getting sick of it, she must be too. This morning she was good, still had a green nose and a bit of a cough but her ear has been looking better and she has been so much happier in herself. It was cold and windy today and despite a beautiful wool beanie that Mum knitted, the cool air has done nothing for her health. After a visit to mum’s we hopped into the bus. Ivy was grizzly for a while and then fell asleep. Just before we got home she woke with a start and screamed hysterically. She continued to do this for the next hour. I checked her over to discover blood and more gunk coming from her ear. A phone call to the paed confirmed it was still all part of the infection but he wants to give her tummy a rest from the antibiotics. We will see what happens over the next few days. I bet I know what will happen. Do I sound jaded? You bet I do! I have given her pain relief tonight and hope that she will get a good nights sleep (bet I know how that’ll turn out too ). ‘Tis the season, they say and we all know how I feel about the season!

Just when I needed it some fluffy mail arrived from Maz, a gorgeous lady and fellow bellybelly girl. They are just adorable with monograms of Ivy and Noah’s first initial sewn on the bottom. Ivy and Noah have them on tonight and I’ve taken some photos for you to see. I was wrapped in them…actually Ivy and Noah were literally wrapped in them but I loved them, ALOT! Thanks Maz!

Lily turns 9 in 5 days

The big kids come home tomorrow

We are going to see Dierdre, our ECHN for Ivy and Noah’s 18 month check up (don’t forget the blue books, Tiff).

Noah, for the most part, has been his normal, happy self. We went for a walk today and he had to stop to peer into every drain, stomp on every patch of grass we saw and call out ‘weeeee!’ everytime his sister shimmied down a stop sign pole. This afternoon when Ivy was beside herself. Lily quietly took Noah outside and together they picked up sticks for the fire, which he flung at me one by one, whilst I was feeding said fire.

Lily has been a fantastic help while the big kids have been away. I have really enjoyed spending some quality time with her this week, especially in the evenings when the cherubs and Mal are in bed. She is growing up into a beautiful young girl (with flashes of tomboy thrown in).

Ivy is still sick. My poor sick bubba. Her ear is goopy again, her nose too and she is clingy and crying today. We called the ENT doctor and got our usual phone diagnosis. So, we will start the ear drops AGAIN.

Three and a bit weeks of illness and we still can’t get in to see the man.

The hydrogen peroxide fizzes and pops and she screams in terror everytime I have to put it in but I will do it because I don’t know what else to do, except take advice from phone doctors. I don’t know how anyone can think that telephonic diagnostics are ok. *SIGH* I feel beaten and defeated because I can’t keep the Ivygirl well.

We are going to see her so called paediatrician tomorrow. I wonder if anything good will come from that. I wonder if it is worth having a paed at all. I wonder if I could do a bridging course and become a paed… probably could but it would all be too late. Ivy and Noah would be grown up by the time I finished. So I will have to rely on these doctors for now.

This morning I scrubbed down our stove. Imogen came flouncing in, looked me up and down in all my pyjama clad beauty (now hot and sweaty from cleaning), sized up the now sparkling oven and said…’oh, look, you made a clean spot’. What am I supposed to make of that? Am I to assume that she believes she lives in squallor? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Nevertheless, my stove is shiny and I feel better for my troubles.

At lunchtime orange shirted men started milling about my yard. Soon a large crane appeared too. Not long after, the crane was pulling up trees that had fallen in the storm and the orange clad men were up the trees,with their chainsaws, speaking in loud authoritative voices and making weird, manly jokes. You could almost touch the testosterone, the air was thick with it! I phoned David, who quickly caught wiff of male hormones and begged me to take photos AND to send them to him via email so that he could spread the manliness around.

So I did. In the midst of my sick girl’s cries and taking photos for my husband, I noticed a strange thing. Noah (also very male) was running from window to window, watching the crane with much interest. I pointed out the orange clad man up the tree and he was transfixed. I watched him for a while, fascinated that he could be so enveloped in the happenings.. . and Ivy so disinterested in such masculine things. It is times like these that the difference in sex is SO obvious to me.

Night duty tonight and then tomorrow the celebrations begin. Immy and Maddy are turning 11. All those years ago, my body was starting the process of labour. Their birthday…my birthing day.

Where have eleven years gone? When did they grow up to be beautiful young women? It only seems like yesterday that they were Ivy and Noah’s age, gardening (pulling out every single plant) in the backyard, buck naked, except for their flourescent pink gum boots. Now they are into fashion and music. Instead of a dolly for their gift, they want a mobile phone. They are changing and growing every day. It pulls at my heart strings to know that they are walking into adolescence.

Not only are they getting older, so am I. I am not the person that I was 11 years ago. I don’t know if I am a better person. Certainly wiser.

Understatement of the Century.

I hate Winter. I know I’ve said it before here but just to clarify; I REALLY hate it.

I didn’t once upon a long time ago, pre children. Winter was a time to rug up, a time for hot chocolate and blankets on the lounge snuggled up close to David. Winter was a time for exciting Scouting activities and holidays away to even colder locations, open fires, hot casseroles, heaters in the car, slowly thawing out every part of you until just the tip of your nose was cold. Super soft downy quilts that you could snuggle right down in and not have to remove yourself from until the sun had warmed the crisp air to an acceptable level.

Now Winter is full of stuffy doctors rooms, just hot enough to breed a hundred thousand other germs that are not already wracking the smallest of my children. Winter is about tissues and mucous, hacking coughs, headaches, sore throats, Panadol, cough mixture, throat losenges, heat packs and nebulisers. It is about, crying, fragile babies and children, who ache and hurt. Winter, for me, is now about feeling inadequate in my abilities to keep my kids well and pushing fate to the end of her tether, to avoid hospital admissions.

Winter is about illness and getting through those long cold months with minimal assistance from unhelpful medical professionals, who are sick themselves and don’t really want to see one more sick child.

A parcel arrived from overseas yesterday. An ordinary brown box but inside that package were promises of sunshine and long afternoons by the pool. Bright, warm mornings and dinners on the verandah. Just clothes to some but when I opened the box I swear I could almost smell Summer.

I was never a Summer girl. In my younger years, Summer meant hot sticky days, too embarrassed to go swimming for fear that Green Peace would spy me, declare me a beeched white whale and lovingly roll me back into the ocean. Summer meant too much salad. It meant long, hot nights where you wake up in the morning sweating and feeling as though you never slept.

Summer now means at least three months, if not more, virtually, asthma and illness free. It means long legged children running around in the backyard with water pistols and swimming until it’s too dark to see. Summer means, happy, stress free faces, free from runny noses and deep dark circles under their eyes.  Summer means warm, healthy glows coming from radiant sunkissed skin, not the pale pallor of Winter.

I am sitting here, hoping that Ivy and Noah will sleep soon. They have been up for a large part of the night coughing and snuffling. It’s been three weeks and they are getting worse not better. Ivy’s ears are discharging goop again and Noah’s asthma is escalating to a point where I am seriously considering hospital. It’s not easy to see the good in Winter today. I would love to just pack everyone up and steal them away to the warmest part of Australia, right now- to a place where the sun could mend their red, chapped, wind blown lips and the fresh breezy air could blow away all the germs.

After the babies are asleep and I have finally had a shower I might just open that box again and set my imaginings free. An escape from reality might just help me get through today.

Yesterday was David’s 36th birthday. Happy birthday baby! Only four years until the big 4.0…is that why you seemed a bit flat today? Got a bit of the birthday blues? We’ve seen a few birthdays together.

I think the first birthday I celebrated with David was his 19th. A group of us ambushed him as he was sleeping with breakfast and the Simpsons game of life! Oh those were the days! Expensive ice cream and coffee, Saturday morning sleep ins and afternoons in our little Suzuki down at Whale Beach. We were so young. Don’t get me wrong, 36 isn’t old at all and our life is still full of wonderful days… they just take on a different form and they mostly include seven children.

Winter is here at my house. It is freezing in the morning, freezing in the night and I know it’s Winter because ALL of my children have colds. Yep, all of them, in differing levels of illness, are sick with runny noses, terrible coughs, sore ears, sore throats and asthma, lots of asthma.

Winter was heralded by my having to spend $140 on asthma medication alone. That is without the panadol and cough medicine (for the two who DON’T have asthma), the tissues and the lip balm. Now David is sick too. So I am on my own in making sure all the kids are rugged up and warm, medicated and Vicks Vapourised.

I hate Winter and I hate doctors. Especially paeds who are overseas during the Tregenza sicky months. Lord, give me strength to get through this season.

Yesterday we made our way back to the ENT doctor for Ivy’s follow up check up for her ears following what is now known in this house as the ‘great ear caper’. The doctor explained that Ivy has some immuno deficiency and neutropaenia and payed her a great deal of attention…finally. Now we have a plan for her ears and we know that the next few years will be bumpy. We know this because Imogen has the exact same thing. It’s not great news but it is good to know that the doctors might stand up and pay attention now. I feel validated and not so much like a crap mother, who can’t keep her baby well.

On another level, perhaps coming from my nursey side, it is all very interesting how genetics work. How something can skip a couple of kids and find its way to another. As if to trumpet her condition, Ivy has woken up with a temperature this morning after sleeping fitfully. Noah unexpectedly woke early too, so maybe they are both coming down with something. We’ll have to wait and see.

My house is a mess. I am the first to admit it and I am NO house cleaner. I hate it. It’s a very thankless task. In my house if you wash the floors in the morning, by lunchtime they need cleaning again. In my house, people are lined up at the toilet door to defoul your pristine sparkling toilet bowl the minute you finish the final scrub down. In my house there are clothes everywhere and my washing machine is constantly whirring in the background. My bedroom looks like a chinese laundry.

I’m getting a bit sick of it looking this way. I watched something on the Oprah show the other week where you clean out anything you haven’t touched for a year. I could do that. I could go room by room and do a massive clean. I AM going to do that but not this weekend. This weekend is mother’s day. It’s not a day to clean.

After three weeks of being off work in a sick leave related way, I am going back to night duty tonight. At 4am this morning after I had finally settled Ivy (from a midnight wake up) and then having Noah find his way into bed with us, the tears and frustrations came rolling out of me. I need to work. I need to do this because… (a) we need the money, (b) I like working as a midwife and when the kids are older I want to be able to work as an effective midwife, so I need to keep my foot in the door, (c) I get to be Tiffany the midwife, instead of Mum, wife, cook, slave, taxi driver, washer woman, counsellor, mediator, thing to cling to when we are frightened of the vacuum cleaner, thing to cling to when we are overtired and overwhelmed, pillow, leaning post, teddy bear. I just get to be me and I am recognised and appreciated for my skills. I don’t ever feel as though I am being taken for granted, even though it’s only night duty and I am not doing much for the women and their babies, they still like me for me… did I mention we need the money? LOL

So, I have enjoyed having the time off and not having to stay awake for 48hours before I can rest. I’ve loved being there for the kids, have enjoyed their company and having some degree of organisation about my day but it all has to start up again for the above reasons. My dream is to resign and to study and to start an antenatal outreach programme in the boonies. A house, where women can come for a chat and coffee, to talk about their pregnancies, have a check up, come if they are worried or scared or if they just need reassurance. I would love to be a midwife in that context.

I’m sure it will be fine once I’m there but the night duty dread is slowly taking over my thoughts today. The only other thing I can think about is that I have to teach ten kids how to do scrapbooking tomorrow on no sleep… it could be interesting.

Let’s start this entry off on a happy note. One of my friends brought around an old, blue, plastic, ride in car. I think this car has gone through a few midwives’ children. It’s old and battered and has pieces missing. The steering wheel is wobbly and there is a piece of rope tied to the front so that it can be pulled along. Noah LOVES it! We have had the car for just under a week and there has not been a day when I haven’t found him sitting in it. He will not relinquish it for anyone, though many have tried. It is the first thing that Noah has ever claimed for himself. His ‘carcar’. On the first day of his love affair with ‘carcar’ I found him, after all the kids had dragged him around all day, planted in front of the television. Anyone who knows Noah will find this amazing as he doesn’t usually stay still for anything and yet, there he sat in his car for over an hour before he demanded that Lily take him for another ride. In the end I had to pick him up, kicking and screaming out of ‘carcar’ and into his highchair for dinner and a bath. Within minutes of these tasks being completed, I found him, once again in the blue car. It is the first thing he asks for in the morning and if we are out he will say to me ‘go - car’. He loves it more than anything else. His grandmother thinks he is a petrol head. His father thinks it is cute and funny. I am amazed at how these things are woven into the male being. The other day I found him in the car saying ‘Broom, Broom!!!’ How did he know that? No one taught him as far as I know. Is it a male thing, that they just know about cars and have a love for them, even from a really young age? At least it will make birthdays easy, knowing that my boy loves all things vehicle.

Our bus came back to us on Friday, our wallets over $1000 lighter! It came home with a dire warning that we need to get rid of it as there was more breaking in the old bus and we would soon see our purses emptier. Dave is now scouring all the internet spaces and car lots that sell buses. How we are ever going to afford a new bus is beyond me but I guess I can let the man dream.

Today I tried to get Ivy some more medical attention from her paed ( Dave says I can’t mention names - for fear of being sued so for naming purposes he shall be known as Micky Shortergan) After a nightmarish week before where we finally saw Micky on the Thursday, only to have him charge us a hundred bucks for nothing and then turning around the very next day to see the ENT doctor who put the grommets in her ears (for naming purposes will be known as Associate Professor Skippy) only to be told that there was nothing in her ears and to go home and get over it, Ivy spent the weekend getting sicker and sicker. With no antibiotics and no drops to fight off her imaginary infection, by Sunday she had temperatures in the 39s. Come monday we thought we would be able to get some help. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? If it were your baby, you would do everything you could to get her better. I’m sure if these doctor’s children required medical attention, they would NOT be fobbed off. They would expect the very best in care, right? Ok, forget that they are doctors and that they could probably treat their own babies for just a second… they would want them to be seen. That’s all I wanted. For someone to see her, concede she was very ill and treat her accordingly. Easy, right? Wrong.

We phoned Micky Shortergan, who promptly told us that Ivy was not his patient and not his problem to refer back to Skippy, as he put her grommets in. Fair enough. Even though I beg to differ. I think she IS his patient and his problem but anyway. He IS a paediatrician after all and shouldn’t a paediatrician look after his child patients? Besides that, he referred her onto Skippy for care, so doesn’t Ivy become his problem by default? I digress…

We called Skippy’s rooms to be confronted with an answering machine stating that his rooms were closed for the day. GREAT. So we called back Micky. His receptionist said she would get him to call us back. In the meantime we tried to get into our local medical centre. Ok, if you are happy to wait three days and see the doctor nobody likes. *SIGH* Of course the paed never called back and Ivy is still as unwell as ever. Nothing has been resolved regarding her imaginary ear infection. My poor babygirl.

Tomorrow is a new day however…bring on tomorrow!

Here are some positive affirmations for tomorrow;

tomorrow the big kids will be back at school (YAY)

tomorrow I WILL speak to a competent doctor and I WILL get Ivy the help that she needs

tomorrow I won’t feel so angry and bitter with the medical community up here in the boonies, I may even thank one of them

tomorrow I will feel like a good mother again and I won’t have to stress about my baby being so sick anymore.

Ahhh, tomorrow.

Gee, it’s been a while and so much has happened. Where do I start?

Ivy is still unwell and pretty miserable on it today. I feel so sad for her that I can’t get proper care for her ear. David is trying to contact the paed again today, so we’ll see what happens there. Not that I would be able to get to his rooms because our bus broke down last Thursday and it is still off the road and in Ford at Cessnock…waiting for a miracle…. waiting, like Jesus, to rise again on the third day.Personally, I don’t think it will. I think it has been on it’s last legs (or wheels) for the last few months, driving on borrowed time, so to speak. *SIGH* I need some rich relative to magically appear or a car fairy to deposit a new bus on my doorstep, that would be better, then I wouldn’t feel like I owed anyone anything!

Anyway, coming back to reality, now. The bus lost its power steering, its air conditioning and its temperature control on Thursday, only months after some pump had gone in it and we forked out to replace one plastic piece of pipe for an amazing amount of money. The mechanic near David’s parents’ tried to fix it and was unable to get the parts so sent us home, only for something else to break on the way. Leaving us driving down the main street of Cessnock with white smoke billowing from the front and that horrible burnt rubber smell trailing behind us. I think it’s safe to say I hate the bus. We used to have a beautiful new Pajero. It was so lovely to drive. I miss it, although I wouldn’t trade back my two babies for a nice car. I’ll take the cherubs anyday.

So, we are pretty much stuck until it’s fixed. That’s funny because I have appointments and excursions all week that will now need to be cancelled. I don’t take kindly to having to stay at home at the best of times. I don’t do cabin fever well.

Last week was a pretty good week, aside from the run around from the inadequate medical profession up here in the boonies. On Thursday (the day the car died) we drove down to Sydney in the afternoon but before that we went to Imogen and Madeline’s first ever dance eisteddfod. It was a real eye opener to the seriousness of the dance community up here. OMG there were stern-faced, die-hard dance mothers everywhere and the girls who were performing were even more so! I am NOT a dance mother. I don’t think I ever will be. Slap me please, someone, if I ever go down that path! I can’t imagine devoting my weekends to trapsing all over the countryside with costumes and make up kits on trollies and kitting out the bus with wardrobe rails and change rooms for my kid’s two minutes of (local) fame!!!! I can’t ever imagine Immy and Maddy ever being so serious about dance comps that they don’t smile and talk with the other competitors! Some of the girls were like performing seals, getting up time and time again with well polished routines and plastic smiles on their heavily painted faces. It was kind of creepy in an American girl’s beauty pagent, kind of way.

The girls got in there though, in their usual, happy, give anything a go way and danced their stripey knickerbockered legs off. They smiled and generally had a wow of a time. They were nervous but what kid isn’t when they are going in a competition. I was very proud of them. So was Kelly, their teacher. They were great. As first timers too, they were only one point off a highly commended, so Kelly and I took that as a great achievement! I’m happy for them. If they want to do those kinds of things, I’ll support them 100% but only while it’s fun and they are enjoying themselves. It shouldn’t be work and as Kelly said, if their heart isn’t in it, the judges can tell and they won’t do well. They’ll lose their spark. I think that’s kind of sad that it gets to a point that the children will keep on doing something they are not enjoying just to please their mothers. The next big question is why do mothers want to push their kids in that way? Is it to relive some childhood desire that they once held for themselves? Who knows.

Sydney; We stayed the night at David’s Parents house. The kids had a ball. They love spending time with Grandma and Pop and the adults are all too aware that it’s borrowed time now before the teenage years. Before they don’t want to spend time with the elders in their family. We all take what we can get and relish in it. I left what Pop lovingly described as ‘the madhouse’ to babysit for my sister in law. Our gorgeous niece was born last December and my gift offering to her exhausted mother, for her birthday, was a night out with her hubby and no baby. I have to say, I really enjoyed just looking after one little one. I gave her a bath and a cuddle and she (eventually) went off to sleep. Then it was quiet. For the remainder of the evening. I had to get up and check on the baby a couple of times, so unfamiliar to the quiet, was I. Of course, Mum and Dad weren’t out for long. I remember the first time David and I went out without babies. It was wierd and I just wanted to go home. Nice too but so far removed from normal life for us.

The next day was Mal’s 9th birthday and we decided we would take him to the Easter Show this year. It had been three years since we had ventured into the chaos of the show and that was sans babies, so this was going to mean organisation plus!!!! It was a fantastic day! Everyone enjoyed themselves and thoroughly worn out, we trekked back to our base and crawled into bed at around 10:30 pm. We did the animal walk and the babies got to pat a pig and we saw the sheep being judged. (I always find it ironic that we travel from the country to the city to view the country). Mum bought the girls some beautiful freshwater pearls and Lily got this cat, in a bed, that when you turn the darn thing on, it makes a breathing motion! Trust Lily to pick something like that! Mal went straight for the Hotwheels display in the Kids World tent, while the girls and AJ made a beeline for the Beanie Bears! Maddy was lucky enough to win a limited edition Easter Show bear(only 300 worldwide) so she was thrilled!

My personal favourite is always the fruit and veg pavillion, with all the different stands and free taste testing. David dared me to try an 18 years and over only  10+++++ chilli from the Chilliman stall. It blew my head off. Literally. I was hallucinating, I’m sure. My head was throbbing, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was that hot. I won’t buy into Dave’s dares again. Never ever. Lesson definately learnt there. We did the showbags and went to the arena for the night activities but by then Ivy and Noah were so over being in the carriers and just wanted to get up and wander around. Very hard when you are sitting on a steeply sloped grassy bit. When made to sit down, Noah produced an almighty, highpitched squawk, that was driving everyone (especially me) ballistic and with Ivy trying to do a runner every time I looked the other way, it all got a bit too much for this weary Mum and we made a hasty exit. Of course Gran couldn’t let the kids go home without one ride and I think that in hindsight, it was the perfect end to a wonderful day. There were no lines to have to wait in, so the kids were straight on. Because it was the end of the day, the ride operator gave them an extra long go. With balloons and bags and very tired feet we made our way home.

See ya Easter Show! See you in another three years…maybe.

Ok, Easter is officially over in this house! If I ever see, smell or taste another chocolate egg again, it will be too soon! UGH, chocolate overload, my friends is NOT a pretty sight in a thirty - something woman. OOOOHHHH, my belly. I know, I know, no sympathy for self inflicted wounds. It was fun until last night. Then, I just needed for all chocolate to be gone from our home. I am seriously starting the cabbage soup diet on Wednesday! Anything to get away from chocolate. I need to purge all those impurities from my system, so that I can be ready…for Christmas, the ultimate day in over indulgence!!!! LOL! Seriously though, I am sick of chocolate. If I had to gage seratonin levels due to eating of said indulgence, I would be waging a bet that I would be considered an EXTREMEMLY happy person, right now. I’m sure those levels of happy hormone are dangerous.

Had a nice quiet, rainy day. The boys had their access visit with their mother (always a not fun time for the family afterwards) and the girls, babies, Dave and I pottered off to the local video store, where the rest of the town had already been, so we were only able to borrow the DVDs that nobody wanted, Oh and the kids flicks that we have seen 1000 times before. No, I jest. We did get Charlotte’s Web. When I watched it, all I could wonder was…is Dakota Fanning aging at all???? I think that girl is one of those kids who is never going to grow up. She’ll be 30 and still look six!  The girls enjoyed it and another pre teeny type movie called Step Up. Immy, my little drama, dancing, all round performer, romantic, thought it was "the best movie she’d ever seen". (She says that with every movie that has a hunky male dancer in it, I’ve noticed). We ate fish and chips and generally slothed around the house.

I want to tell you about the recent move in bath time activities in this house. It used to go something like this; The big kids run a bath and take turns going in, as pairs, sometimes topping up the water with warmer additions. While this is progressing, I feed and bath the babies and by the time they have had a little play, one of the big girls are usually out to help me dry and dress the pair.

This is how it has gone of late. I ask the big kids to start the bath routine. No one moves. The babies get fed and I start their bath routine, continually reminding the others that dinner will be ready soon. Still there is little movement until I redirect their energy (or lack there of) into running the tap for baths. Most nights I get asked if they can skip…what is that? As a pre teen, I think you are at your smelliest. It’s a time when a kid REALLY needs to wash, why do they suddenly think they can get away without cleaning themselves???? When I argue my point, I am then asked if they can shower instead of bath and even though I constantly remind them that a shower uses up to ten litres of water a minute, they do not budge. Another new pre teen thing. I compromise and say a short one only and all girls in at once and then both boys. Anything for five fresh bodies at the dinner table. Most nights they are pretty good but some nights I shudder to think what my family is doing for the water supply in NSW.Not only am I getting rebellion in the 9 - 11 year old bracket, the babies have decided that they like to move and splash and try to turn on taps while I am bathing them. Sometimes, I think I come out of the bathroom wetter than them! They have started this game (for want of a better word) where as soon as I get onto my hands and knees, they splash me. If I stand up, they get up, throw their legs up and over the top of the bath and yell "geeowwwwt" (get out in twin speak). I get down again to wash them and immediately they start in with the splashing and the squealing and the giggling. Sometimes they slip and slide and my heart jumps into my throat but mostly the are limbre little bath pixies, who move so quickly, it’s sometimes hard to catch them to wash their crawling feet (where the tops of their feet are blackened with floor mank) or to wash the buttery sandwich leftovers out of their hair. Some nights I am exhausted just from bath time alone, mostly I laugh though and enjoy the moments. Knowing, all too well that there will come a day in 9 - 11 years time, when they won’t want to bath, pretend to bath, skip their bath or when I say bath, think I mean shower.

My next gripe for today is about girls not wanting to brush their hair over  the school holiday period. Ok, I understand that it gets a little old having your hair raked up into a ponytail every day and reminded that it is nit season for 90% of the school year and I DO allow them some slack when school break comes but really, don’t they know that if they don’t brush their hair for a number of days that it WILL get knotty and if it does become encrusted with dredlocky knots, that when your mother comes along to brush them out it IS going to hurt. ALOT.

My mum used to say to me, you can’t put an old head on new shoulders, that kids need to learn the hard way. Ok, but can’t they learn the hard way with shiny, neatly brushed hair? Is that too much to ask? *SIGH* I guess I’m missing the point here. I know Mum is right, they will learn through their own mistakes but why can’t they do it later, when they are older and living in their own flat, with a housemate or a boyfriend to (kindly) brush out their knots, why now, when there are three long haired beauties (and another one rapidly growing hers) and a mother (whose hair is VERY short) who just doesn’t get it???

When my own long hair knotted ouches got too much for my mum, when I was in fifth grade, strangely enough, she took me to "Bruno’s" and had it all cut off in a time when being able to sit on your hair during school was REALLY cool. I can’t seem to do that to my girls. I sigh and moan and carry on but when it all boils down to it, I like their hair long. Whinge two over.

Finally my last purge of disgust comes when I discovered that Ivy’s newly grometted ears (actually only her left) were discharging blood and pus. Of course it was a public holiday. For city dwellers, this probably wouldn’t pose much of a problem but for those of you living in the boonies, like us,it’s easy to understand how something as simple as going to a GP, for a script of antibiotics, to fight off obvious infection, can become a living nightmare.

To start with there was NOTHING open in Cessnock. We phoned the hospital, to ask if we should present there. We knew what the problem was, it wouldn’t take long. Their answer?

"We are very busy, if you think she needs to come in, then you’d better bring her up but remember, this is an emergency department. We can’t give you anymore information over the phone". That was it. What were we supposed to do with that? She was by no means an emergency but if we didn’t do something she could become one.

So we then moved onto the next hospital (remember, we are out in the boonies here, friends) they, at least had an after hours GP service but the receptionist told us our area was not covered and so we could either present to ED or have a phone conversation with an RN. We took the RN. She was very direct and thought that young Ivy best be seen by a GP. She phoned our local hospital who gave HER the exact same speel as us. When she came back to the phone, she offered us a long wait at said hospital or an appointment at the next town hospital (3/4 of an hour away) to see a doctor. We took the appointment. That went very smoothly and with our script in hand we set about finding a pharmacy. Easy, right? No, not easy at all. We had to drive another twenty minutes to find one. On the way home I realised that Ivy’s secretions had not been swabbed and that was a bugbear with her paediatrician, that they never swabbed! I ummed and arrhed for a while but in the end I started the antibiotics and gave her another dose of panadol. I guess I’ll deal with my lack of swab results when next I see the paed!

Wow, this has turned into a monster post. Good thing there are photos to break it up!! LOL. It’s late and with all that off my chest, I think I am going to bedfordshire!