27 March 2007

Escape Route

"If I could just grab that curtain and swing my way out of here..."

17 March 2007

Lag Time

Last night, Big A and a friend were quietly passing time in the playroom. This made me nervous, so I popped in to check on them.

ME: How's it going?
Big A and Friend: Good
ME: What are you guys doing? (They appeared to be working feverishly on some sort of project that involved yarn, stacks of cards and empty tubes of paper towels)
Big A and Friend: Playing/Nothing
ME: OK, well let me know if you need anything.

Before I left the room, I glanced at the sign that they had hanging on the wall by them. It read:

"Hamster Setup Experimentation"

I got about two steps down the hallway, when my thought processor finally warmed up and fired sparks to the "warning" portion of my brain. It sounded like this:

Wait. (I stopped dead in my tracks)
We have a hamster.
They wouldn't.
"Hamster experimentation"???
Go check.
No, ridiculous thought.

ME: Um, what does that sign mean?
Big A: Nothing, we're playing
ME: Where exactly is our hamster?
Big A and Friend: Look at each other and pause a second too long
ME: Where is it?

Tube begins rolling suspiciously off desk.

Big A: We're playing experiment

A second glance at the desk does indeed indicate some elementary form of testing: the cards aren't stacked haphazardly, but in something reminiscent of an obstacle course. The tubes have sunflower seed and corn at the ends of them.

Defeatedly, the hamster is relinquished.

ME: (to furry creature in my hand) I'm sorry

Hamster: You're getting slow. You're lucky I have no capability whatsoever to contact PETA. Do you know how tiring it is to keep going back and forth in the same pattern, seeming to never please those you are scurrying for, wondering what the big picture is and when the exhaustion and running will end?

ME: You have no idea.

06 March 2007

Of Doctors and Diapers

It's hard to post from the bottom end of a pile of tissues, cough syrup and anti-biotics. We were all sick (again) last week, and poor Little A ended up in the hospital, on top of getting some test results back that were less than favorable.

Since Little A's been born, I've dealt with more than my fair share of doctors and nurses, and the people that they employ. No matter how many interactions I have with them, I'm always surprised at the either lack of compassion or extreme kindness that they demonstrate, because the scale seems to tip to the exaggerated in that profession, and I'm still unsure why.

When I took Little A in at 3:00 in the morning, the ER was deserted. There wasn't anyone at the registration desks, so I wandered back to where I heard laughing voices. The person that "greeted" me, said, "Can I help you" I told her that I needed to register in the ER. She then asked, "Does someone need to be seen?" I looked at her for about three seconds, then just said, "yes". What I was really thinking was:

"Let's briefly review the facts. You are employed in an emergency room. I don't believe that appointments are typically scheduled. It's 3 in the morning. My child is screaming. I'm standing in your hallway, saying I need to register. Do you really need help deducing if someone needs to be seen"?

Fortunately, the doctor that saw Little A was wonderful. He was very concerned, thoroughly explained the tests that needed to be done, and even stayed after his shift to make sure that he personally spoke to the physician taking over. He was such a rarity in the medical field, I wanted to kiss him and beg him to stay with us, but instead I penned him a note and sent it in the mail to thank him for his kindness. In my past experience, men shy away from women that look like they might not have showered for a day or so, lack make-up and have stains on their sweater that could very possibly be vomit, no matter their pleadings or affections.

My friend S was the first to arrive and sit with us. Lucky for her, she got first-hand experience in the stupid question/statement saga. Here are some samplings:

"Is she waking up"? Asked by a nurse, while Little A was coming out from under a sedative and screaming so loud we could barely hear anything over the noise. (Note: Little A's eyes were open)

"Does she have a substance abuse problem"? I didn't even answer that question, I just stared at her.

"Abuse alcohol"? Again, blank stare.

"So that would be her sister"? When I told her that Little A lived with myself and her sibling, Big A. I actually used the word sibling, which apparently isn't indicative of "sister".

"Is your partner back"? Question posed to S as she held Little A while I went home to pack bags and shower.

"You're fine, quit fussing". Nurse talking to Little A. She wasn't "fussing". She was screaming and her fever was 106. She'd been catheterized, poked, had barium put into her body via an enema, strapped to x-ray tables, temperature monitored rectally, vomited, and was ripping out her hair and grasping her stomach. I'm sure that a jury of 6 or more mothers would have acquitted me.

Ultimately, after yet another hospital stay, we finally went home and all was well again in the kingdom. I choose to focus on that rather than the disaster that is my castle. (When do I get servants?)