Sometimes you just need to shave your head.
When my son was three months old we were told he had to have another surgery. They said his reflux coupled with the poor mobility of his esophagus, (from his first surgery Why Health?), would cause him to continue to aspirate and get chemical pneumonia. So we signed on for another surgery. This one was called a "nissen fundoplication." They take the top of his stomach and wrap it around the bottom of his esophagus so that when his stomach fills with food, the stomach actually squeezes closed the bottom of the esophagus and then food can't go back up into his esophagus and get stuck there and go into his lungs and give him pneumonia. Check.
I remember that day, this was about the time when Cody started turning into a car of sorts. This was not a life or death surgery, but more of a "ma'm, this here needs to get fixed or the other parts are gonna start to go bad" fix. I started to look at Cody's body as a thing that needed oil, gas and repairs, or Nutramigen formula, meds and surgery. The surgeon started to become like my "go to guy" for what my kid looked like "under the hood" and I relied on him to tell me what to do to fix him.
The surgeon came out of surgery and told me that everything went great and that he would need a tune up in ten years to have the orifice dilated to allow food to get down because at times these spaces get tight and need to be stretched. I smiled real big, envisioned what his new, wrapped, fixed stomach looked like and said "thanks." I thought, "whatever, that is ten years from now, we will deal with that later." Is he fixed? Yep, ok, check.
We had to put blue food coloring in his formula, it made his poop grass green. This was to make sure that none of the formula was coming back up. Since he had to eat through the tube in his stomach, this would be easy to see. Hook him up to lunch, check. Look for spillage, check. Add meds to feeding tube, check. Good to go.
I remember people always said "I don't know how you do it, I could never do it." Yes you could, you do what you do. You take care of you children, you make sure they stay alive. You constantly make the tough decisions, fix them, tell them they can't buy "Grand Theft Auto" and steer them on their road.
When he was in the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit), which is where kids go after surgery, he was in a crib that looked like a monkey cage. It is made out of steel and has a top and a bottom. You have to squeeze these handles together to open up the crib to get to your kid. Just a precaution so they don't jump out of the crib. Just another thing for me to hurdle as I tried to change my baby's diaper. Everything a reminder that he is something to be assessed, checked, reviewed, cleaned, changed, oiled.
You just want to lose your mind. You want to rip out all the tubes and silence all the beeps. You want to bend open the ridiculous metal crib and tell all the doctors and nurses to get the hell away. You want freak out and cry, you want to scream at the freaking hard wood rocking chair and tell it all to go to Hell. But you don't. You smile at everyone, learn the beeps, add the food coloring and do it. Green poop, check.
When Cody was born I had my hair chopped. I was probably the only person on the planet that totally understood why Brittany Spears shaved her head. I got it. It was a way to remove everything, a way to get rid of it all. Like trying to get the sand off with a feather, you need to go hard core, you need a blow torch after a while. You need to get "it" all off.
I don't think I was that much different than Brittany Spears. We were both young mothers who thought that having babies and getting married would make life all better. If we took on the wife and mother role, that would straighten out life. We had no clue what we were doing. We both had to deal with situations around us that we couldn't control and when all of that didn't go the way we planned we got rid of our hair. There is something about a woman's hair. There is something about removing it that cleanses the air, and I didn't blame her one bit.
I remember that day, this was about the time when Cody started turning into a car of sorts. This was not a life or death surgery, but more of a "ma'm, this here needs to get fixed or the other parts are gonna start to go bad" fix. I started to look at Cody's body as a thing that needed oil, gas and repairs, or Nutramigen formula, meds and surgery. The surgeon started to become like my "go to guy" for what my kid looked like "under the hood" and I relied on him to tell me what to do to fix him.
The surgeon came out of surgery and told me that everything went great and that he would need a tune up in ten years to have the orifice dilated to allow food to get down because at times these spaces get tight and need to be stretched. I smiled real big, envisioned what his new, wrapped, fixed stomach looked like and said "thanks." I thought, "whatever, that is ten years from now, we will deal with that later." Is he fixed? Yep, ok, check.
We had to put blue food coloring in his formula, it made his poop grass green. This was to make sure that none of the formula was coming back up. Since he had to eat through the tube in his stomach, this would be easy to see. Hook him up to lunch, check. Look for spillage, check. Add meds to feeding tube, check. Good to go.
I remember people always said "I don't know how you do it, I could never do it." Yes you could, you do what you do. You take care of you children, you make sure they stay alive. You constantly make the tough decisions, fix them, tell them they can't buy "Grand Theft Auto" and steer them on their road.
When he was in the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit), which is where kids go after surgery, he was in a crib that looked like a monkey cage. It is made out of steel and has a top and a bottom. You have to squeeze these handles together to open up the crib to get to your kid. Just a precaution so they don't jump out of the crib. Just another thing for me to hurdle as I tried to change my baby's diaper. Everything a reminder that he is something to be assessed, checked, reviewed, cleaned, changed, oiled.
You just want to lose your mind. You want to rip out all the tubes and silence all the beeps. You want to bend open the ridiculous metal crib and tell all the doctors and nurses to get the hell away. You want freak out and cry, you want to scream at the freaking hard wood rocking chair and tell it all to go to Hell. But you don't. You smile at everyone, learn the beeps, add the food coloring and do it. Green poop, check.
When Cody was born I had my hair chopped. I was probably the only person on the planet that totally understood why Brittany Spears shaved her head. I got it. It was a way to remove everything, a way to get rid of it all. Like trying to get the sand off with a feather, you need to go hard core, you need a blow torch after a while. You need to get "it" all off.
I don't think I was that much different than Brittany Spears. We were both young mothers who thought that having babies and getting married would make life all better. If we took on the wife and mother role, that would straighten out life. We had no clue what we were doing. We both had to deal with situations around us that we couldn't control and when all of that didn't go the way we planned we got rid of our hair. There is something about a woman's hair. There is something about removing it that cleanses the air, and I didn't blame her one bit.
Today my hair is long, maybe that means that everything is going ok in my life. I have had red hair, pink hair, black hair and hair so short I didn't even have to dry it. I know not everyone uses their hair to cleanse or change or make it all new. Some people use a diet, an exercise plan, rearranging their furniture, a tattoo. It doesn't matter. All of it, all of the cleansing, using, coping just gets us through it all. Sometimes "it" is the morning. Coffee, cigarette, check-check. Sometimes you just need a blowtorch, sometimes Weight Watchers or once in a while all you need is a really good pair of scissors.
Comments
Post a Comment