Abby turned six months old on Friday. She is so much a part of what I live and breathe that I don't notice her growing. She always seems huge, always seems curious, always seems happy -- and then suddenly her clothes don't fit. I'm not explaining this well; it's not that she is static, but that she is so miraculously changing in every moment that I accept her never-the-sameness as if the changing itself were her status quo. I am surprised when the rest of the world -- grandparents, clothes, toys -- suddenly seem thrown off by her changes. Ah, I think I can't explain this. As the judge says, "Move on, counselor."
My daughter remains a thoroughly happy, smiley kid. When she is not outright smiling or laughing, she is a intently focused Buddha baby. She puts on a very serious face and holds the object of her curiosity with both hands right in front of her and stares, frowning, at it -- my necklace, a washcloth, a spoon, her father's hand -- or, she sits comfortably, in Cobbler's Pose, and takes in everything around her with a completely serene gaze, full of wisdom and equanimity. As you may be able to tell, I could content myself with watching her all day.
Abigail has begun solid foods. So far, she hates rice cereal, and is unsure about bananas. However, she is fairly pleased with green beans, and she loves apples, oatmeal, and sweet potatoes. She will be an autumn girl, like her mama. She also farts like her mama, unfortunately. She loves to snooze in her swing (why don't they make those for adults?), and she is fascinated by Baileydog and Oscarkitty. Oscar never comes close enough, but Bailey seemingly intentionally approaches the baby and lets Abby pull her hair in great gobs. It is amazing to me that I can continue to love my husband and my stepkids just as much as ever (not to mention Barack Obama, the Penguins, my ring, good stationery and chocolate), and still love Abby Jane more than I thought possible. It's true that your heart just grows and grows.
As for those of you who want an update on me & my health: things are a bit weird right now. I am feeling stronger and more optimistic lately, for three main reasons: first, we have enlisted a phalanx of sitters to help me with getting Abby to and from day care. As annoying financially as that is -- and it is VERY annoying -- the opportunity to go for weeks now without having to lug her long distances has really helped my back recover. No longer do I feel in constant danger of throwing out my lumbar muscles just by walking or moving. Second, I started aqua therapy at my physical therapy place. This is also financially annoying -- almost undoable -- because my insurance doesn't cover it. We are trying to do it such that the therapist only goes with me some of the time and the rest of the time I go on my own. Either way, the aqua therapy is great. Not only do I feel that satisying feeling of muscle usage that I haven't felt in over a year, but just being in the heated therapy pool and being able to move my body in a lighter, less compressed way feels so incredibly good. I love it.
Third, there is the reason that makes my friends cringe. I am seeing an energy healer. His name is Mietek Wirkus. He is an old, Polish dude who apparently senses energy blockages and deficits and is able to manipulate your energy field and transfer his own energy to you in order to improve your overall health as well as healing specific injuries. I don't know exactly what to say about this -- after all, I'm the one who quit acupuncture because it made me uncomfortable and seemed like a load of horse manure. But I went to Mietek because my shrink suggested it, and I trust my shrink, so I went. And during my first session with the old man, all I can say is that I felt that God was in it. He is the most unassuming, quiet and caring guy you can imagine -- probably nothing like you're picturing -- and he hardly says anything because he barely speaks English, but there is something in it. So, I'm going to a healer.
The result of all this? It still seems to ebb and flow. Right now, my back feels stronger, especially in the lumbar, and it hurts a lot less. My neck is starting to ache, so I guess we'll have to figure that out. My left-hand dexterity seems to be worsening lately, and my balance has been way off. I am careening and bumping around the house so much that, as Joy said on My Name Is Earl, "I have so many bruises I look like a woman in one of those Lifetime movies." I need my cane whenever I go out, and going to the office for a few hours on a given day completely exhausts me. It took me nearly 25 minutes to walk 2 blocks in downtown DC the other day. And yet, somehow, I can tell that I'm improving. Maybe it's because I can feel that my core muscles are getting stronger, and I know that's the key. Also, my stress level is down, which probably makes me feel safer and more optimistic. The exercise in the pool is much more than I've gotten in a very long time, and adding that to my intentional efforts to meditate and the pure joy of spending time with Abby, I am starting to feel better, even though objective circumstances haven't changed all that much.
Well, more about my other kids later. This morning I accidentally melted some of the baby's things in the bottle sanitizer, because I forgot to add water before microwaving. Oops. I need to go buy some more stuff to replace the melted things before I go back to work. More pictures of Abby forthcoming, too -- I need to find the cord that connects my camera to the computer in order to download them. Bother.
22 May 2008
28 April 2008
Enough About Me
It was my beloved Bit who pointed out how self-absorbed my blog can be. So, for now, enough about me.
Abby is so adorable and fun. She is 5 months old now, and she just learned to roll over about a week ago. And she is a little rolling stone, let me tell you. She rolls back and forth and forth and back, wobbling to a stop in each direction like a little Weeble. She also grunts with the exertion of everything -- stuffing Mommy's hair in her mouth, leaning forward to crumple Mommy's shirt or smudge Mommy's glasses, reaching for her new talking caterpillar toy. She sounds like a cable repairman I had once in PG County, who grunted and sighed so much, even just climbing the stairs, that I almost asked him if he wanted me to call the paramedics. Abby smiles all the time, often with her mouth wide open, delight in her crinkled eyes, and when you stumble upon the treasure of a trick that makes her laugh -- oh, Lord! She laughs with a reserved little chuckle, but a huge grin, almost as if she's trying not to laugh but can't help it. Then suddenly it bubbles up and she laughs harder, her little eyes disappearing in her rosy apple cheeks. It kills me. I would do anything to make her laugh.
Right now Abby is very into the caterpillar, very into chewing anything crinkly, grabbing all kinds of different fabric. She loves examining and touching textures and patterns --I'm hoping she'll be into chaos theory, rather than fashion design-- and she likes 'reading' books. She loves other babies, including that mysterious, smiley one in the mirror, and she especially likes little girls, like her sister. The feeling is mutual, there: S sings at Abby, plays with her, gets right in her face and babbles sing-songy at her-- just like I do, actually. Abby adores holding her own bottle, although in her fierce determination to chow down she often pokes herself in the eye with the wet nipple; undeterred, she usually smears formula all over her face before she manages to find the right orifice. And she's ready to eat some food. She chews her toys, her books, her hands, her toes, her clothes, her blankets, her daddy, me . . . . and she grunts with the effort of it. She is adorable, lovable, gorgeous, hilarious. What an amazing blessing. No wonder women let men rule the world -- who can be bothered, when you have these entrancing creatures at home?
For their parts, my other kids are fascinating, too. My boy R loves jokes and tricks, holding his tummy and laughing himself off of chairs when he thinks he's said something funny; he never wants to go to T-ball but seems to enjoy it once he's there; he loves Little Gym classes, he loves learning the names of everything and how each thing works (he sprayed himself in the eyes with sunscreen the other day -- classic), and he loves to help in the kitchen. His face is starting to look older -- less like a baby, more like the older boy he'll be soon. He gets mad if you only read a story and don't stick around to cuddle (which is "laying next to you and talking"). Hmm . . . maybe he gets that from me.
S is a complex girl -- she raids my makeup, loves to dance and plays dress-up any time another girl is around, but she eats with her fingers, burps like a Teamster, and is so klutzy she seems to be trying out for the pratfall olympics. She loves that her dad is coaching her soccer team, loves to draw coupons, menus and pretend money, can be quite rude and ungovernable, but is also sweet and truly funny with a great sense of humor and generosity of spirit. She watches over her little brother almost as often as she antagonizes him; she can be a bit rigid in her sense of fairness and she is heartbroken and furious when unfairness prevails (as it often does when parents are around). She couldn't care less what she looks like as long as you listen to her, and, ideally, do what she says.
My husband is a wonderful character, but he wouldn't want me to write about him here, so I won't.
Abby is so adorable and fun. She is 5 months old now, and she just learned to roll over about a week ago. And she is a little rolling stone, let me tell you. She rolls back and forth and forth and back, wobbling to a stop in each direction like a little Weeble. She also grunts with the exertion of everything -- stuffing Mommy's hair in her mouth, leaning forward to crumple Mommy's shirt or smudge Mommy's glasses, reaching for her new talking caterpillar toy. She sounds like a cable repairman I had once in PG County, who grunted and sighed so much, even just climbing the stairs, that I almost asked him if he wanted me to call the paramedics. Abby smiles all the time, often with her mouth wide open, delight in her crinkled eyes, and when you stumble upon the treasure of a trick that makes her laugh -- oh, Lord! She laughs with a reserved little chuckle, but a huge grin, almost as if she's trying not to laugh but can't help it. Then suddenly it bubbles up and she laughs harder, her little eyes disappearing in her rosy apple cheeks. It kills me. I would do anything to make her laugh.
Right now Abby is very into the caterpillar, very into chewing anything crinkly, grabbing all kinds of different fabric. She loves examining and touching textures and patterns --I'm hoping she'll be into chaos theory, rather than fashion design-- and she likes 'reading' books. She loves other babies, including that mysterious, smiley one in the mirror, and she especially likes little girls, like her sister. The feeling is mutual, there: S sings at Abby, plays with her, gets right in her face and babbles sing-songy at her-- just like I do, actually. Abby adores holding her own bottle, although in her fierce determination to chow down she often pokes herself in the eye with the wet nipple; undeterred, she usually smears formula all over her face before she manages to find the right orifice. And she's ready to eat some food. She chews her toys, her books, her hands, her toes, her clothes, her blankets, her daddy, me . . . . and she grunts with the effort of it. She is adorable, lovable, gorgeous, hilarious. What an amazing blessing. No wonder women let men rule the world -- who can be bothered, when you have these entrancing creatures at home?
For their parts, my other kids are fascinating, too. My boy R loves jokes and tricks, holding his tummy and laughing himself off of chairs when he thinks he's said something funny; he never wants to go to T-ball but seems to enjoy it once he's there; he loves Little Gym classes, he loves learning the names of everything and how each thing works (he sprayed himself in the eyes with sunscreen the other day -- classic), and he loves to help in the kitchen. His face is starting to look older -- less like a baby, more like the older boy he'll be soon. He gets mad if you only read a story and don't stick around to cuddle (which is "laying next to you and talking"). Hmm . . . maybe he gets that from me.
S is a complex girl -- she raids my makeup, loves to dance and plays dress-up any time another girl is around, but she eats with her fingers, burps like a Teamster, and is so klutzy she seems to be trying out for the pratfall olympics. She loves that her dad is coaching her soccer team, loves to draw coupons, menus and pretend money, can be quite rude and ungovernable, but is also sweet and truly funny with a great sense of humor and generosity of spirit. She watches over her little brother almost as often as she antagonizes him; she can be a bit rigid in her sense of fairness and she is heartbroken and furious when unfairness prevails (as it often does when parents are around). She couldn't care less what she looks like as long as you listen to her, and, ideally, do what she says.
My husband is a wonderful character, but he wouldn't want me to write about him here, so I won't.
The Promised More Later
You know one thing that sucks about walking so slowly? Getting rained on.
Anyway, sorry to keep you in suspense. So, the news is that I've spoken to the neurosurgeon, Dr. Witham, since my last substantive posting (which recounted my conversation with the neurologist, Dr. Maragakis). You may not agree with my assessment that it's at least partly good news, but then, what you think is not the most important thing, is it?
Dr. Witham said that after reviewing the MRI and the report, he felt almost as if he and the radiologist were looking at different MRIs. Most importantly, he thinks that the area where my surgery was, C 5-6 and 6-7, is "actually nicely decompressed" and that there is no need for additional surgery there. He agrees that the spinal cord injury remains, but he thinks there is plenty of space there for healing to take place. That's the good news.
He noted that the radiologist hadn't compared this MRI to the last one, so he did that while I was on the phone (they have great technology at Hopkins -- all of your tests are in the computer, so your doc can pull anything up at any terminal). Dr Witham said that levels C3-4 and 4-5 do look worse than they did on the last MRI (which would have been slightly over a year ago, before the surgery), but that right now they are not bad enough to require surgery. That seems like bad news tempered with good news.
He said that I have the worst neck he's ever seen in someone my age.
Still, no surgery now. To make a long conversation short: I might still get somewhat better. I will need surgery again at some point. I can sleep on my stomach (yay!), swim, and do cardio-type exercise, but I should lay off any heavy-duty weight training (like curling a 20-pound baby, probably). I'm supposed to see him and Dr. Maragakis again in August, unless in the meantime I suffer any new numbness, new weakness, or falls, in which case I should let them know and probably see them sooner.
There is some element of good news here, of course. I just feel kinda bad about it today.
I'm quitting the acupuncturist, too. I haven't even had a chance to write about acupuncture and Chinese herbs, but that's part of the problem. The acupuncturist is a 45-minute drive away, the appointments are anywhere from an hour to two hours, twice a week, and she also wants me to take Chinese herbal capsules and smear Chinese herbal pesto smeg all over me which stains my clothes and smells atrocious. It also doesn't seem to help me-- or, at least, it hasn't yet. I think this could be because I have a skeptical attitude. I try not to, and it's really very unlike me, but I can't help it. So I'm going to spend my money on a gym membership so I can do the pool exercises my PT recommends. Ironically, I'm not saving that much money -- my insurance company pays more for acupuncture than they do for mental health care.
I'm tired.
Anyway, sorry to keep you in suspense. So, the news is that I've spoken to the neurosurgeon, Dr. Witham, since my last substantive posting (which recounted my conversation with the neurologist, Dr. Maragakis). You may not agree with my assessment that it's at least partly good news, but then, what you think is not the most important thing, is it?
Dr. Witham said that after reviewing the MRI and the report, he felt almost as if he and the radiologist were looking at different MRIs. Most importantly, he thinks that the area where my surgery was, C 5-6 and 6-7, is "actually nicely decompressed" and that there is no need for additional surgery there. He agrees that the spinal cord injury remains, but he thinks there is plenty of space there for healing to take place. That's the good news.
He noted that the radiologist hadn't compared this MRI to the last one, so he did that while I was on the phone (they have great technology at Hopkins -- all of your tests are in the computer, so your doc can pull anything up at any terminal). Dr Witham said that levels C3-4 and 4-5 do look worse than they did on the last MRI (which would have been slightly over a year ago, before the surgery), but that right now they are not bad enough to require surgery. That seems like bad news tempered with good news.
He said that I have the worst neck he's ever seen in someone my age.
Still, no surgery now. To make a long conversation short: I might still get somewhat better. I will need surgery again at some point. I can sleep on my stomach (yay!), swim, and do cardio-type exercise, but I should lay off any heavy-duty weight training (like curling a 20-pound baby, probably). I'm supposed to see him and Dr. Maragakis again in August, unless in the meantime I suffer any new numbness, new weakness, or falls, in which case I should let them know and probably see them sooner.
There is some element of good news here, of course. I just feel kinda bad about it today.
I'm quitting the acupuncturist, too. I haven't even had a chance to write about acupuncture and Chinese herbs, but that's part of the problem. The acupuncturist is a 45-minute drive away, the appointments are anywhere from an hour to two hours, twice a week, and she also wants me to take Chinese herbal capsules and smear Chinese herbal pesto smeg all over me which stains my clothes and smells atrocious. It also doesn't seem to help me-- or, at least, it hasn't yet. I think this could be because I have a skeptical attitude. I try not to, and it's really very unlike me, but I can't help it. So I'm going to spend my money on a gym membership so I can do the pool exercises my PT recommends. Ironically, I'm not saving that much money -- my insurance company pays more for acupuncture than they do for mental health care.
I'm tired.
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