Archive for November, 2010


Wednesday, November 24th, 2010

This is  Scarman. We took him  to Philly and added Laelia’s scars from our last   three major surgeries to Ward’s existing ones. We even added little marks on the back of its feet  for the  tenotomies Lali got when she  was a few months old. Many people have scars, but  Lali knows her  scars are  special because they don’t just point back to a tragedy, but they point forward to hope.

I’m so thankful I have a  conversational little girl who can speak her heart! After an hour and a half talk with her  past her bedtime, I asked if I could write down what she said as we talked. She agreed. (And then begged for her own paper and pen. :))   I wanted to share a perspective of this last week that is so foreign from what I went through that it seems alien. I wanted to share her thoughts on her surgery and her insights. She has an excellent vocabulary for someone her age and a surprising  outlook bordering on the  inspirational.

A few days ago, Saturday I think, I asked her, “Laelia, how did your surgery make you feel?” This face (see below) was her response. I asked her if I could take a picture of her pouty face and she grinned and said, “Yeah!” then went back to  a  pout face. :)

Obviously her surgery was not a pleasant ordeal. After doing some research and getting some insights from different people and their experiences with their kids (or their own experiences), we’re now fairly certain that  Laelia’s epidural didn’t work.

… yeah.

Or at the very least, it  couldn’t have been  100% effective. When one of our friends first suggested this, Charley and I thought back to those days and looked back at our notes. Sure enough we saw a pattern. When the doctors added medicine to her IV things got better. When they gave her Tylenol with Codeine  (either orally or “down under”) things even  improved. But she seemed to be in more pain than I was expecting overall despite that epidural. Back arching, facial contortions that went beyond grimacing, and the inability to even  speak was not, as I believed at the time,  a universal experience for this surgery. I believe now that  we should have  asked the epidural be  removed and regular, intravenus  meds be given in its stead to keep on top of the pain.  

This realization has made me  angry with myself and sick to my stomach.  I was crying to my husband about what Laelia must have  gone through and what she must think. And then it  occured to us (because we’re  slow like that) to ask her!  And during the subsciquent  precious conversation with my little one, I  was taught  what happiness, endurance and hope look like.


(My thoughts/words in parentheses as Laelia shares her story.)

The hospital loves me. (Everyone loves you, kiddo.)

Surgery hurts my bones and need to heal. My bones are right here. My surgery was right here. (She only points to her right side; it hurts a little more than the left.)

Hurting a little is okay. Not when it hurts a lot. (True wisdom.)

I want to stand and walk. Kids who stand and walk  get surgery. (Oh really?)

Surgery makes me sad.

(“What made you sad, Laelia?”)

My legs.

I  don’t like things in my nose. (The oxygen.)

I don’t like my medicine.

Takes a long time to poop.

Moving  me  hurts me right here. (Again she points to her hips.)

Doctors picked me up from school. The doctor take me at school.  (I’m not sure on this one since asking clarifying questions always results with the answer, “Yes.” I think she is sad she missed school. And maybe she mixes that thought from when the doctor picked her up to take her into surgery?)

(“After your surgery what made you mad?”)

Mama, I want that my kitty come with me. (We took her stuffed doggie, but not her kitty. I had no idea she felt this way! We immediately got her old stuffed kitty, it’s one of many, and apologized to it.)

I DO NOT like that in my nose. (Oxygen again.) And not in my eyes. (When it fell off her head.)

And, I dunno.

(“Laelia, was there anything that made you happy?”)

(I didn’t expect this list to be  so long! She simply  lit up!)

Mommy and Daddy,  both persons  in the room. When I wake up too both persons.

When they put that (oxygen) on my head and not in my nose. (Okay we get it!)

Um  we talk  about Disenyland.

Go to Disneyland in four weeks. (Sooner, but she’s got four weeks stuck in her head.)

Flying on  the airplanes and seeing clouds and city lights.

My tiger because he goes RAWR!

Surgery means to stand and go and go and go. (I believe this is her sharing her hope.)

Nemo. (She then quoted SEVERAL lines from this burned-in-my-brain-forever movie.)

I watch a lot of TV and then had to blink my eyes like this. Blink blink blink.  I watch TV and my eye hurt.  (That is a lot of TV.)

I love Mama and Daddy and Chelsea and Tiger.

They (hospital staff) give me chocolate pudding.

Helicopters that come and you say Help! Help! and they come and take you and make it okay. (?????????????)

And my blankets.

Red! That color is the favorite. (She got a red blanket and pillow case from the hospital.)

And I can do this! (She grabbed her bar and grinned.)


Um…… I… I is a happy girl. :)

(AND SO SO SO SO SO PRECIOUS! My blessing from God.)

(What more could I be thankful for this Thanksgiving?)

Love is Kind!

Tuesday, November 23rd, 2010

Friday was the best day. We had our flights scheduled for 5:00 pm that day, but we were planning on delaying those flights because I didn’t think there was any way we could go home.  So when our doctor discharged  us at noon that day  I was shocked!    It had only been three days since her surgery, but  Laelia was already  doing so much better. She looked battle-damaged and weary, but her little imp smile had come back.  Shriners was wonderful and let us borrow a wheelchair for the trip home. (Our insurance is changing during recovery  and  wouldn’t cover it so Shriners just handed us one.) And they fitted us for a new  car seat that would be better for her wide casts and took our pink car seat in a  temporary exchange so we wouldn’t have to carry them both home.    

Car seat fitting.

Watching TV in her wheelchair. Mama is resisting the urge to pinch those cheeks!

Friday was a great visitor day! Just three days after surgery and she was already so so so much better! Plus we finally got to meet Tracey Schalk in person!

Tracey is on the right. :) We’d been friends online for a while. Tracey is great! Anytime there is someone with AMC in Southern California, Tracey inevitably finds them and sends me their contact info from Ohio! Tracey came to our room and gave Laelia a surgery present! Tracey and her mom, Cheryl, had emailed me a lot about Shriners in Philly and how to get Laelia care there. They, along with the support group (, never lost hope  in Laelia’s future even when five doctors did. I was so happy to finally meet them! And I love the Dr. van Bosse Fan Club shirt! I want one!

Friday is also clinic day. So we knew a few other kids with AMC would also be there! It’s so rare to find kids with AMC, so it’s weird having so many in a waiting room! This really does feel like AMC Mecca sometimes. So using our new borrowed chair we went down to the forth floor. We finally met Tammy in person too! I recognized her from her facebook pictures. And her daughter, Sophie, and son, Ben, both have arthrogryposis. Laelia is Sophie’s “mini me.” When Sophie learns to do something (like drink from a cup without using her hands) then we see the video and Lali is soon to copy her. Sophie was so cute;  Charley was totally charmed. :)

When we were leaving the forth floor and waiting for the elevator, a lady I’d never met came up to me and asked if  I  was Laelia’s mom. I said yes. Then she looked over to spot my daughter smiling at her and verified that this was indeed Laelia’s family. Her name was Anna and she  wanted to thank us for our blog and tell us it had been one of the things that had helped her get her son with arthrogryposis in to see Dr. van Bosse! She had just adopted him from China! You can read their story here.  That was so neat! It gave me goosebumps!  And of course during their stay, Tracey already had them connected to another family there who had adopted a little girl with arthrogryposis from China. Wow!

We had to say goodbye to our new friends and pack up to leave.  We learned  what pain meds to give Lali and  how to change her bandages. (By the way, they didn’t make us go to a pharmacy to get her meds, they  just delivered them free of charge right into our hands!) Then Laelia announced she was ready to use the potty! So after getting a potty and  figuring out (with the help of a nurse) how to get her on there, and waiting through  five minutes  for the waves of pain to die down after  being picked up and transferred onto it,  she went poo poo in the potty!  I couldn’t have been happier!  What a great day! That may sound silly, but it was such a relief, and she looked so much more comfortable after that.  

At noon I ran back to  the Ronald McDonald house to check us out. I followed the check list and changed the sheets, made up the beds with the comforters, folded the blankets,  turned off the  heater, cleaned the bathrooms, wiped down the walls and vacuumed the room.    I made sure it would be perfect for the next family in our situation who would come for comfort and rest. Then I took the trash out to the dumpster, grabbed some Cheerios out of the help-yourself  pantry and paid our bill in full which totalled less than one day’s stay  at a hotel! Love this place!

Then we decided since we had two and a half hours to spare that we would drive the 40 minutes to the airport, drop off Mama and Miss Post Op, then Charley would drive downtown and return the rental car and take a cab back. This was an alternative to going downtown together and then having to take a shuttle back. The plan would have worked too, except for the meddling  traffic.  So last minute in the drop-off zone of the airport we had to move all our stuff into my bag in case we had to fly back without Daddy. Charley helped me carry the kid in her car seat, her wheelchair, our giant bag and a back pack into the airport and then he drove off towards downtown. I watched several people walk right past me as I slowly dragged everything at my feet one inch at a time. A couple in their forties  with one bag between them  stopped behind me and I thought they were going to help me, but they had thought I was in line because I was going so slowly. Then they complained under their breath about me being in their way and moved past me. A couple of security guys stood there and watched me. Finally I made it all the way to  check in–dragging a car seat with a kid in it,  then going back and dragging the bags then dragging the kid in her car seat a few more inches, repeat repeat repeat. It took me half an hour. At the front I set up wheelchair assistance for the rest of the trip and then waited for assistance. As I waited I worried about my husband who was now very late. An airport employee took my daughter (only airline employees are allowed to pushthe wheelchair) to our gate as I followed. Charley wasn’t at the gate either. In fact I was starting to steel myself for a solo flight home with post op kid who needed pain meds on the plane. Then I saw Ryan’s family and realized I wasn’t alone.  We found out that our buddy, Ryan, and his family would be on the same flight back with us! These kids are practically twins. So cute!

Going home with our read-headed  twin, Ryan!

Charley showed up minutes before boarding, then he took off to get a slice of pizza! That turkey. :)  Laelia slept on the plane like a champ, even though  she was somewhat restless, tossing her head around. But  right before our decent into Denver, Laelia woke up crying out in pain. Her legs hurt her and she was  grabbing at her casts, face contorted. We decided to unbuckle the car seat to lay her  across our seats and give her the liquid meds. She didn’t swallow them of her own volition so we had to lean her back and force it down her. That’s when we realized that the seat belt was stuck on the inside of this  giant, borrowed car seat. I was near tears and she was crying in pain and we considered cutting that airline  seat belt off her! The problem was that  the car seat back  was too narrow. So you can buckle it, but you can’t lift the darn flap to unbuckle it. We didn’t have this problem in the car since it was  a push button release.    It  took a long time to get it unstuck; Charley cut up his hand doing it. The whole time this guy sitting behind us kept saying super helpful things like, “His ears are just not used to the altitude, he’s fine Mom.” (Taking out our daughter’s earrings for surgery made her a boy no matter what pink dress she was in. And could he not see my child was in full leg casts???!) Finally we were able to get her out, give her meds and put her back. That’s when the person in the middle seat in front of us leaned his seat back and we saw that the seats went too far back and if the lady in front of our daughter leaned hers  back it would really injure her! So diving  forward, Charley explained our situation to the lady in front of us and we offered to switch seats with her if she wanted to lean back. She smiled and told us she realized the situation the moment she got onto the plane and had already decided she wouldn’t risk leaning back with that poor baby behind her. Whew.

For the next flight after a couple hours lay over we asked the boarding agent to move us to the front of the plane because of the leaning-back situation. He changed our seats, but it turned out that the car seat was too wide for the front seats with their fixed arm rests. So we had to switch seats with the second row (who didn’t like that they couldn’t get to their bags anymore) and the young lady in front of us was given free tv by the flight attendent  for the flight if she promised not to lean back. She complained, but agreed.  When we thanked her  and offered to switch seats if she wanted to lean back  she just said, “Whatever, it’s fine”  but continued to complain that  she’d had a long day of flying… childless, pain-free flying.  I wanted to smack her.    

When we arrived in San Diego I was so ready to be home. Laelia was due for more pain meds and I wanted to put her in her own bed to let her finally sleep soundly. Unfortunately the wheelchair assistance I had set up fell through. We waited 25 minutes for a wheelchair and the lady at the gate said, in effect, “too bad.”   They said it was too late for wheelchair assistance (after 11:00 pm) and the couple of pages they sent out over the PA  for a wheelchair were unanswered. Our own wheelchair was downstairs in checked baggage so we were stuck. Charley started to slowly drag her car seat down the airport corridors. After ten minutes of dragging we saw an airline guy walk by with three wheelchairs! We were relieved and  waved him down  to explain through the exhaustion that one of those was for us. He asked what airline we were on and when we said Frontier he explained that these were for American airlines and he left us there. So we dragged her in her car seat the long length of the airport. Every time she went over a bump she cried out in pain and I snapped at her dad. I was ready to kill someone at this airline. I hate traveling to Philly. Hate it. Hate it. For every airline person who is kind to us, ten are not. Seriously.

When we  got to  our bags downstairs, Adam was waiting for us. He lifted  Lali’s car seat up with her in it and carried her right out to the parking lot! Adam drove us home and we walked in the door to, not joking, this:


Clean! (The stuff on the table I put there afterwards.)

Labeled tubs magically appeared in my cabinets.

Everything was organized!

No more “junk” drawers!

The kitchen cuboards were cleaned and organized. A spice rack appeared in there!

Laelia’s room was the best part!

It was so much roomier with the crib stored. The cubbies were new and everything was clean! Even all her clothes were folded! She loved it!

The night before we flew to Philly, Lauren and Chelsea had come over to clean. Lauren  tackled my kitchen like a pro while Chelsea took some notes. I left a key because  Chelsea said they  were going to “finish up” while we were gone. Well apparently for the five days we were gone Chelsea and Adam and Brenda and Laura and Dorothy cleaned and organized our whole apartment! I can’t express how wonderful this was! It was like walking into a stress free environment after days of stress! At first when we  stumbled in Friday night I did noticed it was clean and I was very thankful,  but it wasn’t until I gave Lali her medicine and put her to bed that I was able to  relax and notice my surroundings fully for the first time.  We slowly realized the extent of the work put into our place.  It is rearranged to make best use of space. Things were purchased that we didn’t own to make it more organized. And Charley and I went around opening random drawers  that were all completely cleaned and organized!  It was like Christmas morning! This was  an overall giant cleaning/organizing   job that must have taken hours and days and so much effort–I can’t even imagine!

Laelia slept for ten hours that night, making it the longest stretch of sleep she had gotten in almost a week. Her record before this was four hours. Being in her own bed, surrounded by her toys instead of monitors, did the trick. It almost made flying that Friday (a crazy endeavor) worth it.

In the next couple of days (through the weekend) we had some fun worries when her incision site decided to make us needlessly worry.

Is that spot gangrene?! Does she need antibiotics? Nope. It was fine.  But we panicked and  called the doctor anyway.

What in the world is this large purple thing that’s hard to the touch and popped up over night? Turns out it’s bleeding beneath her skin. It hurt her one morning and she had me rub it. Then this happened. Doh. So I emailed this picture to Dr. van Bosse and got an email reply immediately that calmed my fears. (What doctor emails you back? And quickly?!!)  

So the above two pictures were the cause of some panic, but looking back on this whole adventure Laelia is healing well, recovering nicely and on track for getting her casts off on January 7th!

Also one thing that made everything better, and this was my life saver, was apple sauce! Her liquid meds are best taken with apple sauce because it  covers up the taste beautifully! I haven’t had to force anything down her throat since discovering this! We tried mixing it with other things, like chocolate pudding, but nothing works as well.  This is so  much  better than having to squeeze those little cheeks and make her choke! Apple sauce. God’s gift.

Laelia hanging out.

Today marks exactly one week since her surgery, and I can’t believe how miraculous this  kid bounces back from this stuff! She’s doing well. We can now pick her up using a blanket under her for support and it only causes her a little bit of  fussing that she quickly gets over. As of yesterday (Monday) she went all morning and afternoon without pain meds. Now she’s down to taking a little something before she sleeps. She’s  got  that cute little personality back and she is already wanting to help with laundry again and play with her kitties. It’s gonna be okay. People told me it would be “a hard week,” but I never knew exactly what that meant until now. Yes. It’s a hard week. The first 24 hours are the worst, by day three it was a lot easier on her and just seven days later she’s singing and laughing and playing again. I have a lot to be thankful for  right before Thanksgiving.

Love is (a) Patient: Part 2

Monday, November 22nd, 2010

The first 24 hours are the worst. If your child is getting this surgery and  you  can get through those hours, you will have gotten through the worst your child will ever go through. Surgery itself is cake compared to this.

She cried. And cried. She arched her back and grimaced. She would sweat profusely through her pillow case and sheets. She didn’t speak. She squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t get respite through sleep. She cried. And moaned.  And cried.

And  we couldn’t do anything about it; just be there watching her in pain.  And we couldn’t leave the room to use the bathroom without her startled cries and elevated heart rate (machine beeping at us)  pulling  us quickly back to her bedside. Sometimes she wanted me to hold her hand. Sometimes she hated to be touched. Sometimes she wanted a hand on her tummy. Sometimes she just wanted to scream in  my face and look at me accusingly for not fixing her pain.  

Charley adds: “She was reduced from her super articulate three-year old self, to a tiny baby without the ability to communicate anything except need. She would cry something that sounded like, ‘I want I want I want I want…’ but without a way to finish that sentence. It was almost a  full 24 hours before she learned, through the pain, to form a full sentence again. It was, ‘My legs hurt a lot.’”

I started to second guess my decision to have this surgery done. I kept thinking how much she has gone through, all to possibly one day stand or  walk. This was too much; I was a terrible mom.

The incision site was above the cast line.

The casts were not a spica, but instead full leg casts connected by a bar. This is so she will have more mobility later, but for right now it’s just hard to move her. You cannot move the cast separately from the hip or twist her or lift one side or anything you need to do! It’s so hard, and I’m so intimidated to even touch her.

My husband broke down again somewhere in the first  few hours. For some reason that made me stronger.  Because if he was the strong one, then I would break down.  I don’t know how any single parent goes through this.

Nurses, God bless them, were wonderful yet  we wanted them to all go away. They had to check her vitals every 15 minutes. So every 15 minutes Laelia screamed her head off. But it was different than when she’s throwing a fit or when she’s got a boo-boo. She was downright  scared. Her cries were desperate and hoarse  as if she were being tortured. Laelia couldn’t stand having the blood pressure cuff on her arm. So I took it off. Then a nurse came in to put it back on, but not to take her blood pressure–just to leave it there. So I took it off. Laelia was scared of it and in a lot of pain  so I asked it be kept off until they needed to use it. When I got the “it’s the hospital policy” line, I tried using her amyoplasia as an excuse. I said she was special and this hurt her. I lied through my teeth which is quite unlike me. (Also I forget that people have actually heard of her condition at this hospital.) The nurse wrapped it onto the bed rail and hit the top of it in frustration and left. She came back later with her superior who put it back on my daughter. I told them all that if they needed to take her blood pressure every 15 minutes they could darn well come in and do it themselves as opposed to leaving it on her arm  to go off automatically and freak her out the whole time it was on.  I was at my wit’s end and I made it clear that I would take it off as soon as they left the room anyway. I watched  that cuff try to take the blood pressure of the bed rail more than once. It gave me  a grim satisfaction.    

Lali  refused to keep the oxygen in her nose, so the doctor put it on the top of her head unintentionally making those who tried to cuddle her light-headed.  Despite being largely mute, she  was very particular about her own care.

Laelia also sounded like she had a bad cold. She was congested due to some  fluid in her lungs from intubation. And that meant she had to have breathing treatments done. Which she hated. A lot. And up until now things had been done to   her, so when she finally had the power over a part of her own care, she was  darn well  not going to  participate.  But when her breathing was affected by the junk in her chest we had to force the respiratory device into her mouth and tell her we wouldn’t take  it out until she breathed into the device. It worked, but the last thing I wanted to do was force more hardship on this little soul.


The respiratory therapist gave Lali a  gorgeous black-and-white  stuffed tiger as a reward for doing her first treatment. Charley gave Mr. Tiger a voice from then on out, throughout our stay.  Subsequent breathing treatments  were done after a few bribes or threats of, God forbid, pausing one of her two billion viewings of Finding Nemo until she cooperated. (I’ve now seen that movie more than the animators themselves. But I’ve got to  admit it was much preferred over half of what children’s programing had to offer. Dinosaur Train? Seriously?)

The next morning Laelia was still on IV meds, an epidural and a suppository. Finally she got some water and a couple bites of my breakfast pop tart (that she demanded) down so they switched her from the suppository to oral medication around lunch time. And Mama was the only one who could give it to her. So I had to squeeze her cheeks so hard it broke the capillaries in order  to force  one milliliter of medicine at a time through her teeth  until she’d had five milliliters. During her second dose four hours later she choked and  threw up all over me. Because the puke was on her IV, blankets and  pillow case it meant that  we had to move her to change those things out. And moving hurt her. She screamed in pain for half an hour straight after that. So finally after was seemed like hours, the doctor decided to  up her epidural medication and add two somethings to her IV. About five minutes after that happened, she stopped crying and announced, “My lips are purple. And I am so very pretty.” And then she argued about the  amount of strawberries the hospital had stocked.  She  was so  very drunk off pain meds. But for the first time in too long we were able to just enjoy her.

Charley and I were so very tired. Every little stress seemed to be magnified. The cafeteria had hours they were open  that never  corresponded to hours we were available, we never had one dollar bills for the vending machines, my cell phone only held 50 texts (40 texts caused large delays receiving messages) which meant I was constantly deleting all of my important messages everyday to allow more to come through, the lack of sleep hurt us physically even with trips to RMD house, driving through the ghetto almost resulted in accidents or death  of stupid pedestrians daily, and on top of these small issues, we felt personally responsible every time our daughter whimpered.

Many things are awful about surgery, but I think inability to sleep is the worst. Even when she was asleep she would cry. She would do a “crysleep” for ten minutes then wake up and cry out loud  and then fall back to crysleep. The crysleep sounded like a snore only with her voice box making a high whine sound every time she  exhaled while she grimaced. It was very  disconcerting.

Even in a deeper sleep than crysleep her heart rate was 140! That’s  the same as  I have when jogging!

Sleeping was impossible with all the  nurse interruptions, as unobtrusive as they tried to be.  Even the  guy who  came in to  empty the trash caused her fear and crying. We wished we could have had a heads up and  just moved the darn trash can to outside the room before he came in!   Another doctor came in at one point to look for something he’d left in the room earlier causing panic. Someone came in to lay a tray of food down. (I wish they could dress up in a different costume so she’d know it was food coming and not  someone coming to check her wounds. Maybe if they dressed up like  giant chickens? Shriners you can use that one. :)) One nurse, Wanda, came in  often to add meds to her IV or switch out the bag. Laelia screamed every time until I told her that Wanda was coming to “play with her machine” and she wouldn’t be touching Lali at all. That line worked better than, “She’s coming to add medicine to your IV.” Laelia finally was quiet every time Wanda came in after that.

There were moments of less pain. Not really pain-free moments, but starting Wednesday afternoon we had times  when we could talk to her and she would talk back. We were encouraged by the pain management brochure we were given  to talk with her about happy memories and future trips. So of course we talked about Disneyland. We sang the songs to her favorite rides like It’s a Small World and the couple of songs we knew from the Tiki Room.

We also read her lots of books.  I was getting encouraged when she could sit through a whole book even if she was crying the whole time. She wanted  me to read to her,  and would grab my hand if I  took the book  away thinking she was in too much pain. She would moan while I read, but I went through the fifteen books of hers we brought with us over and over again.

The second night was also hard. We decided to send me (Alexis)  to the RMD  house to sleep through my worry for a few hours,  then I would come back and switch off with Charley. I broke down in the elevator before reaching my room. And while I was telling myself she was fine, she wasn’t. Charley was with her the second night, so I’ll let him tell this story:

“The second night Laelia was given Valium to prevent muscle spasms. It was supposed to be the first of several regular doses, but she started reacting to it almost immediately. She wanted her blanket off, which I accommodated; then she wanted her gown off, which I helped her unsnap and remove. Then she just started clawing at her IV and the sensors on her chest and finger. She wanted them off, she wanted everything off, and she wanted to get out of there. I called the nurse and doctor in, and they confirmed that Valium could cause this kind of disorientation. The nurse helped me get her into my lap–it was the first time either of us had held her since the surgery–and after about 30 minutes of singing and talking about Disneyland rides, she calmed down. Then the nurse gave Laelie her first dose of Tylenol with Codeine, which helped knock her out and give her 3-4 hours of continuous sleep. During her whole stay in the hospital, it was the most sleep she ever got at one time.”

So I came back from the Ronald McDonald house  Thursday morning to find out that my daughter had a Valium trip that make her want to take off her own skin while my husband held her and cried into her hair.  Laelia looked miserable and so did Charley so  I  kicked Charley off  to the house to sleep off his trauma while I took the next shift. He had to leave through Laelia’s painful cries which was hard. But she settled down after a bit.  

During this time I got a text from Ryan’s mom.  (Back story: This is the family we went to Seattle Children’s hospital with  to get our amyoplasia diagnosis. The same place that gave us no orthopedic hope for my daughter. Which directly  led to our AMC support group  contradicting them and sharing  about Shriners in Philly  which ultimately lead to this very treatment course we  are pursuing.)  Ryan was scheduled to have the exact same surgery that  Lali just had that morning. (They worked it out so we could have the same surgery week together.) Well  Ryan had just flown all the way to Philly from California with both parents in tow only to find out that  his surgery was cancelled due to slight congestion. Which sucked.

By Thursday afternoon before 2:00pm Laelia’s epidural and catheter were removed (not as traumatic as I would have expected, just a quick pull for both) and we were allowed to go back to our neglected fifth floor room. More magical medicine was given to Laelia so she  slept the whole way there even when her bed got bumped pretty hard into the door. That evening after two more viewings of Finding Nemo it was becoming obvious that Laelia was in more  discomfort than usual without the epidural helping. The nurse brought some Tylenol with Codeine and I forced it once again down my daughter’s throat through her teeth. It took about twenty minutes to kick in. Once it started working, it worked well. There was no doubt when it kicked in. :)

Laelia was doing better, inviting all the nurses to Disneyland with her when we got home and generally saying demanding  things like, “I wanna go to Disneyland now! DADDY DON’T LAUGH!” :) But I was sure there was no way we were making our flight the next day. She still had such a long recovery ahead of her. It still hurt to touch or move her. And she  hadn’t pooped in a week! Tomorrow I had to figure out where we would stay, how to change  our flights and how to avoid blowing  our trip  budget to smithereens.

Needless to say I was shocked in the morning when our doctor came in and we were discharged that afternoon! (More to come in the next blog, Love is Kind.)

Love is (a) Patient: Part 1

Saturday, November 20th, 2010

Here is part one  of the two part summary of our daughter’s  major surgery in Philadelphia at Shriner’s Hospital for Children. I decided to be thorough on certain details of this trip since I know of a few people going in for the same (or  a similar) surgery,  and I wish I had known a bit more of the overall process. So since I don’t have the time to sit down and pour my heart out in one blog post, and my kid is finally sleeping,  here is part one.

Night before surgery.

Watching Daddy play Mario. (This is how she likes to stand, wedged between the coffee table and couch.)

Laelia rubbing my back while playing peek-a-boo.

We  cuddled and stayed up late  the night before our trip  for those extra hours of family time. We also took that time to once again talk about where we were going and what we were doing. Yet despite that, Laelia happily announced that we were going to Disneyland while she helped me put her clothes in the suitcase. When I corrected her and talked about surgery, she corrected  me and says, “Daddy told me.” Well Daddy got in trouble. Then Daddy spent the rest of the time explaining that we weren’t going to Disneyland until much, much later. “Tomorrow?” Laelia asked. *sigh*

Laelia was a good little girl. She hand-picked one stuffed animal to come with us, her doggie, then comforted her doggie on its upcoming surgery. “There there, doggie. It be okay.” She was a good flyer. During the entire day of flying she only had one melt down. When we got on our second flight after a snow-covered Denver connection, she haggled with us, “Last plane today, okay?” Since it was, we agreed to her demands and the melt down ended. We also found out on our lay over that Ronald McDonald house near Shriners would take us for the night, and possibly for the week.

Then Mama had her own melt down after arriving in Philly when we realized we had missed several calls from the hospital. They were all informing us that our surgery time had changed from 6:30 to 10:00 am. Since I had been told 6:30 am, and that had been the plan for months, and I’m not good with last second changes, and it was  a different story than I’d heard from the  surgeon’s scheduling person, and and and… let’s just say  I wasn’t sure it was correct. And of course even though the PACU was suppose to close at 5:30, it was 5:12 and no one was there. I started to  cry, standing there  in the middle of the airport, calling people at Shriners. I reached a lone admissions desk person who, after apologizing for laughing when she realized I was freaking out,  convinced me not to show up at 6:30 just to wait for hours with a hungry toddler.  She wasn’t sure on the time, but she was sure the PACU people would have told me the correct time.  But  I just didn’t want to risk all the time and effort and set up it takes to  fly across the country with your daughter  then miss  a major, important surgery just because I wasn’t willing to wait a few extra hours in a waiting room. I didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully we  arrived at Ronald McDonald house on Erie street to a welcoming, calming environment. Instead of doing orientation they suggested we eat dinner first. In the dinning room a soccer team of girls put on a puppet show and dressed  up my daughter and another adorable girl, Sabina, like princesses and sang songs. Sabina’s dad, Michael, started talking to us about what our daughters would be doing tomorrow. It turned out he had an early appointment, 6:30 am, with Dr. Van Bosse, our doctor! Well since Dr. vB can’t be at two places at once, I was finally at peace that our appointment was indeed at 10:00 and we’d all get to sleep in. He was at the right place at the right time to calm all my fears.

I guess I should explain a bit about the Ronald McDonald house. They don’t take reservations, so the only stressful thing about them is  not getting to know where you’ll be staying until the day of your trip. That said, Ronald McDonald house is like Grandma’s: there is plenty of food, lots of toys, friendly people and you can go through the cupboards and pantries like you own the place. And you’re expected to clean up  after yourself before you leave! It’s also a place to can be alone, or you can meet other people in your situation. It is your home away from home, and a lifeline to a lot of families who can’t be with their hospitalized children without paying through the nose for a hotel otherwise.


We had a large room with two beds. But Laelia, in usual Laelia fashion, was being a big turkey and refusing to sleep. So we locked her in the closet! Haha, I’m not kidding! We put a blanket bed in there and when she immediately sat up and worked the door open, we put her back and closed the door on her!   So she had a tiny little bedroom, Harry Potter style! :) I felt bad about it  so as soon as she quieted down (about ten minutes) I opened the door. Then Charley took this picture of her sound asleep. So cute!   That dirty bottom was from scooting around in the airport on those dirty floors. I’m thankful she started the hard day ahead well rested. She woke up cheerful and full of life. I started the long day ahead with dread.

It’s a funny thing. I would think I was handling everything fine and then I would throw up with nothing to blame it on except stress and worry. This happened twice–once  Thursday night and again Sunday night–and both times I was surprised by it. Since I mostly felt very peaceful, I mean for the circumstances. In fact,  I’ve felt more peace about this surgery than any of the other three, even though this  will be the  most major. Besides being terrible at internally handling these situations, I do handle them well outwardly. Then I throw up apparently. I truly believe I did better this time because of the number of people praying for us. Sure I was stressed and worried, but I didn’t have to deal with the depression or morbid thoughts that I have before. I felt lots of peace flowing my way. And it was something outside myself.  The other several differences between this surgery and the former ones were that I was more prepared for this one, I had more say, I had more questions answered by the doctor (who I have a crush on) and  I had more hope. And, people were sending us their love, positive thoughts and praying  lots and lots of prayers to God on our daughter’s behalf.

One stresser was transportation. The rental car companies at the airport wanted to charge us  $500 for those days we would be in Philly, for their smallest cars! Our budget was $200 total. We tried to do the whole thing with cabs, but we had to go between the hospital and RMD house too often. Then while looking up prices online I stumbled across something a whole lot cheaper, but I had accidentally found something in Philly but outside the airport.  But that place closed too early and we’d miss it. So Charley found another place and flat rates for cabs  online to get there.  So we ended up taking a cab  to  another rental place, then the rental car to Ronald McDonald house. It was a round-about way to do things, but  budget friendly! I suggest it for anyone  needing to have a substancial stay in Philly. We used Enterprise in Downtown.  (Tell the cab driver their address–36th S 19th Street–or it’s hard to find.) Cab there from airport: $26.  

Our hospital is surrounded by the ghetto. I’ve said this before, but I  was hyper aware of it having to make a lot of late-night drives through it. Plus having to deal with the non-stop sirens at night or crazy  drivers/pedestrians during the day… bleh. At least this time with Charley with us, we transversed those terrible, confusing signs and streets that make up north Philly, and actually found the Shriners entrance/parking lot this time around!

Shriners’ Hospital’s Waiting Room Vrrrrrroooooooom!

We arrived at Philadelphia at 10:00 am and were still waiting for surgery at 12:45 pm. So glad we didn’t show up at 6:00 am! Every time a person came to check Laelia’s measurements, blood pressure, temperature or simply to take out the trash in the room, Laelia freaked out. She was scared. The people at Shriners are nicer than any other hospital we’ve dealt with. They care. Period.  That’s the difference most of the parents I’ve  talked  with notice first. These people know how to distract a child, talk to  them and work quickly through their screams of protest. But despite this skill, Lali was still pretty freaked.  When we walked into the PACU and saw the nurse, the first thing Laelia did was cry and shake her head, “No no no no no!” The nurse put a hand on her and said, “I have a very important job for you to do, okay? Are you ready?” Laelia nodded quietly. Then the nurse showed her a wall of bears and asked her to pick out her special surgery friend. Laelia started to relax a little.

Finally they gave her something that left her inebriated. She went from completely rigid to totally relaxed. She kept sliding off my lap even! Then my drunken baby girl began to sing silly songs while slurring her words, and with that reddish hair  it really brought out the Irish in her. :) When the man in scrubs  came to pick her up and carry her into surgery, instead of freaking out, Laelia went complacently with him.  I watched them walk down the hall as her head swung limply, like a sack of potatoes, in time with his steps.

And she was gone.

My arms, that she’d been in since we walked into this scary place, were unnaturally empty. I was clutching her blanket  really hard to remedy that empty feeling. When we stepped into the elevator to head back to our room I caught a glimpse of myself on the elevator’s reflective metal wall and I looked like some melodramatic lifetime movie reject. I made a conscious effort to relax my body and facial features  to look, what Charley refers to as,  “not crazy.”   We went to the cafeteria first off and forced down some fried food that sat in our stomachs like rocks all day. Bad move. A nurse came in while we ate to let us know they got the epidural  and IV in (a potential issue with arthrogryposis patients). We thanked her for the  news, but it became harder to  swallow after that.  We called family, watched Man Men, hung out with Sabina and her daddy for a bit and paced. Well I paced, while Charley kept trying to grab me as my course sent me within a foot of him.

I called the PACU around 2:40 pm. They had just finished with her first leg and were just about to break her second leg. Waiting after that became harder. I paced some more. The last half hour was the worst. My stomach hurt, I felt sick and  every minute felt like it had been too long and something  had to  have gone  wrong. I was on the seventh floor in the  waiting room that had large windows looking out over the ghetto. I’m afraid of heights and was going slightly mad. My mind played this trick where I could imagine myself falling as the floor melted away, and then  for a second every so often it felt like it was actually  happening. I started to think about worst case scenarios. Just as I started to get really morbid and my stomach lurched,   just under five hours after handing my child to a stranger, the doctor we’d traveled across the country to see walked into the room.

The surgey was done and we could see her in about 20 minutes. The sites looked good, but  her right leg gave him a bit of trouble. She wasn’t as straight as we’d hoped, but this was definitely a great first step towards standing up straight. But because of her epidural, her recovery would be in the ICU until Thursday. And hopefully we weren’t too set on flying back Friday.

My skin was crawling because I wanted to see her so badly. A woman led us to Lali’s room at a pace much too slow for me. Laelia started crying once she saw us. I looked at her little face, so sad and  angry and  drugged, and my mommy instincts kicked in with all the comforting I had within me. I blotted at her sweaty face and told her it was all over. She always looks so little after surgery, so tiny. She was hooked up to so many different machines. Her breathing was labored and she sounded really congested because of the liquid in her lungs. She didn’t talk or smile–so unlike her. Then I looked behind me  to see my husband, my rock, completely lose it–big tears falling down his cheeks. He excused himself from the room and sobbed.

Last minute stress

Friday, November 12th, 2010

It’s days like this that I realize all over again that my baby girl has arthrogryposis, type amyoplasia, that she did nothing to deserve, and what that means for her life–a life that is a total blessing to me.

We are leaving in three days to fly all day to Philadelphia. Then on Tuesday, November 16th at around 6:30 AM, Laelia will have her most major surgery yet.

The surgery is five words long: bilateral (both sides) proximal (nearer to the body) femoral (thigh bone) reorientation (change position) osteotomies (bone cuts).

What they do is cut all the way through the bones extremely close to the hips, removing them and then clamping and pinning those bones in a slightly different location facing downward. Since Lali has joint contractures (which is when the joints harden and don’t move) in her hips, and doing surgery on the joints themselves will cause her to be immobile, we are hoping to move her bones around her contractures so she can one day stand. We don’t yet know if she has the muscle strength to stand or walk (because of the muscle weakness of amyoplasia), but she will never be able to even have the chance without this surgery. Right now her legs are externally rotated so that her knees turn out and she can’t bring her legs together. With this surgery the thigh bones will still be facing outwards, leaving her legs externally rotated, but the bone will be positioned downward so she will, for the first time in her life, bring both her legs together.

Think of a ballerina doing first position. We also call this surgery the sitting-like-a-lady surgery since right now she sits with legs wide apart.

The surgery will take many hours and require weeks of recovery as well as six weeks in a lower body cast connected by a bar at her feet.

A year from now they will do another surgery (in Philadelphia) to remove the pins and clamps that will be inserted internally into her body and at that time they will be doing another major surgery on her knees and left foot as well.

I’m having a bit of stress today as we are still trying to get a rental car worked out, we don’t know if Ronald McDonald house will take us (we don’t find out until the day of) and we’re not packed. Also if any troubles come up during surgery and we’re unable to fly back on time then that becomes another expense and headache to work out. And sickness is going around town, Charley is on antibiotics, and we can’t risk Laelia getting sick right now.

Some wonderful friends are dropping by Sunday to help me clean so we can bring Little Miss Post Op home to a clean environment. We’re looking at some hard weeks ahead. We’d appreciate everyone’s positive thoughts and prayers for success as we proceed. Thanks.

Even scary monsters get the hiccups

Friday, November 5th, 2010