Our little wonder was diagnosed a little over a month ago with a hemangioma- a benign tumor- under her right eyelid. Not a terribly uncommon condition in children, but because of it's location and its threat to her developing eye and eyesight, it needed to be treated with medication. Unfortunately, to begin her treatment, she had to be admitted to the hospital for at least a 48 hour stay, so she could be monitored. Fortunately my wife and were allowed to stay with her for the duration.
I've been in the hospital for out-patient procedures, and for a few days with my wife when our little girl was born- never really an enjoyable time. But nothing compares, nor adds to the trials of the process as when the patient is your child. Adding to the heartbreak, are all the other children you see- and their parents wearing looks of concern and emotional exhaustion. Even with all the worry and nervousness I was experiencing, even with the all the wires attached to her little body, it made me really grateful that my little girl wasn't there recovering from major surgery, or wandering through the halls with an IV drip following close behind, or in worse condition. It was all there on display in our little corner of the ward.
(Emotionally unattached rant:) Speaking of those we shared or little corner with- and on a lighter note- and not to pat ourselves on the back- it appears as though my wife and were the only people who seemed to have any respect for those around us. These poor sick little children's cries paled in comparison to the noise made by their adult companions. People very loudly speaking on their phones, or talking to each other as if they were in separate zip codes despite the fact they were sitting next to or very near each other. There was a posted "Quiet Time from 1-3pm" sign that was never observed. And overheard at 3 am one morning was some guy saying, "Man this place is like a ghost town," with the subtlety of a lawn mower in a library. It's three o'clock in the morning dude, SHUT THE F UP. I understand everybody has their own ways of dealing with stressful situations, but is it too much to ask that they do it in a quieter fashion? It is a hospital after all, not the mall. When I'm trying to keep my daughter calm after being poked and prodded- I don't need to hear somebody talking about their leaky kitchen sink. Emoting over the state of your infirmed child is understood, discoursing at volume about your plumbing is not.(End of rant)
The greatest news came when we learned that she was responding well to the treatment, and that we'd be going home today. Her treatment was only just beginning, but now it could continue in the privacy of our home- away from the hubbub of others' chaos, and away from the reminders of how much worse it could be.
I'm glad that at only 11 weeks old, this isn't an experience she'll ever remember. I'm glad that she's too young to know that she should be afraid. And I'm filled with unbelievable gratitude that we're back in our own beds tonight. At one point this morning, I looked down in the eyes of my little girl and asked her to promise me she'd never be sick enough where she'd have to come back to this place. A promise I know she doesn't really have control over- but nonetheless a promise I hope with all my heart she keeps.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Confessions of a new dad, vol 3: Ready, set... wait!
There was a pizza party/baby shower for a co-worker of mine at work today. He's having a little girl too, and also like with us it's his first. So doing my best grizzled-veteran (of just over two months, mind you), I imparted some advice. Eat that pizza while it's still hot.
It's just another thing that if you think about it, it's like- of course it's hard to sit down and eat a meal when there's a tiny baby involved. But you gotta think, well the baby's gotta sleep at some point, we'll eat then. The thing you need to figure out on your own is that babies are born equipped with built-in heat-seeking sensors that work as such: If it's warm and I'm not eating it- than neither are you. If I'm asleep and dinner is ready to eat- I will wake up. If I am already awake, I will fuss and demand your attention until the food has cooled considerably. At which point you may go about your business, and "enjoy" your meal.
Now luckily, with two parental units, one gets a warmer dinner than the other. And I think my wife and do a pretty good job of switching off. I eat, you tend to the babe... you eat, I wrestle the child. Re-heat and repeat. It works, and it has to because dinner at 10pm on a Tuesday night is not high on my to-do list. And on those few nights where the sensors get jammed somehow and we enjoy a warm meal together at the same time- we feast like... well, like normal people. Grateful, normal people.
It's just another thing that if you think about it, it's like- of course it's hard to sit down and eat a meal when there's a tiny baby involved. But you gotta think, well the baby's gotta sleep at some point, we'll eat then. The thing you need to figure out on your own is that babies are born equipped with built-in heat-seeking sensors that work as such: If it's warm and I'm not eating it- than neither are you. If I'm asleep and dinner is ready to eat- I will wake up. If I am already awake, I will fuss and demand your attention until the food has cooled considerably. At which point you may go about your business, and "enjoy" your meal.
Now luckily, with two parental units, one gets a warmer dinner than the other. And I think my wife and do a pretty good job of switching off. I eat, you tend to the babe... you eat, I wrestle the child. Re-heat and repeat. It works, and it has to because dinner at 10pm on a Tuesday night is not high on my to-do list. And on those few nights where the sensors get jammed somehow and we enjoy a warm meal together at the same time- we feast like... well, like normal people. Grateful, normal people.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Confessions of a new dad, vol. 2: First time for everything
Having a new baby in your life, you encounter firsts everyday. Her first bath, her first smile, the first time she squeezed your hand- even the less desirable but no less memorable first time she poops/pees/spits up on you- all go on the list of new things you experience thanks to this new little bundle of joy. All of these things remind you that you're a parent now, and brings on the joy/stress/wonderment/fear that this little one is going to be completely dependent on you for some time to come.
Which brings me to another first which really made it all hit home. Her first bill. A medical bill, addressed to this little girl, not yet but a few weeks on this earth. And the joy and wonderment more than slightly gives way to the stress and fear when you realize that this dependency isn't just going be an emotional transaction. And yes- we all know how much it costs to raise a child these days- but it's suddenly different when it's black and white (and maybe a little red due to the hospital's logo). It's as if there's a letter attached stating: You owe such and such amount, and guess what? It's just the beginning, pops.
I realize the time will come where she'll pop in the room while I am watching TV or penning my memoirs, and squeak: "Hey Dad, can I have twenty bucks?" But we're not there yet. And yes, we've already spent more than the GDP of some third-world countries on various needs and supplies for her arrival and sustenance, but it's just different when it comes in bill form.
There's one thing I can always count when I wake up in the morning (be it 8am, 4am...): and that is I will get another day of firsts from from my little girl. I know that they can't all be the warm and fuzzy kind- yet part of me wants a little time a buffer of say a few months, to retain the innocent and sun-shiney side of child-rearing. Ah hell, if I'm asking for time- gimme a few decades instead- maybe by that point I'll be ready for the slings and arrows.
Which brings me to another first which really made it all hit home. Her first bill. A medical bill, addressed to this little girl, not yet but a few weeks on this earth. And the joy and wonderment more than slightly gives way to the stress and fear when you realize that this dependency isn't just going be an emotional transaction. And yes- we all know how much it costs to raise a child these days- but it's suddenly different when it's black and white (and maybe a little red due to the hospital's logo). It's as if there's a letter attached stating: You owe such and such amount, and guess what? It's just the beginning, pops.
I realize the time will come where she'll pop in the room while I am watching TV or penning my memoirs, and squeak: "Hey Dad, can I have twenty bucks?" But we're not there yet. And yes, we've already spent more than the GDP of some third-world countries on various needs and supplies for her arrival and sustenance, but it's just different when it comes in bill form.
There's one thing I can always count when I wake up in the morning (be it 8am, 4am...): and that is I will get another day of firsts from from my little girl. I know that they can't all be the warm and fuzzy kind- yet part of me wants a little time a buffer of say a few months, to retain the innocent and sun-shiney side of child-rearing. Ah hell, if I'm asking for time- gimme a few decades instead- maybe by that point I'll be ready for the slings and arrows.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Confessions of a new dad, volume one - D(elivery) Day
After months of staring at ultra-sound images of the contents of my wife's uterus, I knew I would see the contents of what had been contained in the uterus- namely the baby- however I was unaware that, due to the c-section, I would see the uterus itself.
During the surgery, I was positioned at my wife's head- safely tucked behind a curtain. With the various sounds of surgery taking place, I was more than a little interested in what was taking place on the other side. "Am I allowed to peek?" I asked the anesthesiologist, after he peered over the curtain. To which he quickly responded, "No." Oh well.
Fast forward to-- our daughter's out, and I am fawning over her at the warming table- taking pictures and getting acquainted with her while they clean her up and such. I cut the umbilical cord- which surprises me how very like a nice thick piece of calamari it is in its consistency. Grilled, of course, but really high grade calamari- not the cheap stuff you'd just throw in the deep fat fryer- but I digress.
I happen to look back over toward the operating table where, apparently, all the kings horses and all the king's men (and women and doctors and nurses- as it were) are putting my wife back together again. I notice that in the doctor's hands were what looked like guts. You know, guts: Freddy Krueger slashes the guy open, and you see his guts? Guts- that's what it looked like. "Is that the placenta?" I ask, assuming that what has been taken out of my wife were only things that were staying out. "No, it's her uterus," replied the doctor casually, at which point I was told by the nurse to keep my eyes the other direction, lest I pass out on the OR floor. Show over, I obliged, although whilst I snapped more pics of the baby, I wondered what other interesting photo ops lay just a few feet behind me.
If only I had been quick enough on the shutter- perhaps I could have been able to post a picture of my wife's guts, er uterus, on Facebook or something. She could have used it as her profile picture, with the caption, "my guts" or something cleverer like, "me, on the inside." But again, I digress.
Fatherhood begins, and a long list of things I probably never thought I saw or say or do. It only took me 6 weeks to get this post completed- so hopefully I'll post again before she goes off to college.
During the surgery, I was positioned at my wife's head- safely tucked behind a curtain. With the various sounds of surgery taking place, I was more than a little interested in what was taking place on the other side. "Am I allowed to peek?" I asked the anesthesiologist, after he peered over the curtain. To which he quickly responded, "No." Oh well.
Fast forward to-- our daughter's out, and I am fawning over her at the warming table- taking pictures and getting acquainted with her while they clean her up and such. I cut the umbilical cord- which surprises me how very like a nice thick piece of calamari it is in its consistency. Grilled, of course, but really high grade calamari- not the cheap stuff you'd just throw in the deep fat fryer- but I digress.
I happen to look back over toward the operating table where, apparently, all the kings horses and all the king's men (and women and doctors and nurses- as it were) are putting my wife back together again. I notice that in the doctor's hands were what looked like guts. You know, guts: Freddy Krueger slashes the guy open, and you see his guts? Guts- that's what it looked like. "Is that the placenta?" I ask, assuming that what has been taken out of my wife were only things that were staying out. "No, it's her uterus," replied the doctor casually, at which point I was told by the nurse to keep my eyes the other direction, lest I pass out on the OR floor. Show over, I obliged, although whilst I snapped more pics of the baby, I wondered what other interesting photo ops lay just a few feet behind me.
If only I had been quick enough on the shutter- perhaps I could have been able to post a picture of my wife's guts, er uterus, on Facebook or something. She could have used it as her profile picture, with the caption, "my guts" or something cleverer like, "me, on the inside." But again, I digress.
Fatherhood begins, and a long list of things I probably never thought I saw or say or do. It only took me 6 weeks to get this post completed- so hopefully I'll post again before she goes off to college.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Out of the Woods?
Tiger Woods made his first public appearance and statement today after what you could probably characterize as "a couple of bad months." Tiger seemed contrite, visibly shaken, and sincere in his apology. Now begins the veritable fire-storm of coverage- What did he say? How did he say it? Was he sincere enough? I watched a little of his statement, and you know what? Good enough for me. And you know why? Because really, it has nothing to do with me.
Let me be clear about something: Tiger Woods owes the media and general public absolutely nothing. His wife and family? Absolutely. Friends and close supporters? Sure. But for any of us that follow or cover golf or professional sports of any kind, to stand in judgment of this guy seems foolish. He is after all, a human being. I don't care how much money he makes. I don't care what kind of image he put out, or has had put upon him- he is subject to the same issues and problems that any of us can have. It doesn't mean he's a good person, or that I feel sorry for him- I'm just saying that if I, as human being, am not immune to the emotional challenges of life, then why, just because he's a public figure, should he be? Anybody who feels different is living on another planet, or perhaps should maybe work on some of their own issues.
I like watching Tiger play golf. He's an amazing talent. The fact that he is an imperfect being does not sway my perception of him as a golfer. I will continue to watch him, when he returns to play. If you don't want to buy the products he hocks, if you don't want to watch him or root for him because of is transgressions- that is certainly your prerogative. But for anyone who judges him as a person, because of some sort of unreachable ideal that was projected on him, needs only look in mirror before the casting of stones.
I'm the type that's willing to forgive. And it's easy to do, when the person really hasn't done anything to me in the first place. Also, not to put marital infidelity on some sort of sliding scale of wrong-doing, but let's face it- he's not the first guy to cheat on his wife, and he won't be the last. He got caught, and it seems he's taking steps to repair the damage done to his family. He shouldn't get a pass, but he also shouldn't be scorned- least of all by the general public- because bottom line, it's really none of our business.
Let me be clear about something: Tiger Woods owes the media and general public absolutely nothing. His wife and family? Absolutely. Friends and close supporters? Sure. But for any of us that follow or cover golf or professional sports of any kind, to stand in judgment of this guy seems foolish. He is after all, a human being. I don't care how much money he makes. I don't care what kind of image he put out, or has had put upon him- he is subject to the same issues and problems that any of us can have. It doesn't mean he's a good person, or that I feel sorry for him- I'm just saying that if I, as human being, am not immune to the emotional challenges of life, then why, just because he's a public figure, should he be? Anybody who feels different is living on another planet, or perhaps should maybe work on some of their own issues.
I like watching Tiger play golf. He's an amazing talent. The fact that he is an imperfect being does not sway my perception of him as a golfer. I will continue to watch him, when he returns to play. If you don't want to buy the products he hocks, if you don't want to watch him or root for him because of is transgressions- that is certainly your prerogative. But for anyone who judges him as a person, because of some sort of unreachable ideal that was projected on him, needs only look in mirror before the casting of stones.
I'm the type that's willing to forgive. And it's easy to do, when the person really hasn't done anything to me in the first place. Also, not to put marital infidelity on some sort of sliding scale of wrong-doing, but let's face it- he's not the first guy to cheat on his wife, and he won't be the last. He got caught, and it seems he's taking steps to repair the damage done to his family. He shouldn't get a pass, but he also shouldn't be scorned- least of all by the general public- because bottom line, it's really none of our business.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Groundhog Day Nonsense
I'm not feeling it.
The idea of allowing an over-grown rodent to predict the near meteorological future isn't flying with me. I get it- believe me- I get it. The pomp and circumstance of hauling this groundhog - who no longer lives in the ground, by the way- out every year, the ceremony, the pictures... it's very dear, and I'm sure he enjoys it immensely.
So legend has it- if the groundhog comes out and sees his shadow, he gets scared and goes back in and it's six more weeks of winter. I've got a problem with this. If he sees his shadow, then there's gotta be some semblance of sun out, so how does that constitute more wintry days ahead of us? Don't insult my intelligence, or the intelligence of groundhogs. There must be some sort of international allegiance (or at least a Facebook page) for groundhogs who are furious over the fact that human kind has invented a scenario in which these hogs of the ground don't understand the basic principles of seasons; or that they are such cowardly creatures as to be scared into six weeks of self-imposed imprisonment by the sight of their own shadow. I mean, honestly. Honestly.
I would love for one uppity groundhog to walk out, and declare "It's February 2nd, of course there's about six more weeks of winter left. Look at a calendar, douche bags." And then walk back into his domicile with his middle claw extended in the air for all to see. Such a groundhog would have my admiration.
But until then, it's Punxutawney Phil, every February 2nd forever and ever- or at least until the groundhogs rise up and destroy us.
The idea of allowing an over-grown rodent to predict the near meteorological future isn't flying with me. I get it- believe me- I get it. The pomp and circumstance of hauling this groundhog - who no longer lives in the ground, by the way- out every year, the ceremony, the pictures... it's very dear, and I'm sure he enjoys it immensely.
So legend has it- if the groundhog comes out and sees his shadow, he gets scared and goes back in and it's six more weeks of winter. I've got a problem with this. If he sees his shadow, then there's gotta be some semblance of sun out, so how does that constitute more wintry days ahead of us? Don't insult my intelligence, or the intelligence of groundhogs. There must be some sort of international allegiance (or at least a Facebook page) for groundhogs who are furious over the fact that human kind has invented a scenario in which these hogs of the ground don't understand the basic principles of seasons; or that they are such cowardly creatures as to be scared into six weeks of self-imposed imprisonment by the sight of their own shadow. I mean, honestly. Honestly.
I would love for one uppity groundhog to walk out, and declare "It's February 2nd, of course there's about six more weeks of winter left. Look at a calendar, douche bags." And then walk back into his domicile with his middle claw extended in the air for all to see. Such a groundhog would have my admiration.
But until then, it's Punxutawney Phil, every February 2nd forever and ever- or at least until the groundhogs rise up and destroy us.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The year we made contact?
2010. I mean- man! 2000 and 10. Twenty-ten. Geez Louise. Remember when that number was just total science fiction? Flying cars, vacations to the moon, not to mention the 1984 movie: "2010: The Year We Make Contact" - the title of which having something to do with making contact with a lost spacecraft, as well as making new discoveries on the moons of Jupiter (that's if memory serves, as it's probably been 20 years since I've seen the movie). And while flying cars have yet to hit the market, and outer-space trips are available only to the mega-rich, I do believe we are still waiting on that whole "making contact" thing.
Not to say we are out of touch, per se- Facebook and text messaging and the world wide web itself keep us abreast of even the menial details of each other's lives: Who-had-what for breakfast, or who's-wearing-what on which red carpet... we what's going on, for better or worse. But this isn't really one of those, "how connected are we really?" kinds of pieces, so I digress.
Recently, while trying to resolve a matter of supreme annoyance in regards to a present I had ordered for my wife for Christmas- I did what anyone might do these days. Go to the website I ordered from, and look for the "Contact Us" link to try and right the situation. Now with all the technology at all of fingertips these days, this should make the whole Contacting-us thing a simple transaction. But, no it's- "press 1 for this, press two for that." Or in this case, it was "leave a message and we'll get back to you within 48 hours..." Or for faster service, "visit our website or send us an email, and we'll return your message within 24 hours." And while these response times are extreme for nowadays, the actual the fact that the contacting part of "contact us" seems harder than ever is the norm. (At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man) There is no contact when it comes to customer service- and some prefer that way these days- but how hard is to make eye contact with someone across the counter at the drug store. If that's too much to ask for, then hoping for a little virtual-face time for an internet or phone transaction is probably a pipe dream. So perhaps we just change "Contact us" to- "See if we care" or "You've got to be kidding."
2010 has brought us to a world that is indeed uber-connected, but we've got a long way to go before we've actually made contact. Sorrowfully, this has turned into one those "How connected are we really?" kinds of pieces, so feel free to stop reading now.
Not to say we are out of touch, per se- Facebook and text messaging and the world wide web itself keep us abreast of even the menial details of each other's lives: Who-had-what for breakfast, or who's-wearing-what on which red carpet... we what's going on, for better or worse. But this isn't really one of those, "how connected are we really?" kinds of pieces, so I digress.
Recently, while trying to resolve a matter of supreme annoyance in regards to a present I had ordered for my wife for Christmas- I did what anyone might do these days. Go to the website I ordered from, and look for the "Contact Us" link to try and right the situation. Now with all the technology at all of fingertips these days, this should make the whole Contacting-us thing a simple transaction. But, no it's- "press 1 for this, press two for that." Or in this case, it was "leave a message and we'll get back to you within 48 hours..." Or for faster service, "visit our website or send us an email, and we'll return your message within 24 hours." And while these response times are extreme for nowadays, the actual the fact that the contacting part of "contact us" seems harder than ever is the norm. (At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man) There is no contact when it comes to customer service- and some prefer that way these days- but how hard is to make eye contact with someone across the counter at the drug store. If that's too much to ask for, then hoping for a little virtual-face time for an internet or phone transaction is probably a pipe dream. So perhaps we just change "Contact us" to- "See if we care" or "You've got to be kidding."
2010 has brought us to a world that is indeed uber-connected, but we've got a long way to go before we've actually made contact. Sorrowfully, this has turned into one those "How connected are we really?" kinds of pieces, so feel free to stop reading now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)