Nearing the End

Maya is nearing the end of the the road to recovery.

Last night, she slept through the night for the first time since her surgery. In the beginning we were warned that most kids require seven to ten days before they resume a normal schedule. Day 8 seems to be the magic day for Maya.

She's still tired. She's still a little sore. Thankfully, though, her energy is much higher than it has been. Today she has devoured two regular meals at the table, in contrast to a week's worth of small bites taken limply from the sofa.

We even played at a nearby park for much of the morning!

For a routine surgery, this tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy has been more difficult than I anticipated. Maya was heartbreakingly sad from about Thursday to Monday.

"Will I ever feel better," she asked mournfully and frequently.

She worked herself into hysterics each time she took the vicodin, making me feel like some sort of horrible drug pusher.

"Come on, take it," I'd say as I passed the medicine cup into her trembling hand. It was traumatic for all of us.

We are lucky, I know, that this was our first brush with significant medical procedures. It was minor, routine, and almost certainly for the best. And after a long, physically and emotionally taxing week, it is finally behind us!

Photo Friday - The Patient Becomes the Doctor

If only for an hour! She seems to have more energy today, thankfully.

And garden produce becomes a roasted vegetable tart:

Magic Igloo of Convalescence

On day 3 of her tonsillectomy recovery, Maya is one tired, sad little girl.

We were told to expect that. Apparently the swelling and pain typically worsens until day three, but it is still frustrating. She is eating much less, moving very little, and unable to tolerate Elliot's attempts to play with her.

Elliot, though still a little run down, is ready to play. She tried to start a dance party to the theme song of Caillou, but her sister said no. She tried to have a tea party with her babies in the play room, but from all the way in the living room, her sister said no. She tried to swipe a bite of popsicle, but her sister burst into tears!

So now we are upstairs, playing dollhouse. Every few minutes, Maya plays a tune on the xylophone, summoning me to help get a new show or a popsicle. Every few minutes, Elliot wants to check on "Poa Maya."

It's been a busy day.
Also, my pantry is overflowing.

This picture represents about one tenth of the garden produce in my house. Most of it is in drawers and bags and tupperware in the fridge. Good thing my mom just donated her canner to the cause. I'll let you know how my first efforts at canning turn out.

In the meantime, in spite of all of our sickness and the oppressively humid heat outside, I've been cooking: gyros with tszatsziki and veggies; refrigerator pickles; Mediterranean pepper salad; zucchini bread; and tapioca pudding (which isn't garden related, but is a good throat soother).

So, here in the Magic Igloo of Convalescence comforters are still comforting, a hot oven presents no fear, and no one knows that outside it is 90 degrees and 90% humid.

It's been a

From the Trenches

You won't believe the latest turn of events!

In all honesty, Maya is recovering really well. She had a rough night, mostly because the full doses of her pain killer upset her stomach... a lot. As a result, we backed it off to half doses, and spent a good hour in the wee hours cleaning the carpet. Oh well....

Thankfully, Maya impressed us all this morning. She has spent her time watching movies and sending Grandma after tasty bits from the kitchen. She has eaten non stop, taking about one bite of each dish (from yogurt to peanut butter and jelly to Campbell's Princess soup) and enjoying a Popsicle or two in between.

So why was Grandma doing all the heavy lifting this morning?

About 11 last night, Elliot woke up with a fever. She needed more comfort last night than Maya did. This morning, one look at her steamy, flushed, lethargic little body, and it was pretty clear that something was wrong..

Can you guess what ironic malady stole my baby's energy just when I counted on her to amuse herself a bit?

That's right: STREP THROAT!

So I am mothering from the trenches.

I'm on my own with two girls on the mend, managing various medication schedules and dosages, shifting Elle from one arm to the next, thankful that I've been lifting weights lately.

We're doing fine, of course. The chaos is just comical enough to keep me laughing. They'll both be healthy in a few days, I'm sure, and until then, we'll watch as much Kipper and Wild Thornberrys as they want.

It does make me wonder, though, if our efforts to keep Maya entertained over the weekend at the zoo and the water park may not have been the best idea.

My 4 Year Old's Tonsillectomy

This may be a routine surgery with few risks, but when it happens to your own child, nothing about it feels routine. Maya's tonsillectomy and adnoidectomy went exactly as the doctor predicted it would. Very routine. But it was difficult for us all.

Below is the first in a series of five posts from her week long recovery. It was a fairly miserable week, and as the doctor predicted, days 3 and 4 were the worst. She didn't feel good enough to play at our local park until day seven, and even then it was brief. Her refrain all week was a hoarse, "When will I feel better, Mama," alternating with, "When will this stop hurting." It was tough on everybody, but the next winter, our whole family was significantly healthier. In the end, it was worth it.

The surgery was a resounding success! Of course, that simply means that our four-year-old is now missing one set of tonsils and one set of adenoids. The recovery process stretches before us uncertainly.

I'm not sure how this day's story begins. Probably with Maya, at 5:30 AM.

"No, I am not getting my tonsils out." She declared sleepily. Then a moment later, after appraising our level of resolve, she made a quiet, mournful suggestion. "Well, can I bring Elliot? I want my sister."

Then we were in the "play room" at the hospital. The three of us laughed together at the antics of Micky Mouse and Donald Duck after the forms were filled out. Our collective mood was nervous, but light. That is, until the 2 and a half year old was taken back for his surgery.

"Why is he crying," Maya asked, her own tears making her voice quaver with both empathy for the little guy she had been talking to and fear for herself.

The doctors took one look at her, and offered her a very strong pre-surgery cocktail. Her words were slurring even as they peeled her off of me. That was a rough moment. I knew it would be, but there is no way to prepare for the unique combination of helplessness and guilt that smothered me at the moment.

The staff at Unity was fantastic: caring, helpful, and efficient. Dr. Yoon himself was a very calming person, in spite of his very forthright assertion that this week would be tough. For her and for us. According to him, the sweeling and pain typically increases until about the third day, and they don't really "turn the corner" and start perking up until the seventh. Yikes!

We were only away from Maya for about 20 minutes, most of which were spent taking shots of weak coffee in tiny Styrofoam cups. Then, after much back and forth about who should go in with her (Joe and his calm, gentle nature might weather the storm better, but I have the long hair she loves to play with), I joined Maya in Recovery Room 1. For thirty minutes I sang and cooed and rocked my baby, trying to calm her near-hyperventilating terror.

Later Joe joined us in Recovery Room 2, where the nurse gave her something to "calm her down" plus oxygen plus the vicodin. She couldn't calm down; she just passed out. Poor thing.

All of that, more than anyone wants to read, and, after a 7:55 AM surgery, we were home by 10:15 AM.

It was the second time I've been shocked that the Unity staff let me take Maya home under the assumption that I could handle it... the first time, of course, she was a new born.

The rest of the day has been nerve-wracking. She fights against taking her medicine, which tastes strongly medicinal in spite of its fruit punch flavoring. Adding jello powder to it seems to make it go down a little better (in the tradition of Mary Poppins).

All told, she is doing about as expected. She has slept a ton and hardly had anything to eat or drink (which we're working on correcting). It's a hard process on all of us, but of course, she'll be fine before we know it, and she is already breathing better!