Have You Been Sitting on the Edge of Your Seat, Too?

Last week Mad had her EEG.  The instructions were clear and simple:  Wake her up no later than 6:00 A.M. and bring her with clean hair.

Madelyn is a morning person.  Six o'clock would be like getting up 15-30 minutes earlier than she does on her own.

We kept her up about 90 minutes later than usual and then woke her up around 3:45 to go with Daddy to Grandma's.  (Hey, it said she had to get up early, not me!)  And right after Tom called to say he would grab Madelyn before her appointment (I was running late... it was a crazier morning with just one than with two!), I called Margaret and asked her to please wash Mad's hair.

Once upon a time, my life was under control.

Only one parent was allowed in for the procedure, which would have been nice to know since Tom took half a day off work to be there.  The tech instructed that it should be the parent who could be the firmest.  I waited for Tom to grandly acknowledge my rightful position, but he just looked at me blankly.  I said, very tactfully (for once), "I think that's probably me."  He nodded.  I went.

The technician, Mary, and her trainee were gentle and friendly, lovely.  I was given a mirror to hold so Madelyn could watch all the scalp cleaning, followed by gooping her up, adding electrodes and covering them with gauze.

Mary praised Mad's ability to follow directions at such a young age and talked soothingly to Mad and me about relaxing.  I wonder how many more times in her life I'll get to watch her fall asleep.  Not many, probably.  It was beautiful and fast and completely unlike trying to get her to nap today.  Within five minutes of the test starting, Mad was out.  Just in time, because my arm was starting to tingle from holding her hands (both a soothing and a don't-touch-that technique).

I watched the screen the same way expectant fathers watch contraction monitors.  I saw the standard brainwaves and I saw some enormous spikes.  Once I saw very low waves.

Mary occasionally made marks on the screen that I couldn't read even with glasses.  Sometimes for the large spikes, but occasionally for what seemed like time intervals.  (There wasn't a clock in the room, so this is just a guess.)  As the 20 minute test was wrapping up, she remarked that our doctor is highly skilled and efficient, and the only person to read ped results.  I was pretty sure it was her secret code for telling me we'd be coming back to see him (instead of getting a call or email).  Not too soon, though, because he was on vacation until the 15th.  She suggested I call or email him to let him know the test had been done anyway.

Not seeing the rush, I waited to send my email until Wednesday morning.

I received a reply a few hours later.  From the doctor.  Who was "stuck in London," but promised to read the report right away upon his return.

Dude, I think tears welled up in my eyes again just from the memory.

This morning I opened my email to find another e-missive.  The results.  Three days before he returns from his vacation.  Yes, I wonder how long it would have taken to get results if we hadn't switched insurance companies, too.

Yes, she had spikes.  If Mad ever does have a seizure, or unprovoked fainting spell we'll need to medicate.

I responded right away to clarify... and yes, the over-excitement and cold ice cream combo counts as a provocation that negates the need for medication at this time.

It's not exactly the clean bill of health we would have loved to get, but it's enough for now.

Tom and I figured these brain spikes could be a factor in Mad's brilliance.  And then we turned relief into ridiculous by arguing about discussing which one of us might have contributed this awesome brain activity.

News of My World

Doesn't involve any hacking, sneaking or listening in on other people's conversations.  But there's a lot to share!

We are feeling increasingly more pleased with our decision to switch to Kaiser.  We met the girls' pediatrician last week and Mad's neurologist today. Every medical professional we've encountered greets us and then tells us why we're there.  Because they've read our file.  Doc walked in this morning and said, "So you're here about the incident in April."

Yes, that was my jaw hitting the floor.

Moreover, he really listened to what we were saying.  We discussed Mad's fall in 2009.  Unlike the neuro we met back then, at no time did our new doc try to insist that Mad had a seizure and then fell.  He listened.  We laid out everything.

Two women in Tom's family have a history of seizures.  Teen onset, lasting through early adulthood.

Mad fell.  Knocked herself out.  Came to.  Went out again.  Had an EEG that showed some minor activity that our old ped, Dr. Present, said could result in a seizure disorder later or could be nothing.

At the birthday party in April, Mad was extremely excited.  By the singing.  Her first candle to blow out.  The frog cupcake.  The ice cream that she was eating way too fast.

She seemed to have a brain freeze followed by a seizure.  But she came to and was her normal self (albeit upset) in a matter of seconds.

What did all of that mean to our new neurologist?

Mad fainted.

Apparently some people are susceptible to vasovagal episodes.  And do you know what can cause them?  I am not joking when I say being excited and eating something cold.

Yes, that was me breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Fortunately, Doc is going to redo the EEG to be on the safe side.  Again unlike the previous neuro, New Doc does not advocate using heavy duty meds to prevent something that may or may not happen.  So if it turns out she is at risk for developing seizures, we will wait to treat them if they show up.

He said Mad seems perfect.  Developmentally appropriate.  Smart.  Pretty (he did say that, but not as part of his diagnosis).

So next up will be an EEG.  Unlike two years ago, Mad isn't likely to fall asleep anywhere we put her (not that she did then), so she'll probably have to be put under for it.  That's our least favorite part of the whole thing, but we'll take it to get the answers we need.

Goodbye April, Hello May!

Sure, some good things happened in April, but here is just a sampling of why I am happy to see it leave.  In fact, this sample represents one week, Saturday to Friday.

Saturday:  Had Mad's birthday party.  Struggled to pull it off.  Barely Managed with the help of several people, not really including my own mother.  Wrapped up the party with Mad having what seemed to be a seizure.

Monday:  Mad was unusually cranky and wild.

Tuesday:  The in-laws left.  That night Mad, Fynn and I were definitely coming down with something.

Wednesday:  Have to go to work.  I have no more sick time, and my work is balking at letting me use the Paid Family Leave that I qualify for.  Struggling to keep Fynnie's fever down, she ends up with the typical 24 hour dose of fever reducer.  In a one hour period (yes, under her doctor's care... half of it was given at her doctor's office).

Friday night:  Spent in a hospital emergency room with my son who was having "bad thoughts."  When he thought he might have to be admitted, the thoughts suddenly vanished and he was sent home with a list of numbers to call "if this ever happens again."  Turns out he hadn't been taking his medication regularly because of... *bigsigh* my mother's hygiene habits. 

That, my friends, was one week of my life.  I'm glad April is over.

Now that May is here, things are looking up.

Fynnie has started lifting her heinie a whole inch off the floor.  Yesterday she started scooting.  Okay, she goes backward, but she can do corners and turn all the way around.  She can also get that thing I keep moving out of her reach.

Two days ago she said her first word and it was MAMA!  Okay, it was Mama immediately followed by a raspberry (on five separate occasions, so clearly she has some strong feelings).  Go Fynnie, go!  And let's leave April in your dust!

When It Rains, It Pours

... right through the air conditioning duct and into the kitchen.


The good news is that Mad is eating and peeing a little, back to trying to get out of diaper changes and refusing to sit in her high chair (compared to what I saw the past few days, I'll take the hassles over the laying around and not really caring what's happening around her).  She slept all night last night and took another extremely long nap today, but has kept everything down that she's consumed.


The massive pile of laundry is about half done.  I resorted to making a pillow for Mad by putting her crib comforter into a pillowcase.  It's a lot easier to wash a little comforter and have it be useful later than it is the pillows she vomited all over.


The bad news, if you couldn't tell, is that our washing machine is malfunctioning somehow.  It's upstairs.  I noticed a spot on our ceiling today.  Two, actually, about five feet apart.  I checked the water hose while Tom was gone playing tennis; it seems to be operating normally.  It did seem like maybe the washer has been moved somehow.  When he returned, Tom unhooked it and moved it off the pan, which has a hole in it (why? how?).  I was downstairs and could hear the sound of rapidly trickling water from the living room.


The spots don't seem any larger, but 10 minutes ago Mad slipped on a massive puddle in the kitchen.  I guess I'm glad the water's not just sitting up there, and that it's found a way out.  However, how is it getting into the ventilation duct?  Where else is it going?


Of course our home warranty expired five weeks ago, and the warranty on the washer was more like three weeks ago.  Hopefully we aren't going to have to make our first foray into the world of home insurance claims.  My dad is an investigator for a major insurance company and has said for years that people who make claims get canceled.  I'm hoping that's his naturally pessimistic outlook more than reality.

The Five Seasons of California

Sure, you all know the first four. Everybody has those. But we are also in the midst of another season: Fire Season.

How do you know it's fire season? Well, if the actual flames and nonstop news story break-ins about nonsensically named fires aren't enough, here are a few extra clues.

The moon is orange. No, not like a harvest moon. It's all the way up in the sky. You can only see it periodically because the smoke is constantly blowing across it. At one point tonight, the only part showing through was shaped like glowing orange broccoli.

Even though you only went to the pet groomer today, you and your daughter and dog smell like you've been camping. For a week. Without a shower.

That's not dandruff, it's ash. And how it got into the dog's water bowl, which is in the house and in her crate, you'll never know. The good news is that it blows off your car as you drive away (anything that didn't blow into your car to be ground into your seat and the seat of your pants, that is... one more reason to carry a lint roller at all times).

Your eyes are constantly burning. As if you didn't already have allergies to nearly every living thing. All hopes of wearing mascara are dashed, apparently at least until September 8, when one of the three major fires surrounding you might be under control. Not out. Just less wild.

Driving without sunglasses is verboten because the whitish-brown sky reflects the sun like laser beams.

You are exhausted. Sure, there are extenuating circumstances, but limited breathing ability is definitely high on the list of causes.

Argh! I have some photos from my sister-in-law that aren't uploading for some reason. I'll try again later.

***In unrelated news, Mad is doing fine. We woke her every two hours last night, which resulted in a nice long nap (for her) this afternoon and a too long one (for me) this evening. She seemed to recall everything from yesterday. Today on TV we saw a fire truck. Mad looked at me and smacked her head, V-8 style, with an expression that said, "What the heck?!?" Of course, she does that whenever she's frustrated or too tired, too, so I could be reading into it.

***Even more unrelated news: Tomorrow I go back to work full time. I have enjoyed being off, even if it wasn't as far off as I'd have liked to be. The mantra is a reminder that I do love my job. I love it enough that I never seem to recall at the end of each year how much I dread going back at the start of the next one.