Finding the Right Antibiotic Bullet

Looks like we've finally located the right antibiotic for Little M's seemingly indestructable bacteria. Took a few tries, much to our chagrin, but think we have the right thing now. Still day by day, still in the hospital, but he's in a much better mood and adapting to looking like a scene from a sci-fi film. Tomorrow, he has one more draconian medical procedure to determine the anatomical issue that may be causing the vulnerability to infection. I'll be bringing whiskey; for him and us.

More importantly, we've kept the clowns out of the room.

By the way, I don't watch too much Grey's Anatomy, but enough for me to think that all the medical personnel are doing it in the broom closet all the time. They always come in looking disheveled and with a tell-tale glow. I shudder to think how the clowns are involved.

To erase that picture from your mind, here's our little guy hopefully on the mend:

Pedialyte, laser beams, and Clown Rounds

Fast update on the Mr. M kidney infection scare situation of 2008.

We're at the University of Chicago, Comer Children's Hospital. Fever is going up and down and Mr. M is still feeling quite funky, but overall is doing better. He's taking some pedialyte (which is seriously gross) and a bottle of formula here and there. Tubes, monitors, and lasers beams are still being applied all over his body. May have to have surgery to repair underdeveloped bladder that could be causing the vulnerability to kidney infection. Daddy got one smile today; he keeps looking at me like this event is bound to come up in therapy, oh let's say 10 to 20 years from now. Not sure when we're coming home since it's an hour by hour, day by day situation where his fever has to stabilize over a period of time before they can release us. We're not quite there yet, but hopefully by the beginning of the week (Mon or Tues).

Thank you to everyone for your love and support, emails, phone calls, and messages - it is hugely appreciated by all of us. This has been one scary m*ther f*ck888 ride (please see post about my potty mouth below). And a big shout out to Tracy, Jeff and Samuel - Samuel and Mr. M slept next to each other at the care center in Ethiopia and seem to have plotted hospital stays at the same time. As Tracy mentioned, we have to revoke their blackberry privileges so as to unravel the conspiracy to kill us via stress.

Now on a more scary note, Comer Hospital is designed specifically for children. This is why I am more than perplexed by their choice to let clowns loose on the floors. That's right: clowns. They call it Clown Rounds. Two women (we think) are dressed up like hobos, or homeless talking mimes as I like to call them. So far, I have protected Misho from these smiling, psychotic beasts, but they frequent the halls and who knows if they can hear us breathing behind the closed door. I'm trying to get a photo of them to post, while not getting too near them for fear of them sucking out my soul. Clowns? Seriously? Wasn't the spinal tap enough for the little guy. Pray for us.

Shelby


Shelby

Mishamo in the Hospital

Hi all - just wanted to give everyone a heads up that our poor little Mishamo was admitted to the hospital today. After many hours of projectile vomiting and a high fever, we took him to the ER. He's okay now but has a complicated kidney infection related to something in his anatomy. For awhile they thought it might be bacterial meningitis - which is a whole load of hell that we didn't even want to think about and almost threw me over the edge. He's still miserable, still throwing up, but it is a diagnosis that is treatable over the next year. He already has the latent TB treatment so this is another load of goodness to throw on top of that. It was horrible today. He had a spinal tap, a tube stuck down his throat into his intestines, an ultrasound, five or six chest and abdomen xrays, and a catheter.
With this much poking, prodding, and probing, we might as well have gotten his nipples pierced and a picture of the Ethiopian flag tattooed on his ass. It was horrific.

I wasn't sure who to kill first. What would Claire Huxtable do? Exactly what I did I am confident to say; assert my self loudly yet diplomatically (with a dash of "I'm actually truly crazy" thrown in) when my child is almost in convulsions and no one seems to sense the urgency. It was a nightmare.

It's 1:30am, and I'm home dealing with the dogs for a few hours - David's at the hospital and I'll be back there in a couple of hours or so. Please keep us in your thoughts. It looks like we're out of the woods but will probably be in the hospital for a couple of days.

The house is really quiet and sad without Little M. The dogs can feel it.

S & D

The F-Bomb

It is very possible, very predictable that our son's first word may very well be the F-word. We aren't crude people necessarily, but we do use profanity when and if it is absolutely necessary; which equates to, in this raw city of Chicago, about a dozen times a day. Its a hard world that calls for a hard response.

At times.

So, the trick here is to teach our little guy to use profanity as it was meant to be used; wisely, poetically, and only at the right time.

For example, if you are on the playground and some clod womps you on the head to get to your legos, you don't pull out the f-bomb right away. You wait. Quietly. And if he or she does it twice, internal mental negotiations take place. And you may have to pull out the big guns.

Now, I can feel the hard, judgemental gaze of Claire H. over there on the sidebar: "any child of mine that used the f-bomb would find some sort of mom bomb coming right at them." (that is a direct quote from the Cosby show). Obviously, my profanity strategies would not bode well in the Huxtable household, and I'm fearing my muse is quickly turning into my Superego. I can feel her; assessing me from her law degree-ed, I-can-easily-handle-more-than-one-infant, tightly belted high horse.

She's judging me people. I can feel it. What do I do? Ignore it, or continue to have conversations with the Great Claire H in my head until a resolution is reached.

As you can tell by the direction of this entry, I'm sleep deprived. And by the way, Claire Huxtable was from the 80s, so I did break some rules to get her nominated. Bitch.

Shelby

P.S. - I'm assuming I will receive some hate mail for calling Claire Huxtable the B-word. But, I'm in a mood, and she has been given me some high and mighty looks lately, and it's pissing me off.

F-word.

Gratuitous Misho shot:

The Men of the House

Here they are in all their penile glory. Daisy and I are now outnumbered. All three leave the toilet seat up, use aggressive forms of communication, eat meat raw and off the bone, and are emotionally challenged. Don't feel sorry for us; Daisy and I still have our feminine wiles - plus our cycles are in sync so we attack in perfect precision. Here is an example of such an attack:



Miraculously, my son is allowing me to work on the computer (like I actually have a wrench and am working on the motherboard) and update the blog. Soon I will be starting a weekly segment called: WWCHD - What Would Claire Huxtable Do?

I have many scenarios that need reckoning from my new motherly muse. If only I can live up to the task.

Shelby

Origin of Love

With all this Prop 8 bigotrycrapsuckitstuff - time to bring out a song that captures depth, love, and heart. Trying not to get blindly angry, but I'm ready to get all Norma Ray on someone. In the meantime, listen to Hedwig.

Big-Ass Shoes

Holy god. Claire Huxtable? Seriously people? I'm a maternal embryo here and the majority have chosen the mother of all mothers as my inspiration? Did any of you know that she was actually chosen as the mother of all time by the kings of the universe? http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4892882/ Not that I'm questioning the poll, but it's clear that most participants don't really know me. I'm lucky to keep a plant moist and motivated.

Dear social worker monitoring the contents of my blog, I make this statement purely in jest - there are many organic and living materials alive in my home, including our beautiful new son. Our plants and dogs will vouch for us.

I'm grateful to the two who went with Lillian Munster (thanks Ariel!!!)since on my most mornings, one could mistake me and my house for the housekeeping strategies and tactics of the Munster family.

Anyway, the poll is open for another 50 minutes. Interesting that no one went for Carol Brady or Edith Bunker. Says alot about the state of the nation(whatever that means). New Misho footage on its way this weekend, but here's a new photo in the meantime:

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