Poor Iz

Copyrighted material below from eonline.com. (*E! is where I get all my news on all important world events, like this ... )

Good news Mer-Der fans: There's an upcoming ep called "Elevator Love Letter," and you know all of Meredith and Derek's best scenes happen in the elevator! That said, Derek is going to need Mer in the weeks to come—in the next new episode he decides to quit his job after learning exactly how many patients have died under his care. And if you aren't an Izzie fan, you should definitely watch the next episode—the interns diagnose her with something "unsettling." (Maybe she just needs a little Pepto-Bismol?)

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but every med student taking neuro right now is going nuts on how textbook Izzie's brain tumor is. Which, while sad, will give us back a little of that beloved Grey's Anatomy drama we all love. I'm certainly not one to argue with med students! But I'm also not one to argue with Shonda Rhimes, and she specifically told us "no" when asked if the rumors of Izzie getting a brain tumor were true. See for yourself here. She couldn't have been lying, could she? If you are a Grey's Anatomy viewer who happens to be a med student, doctor and/or brain surgeon (paging McDreamy!), please comment below and give us the skinny. Is Izzie's tumor really a lock?

True Sacrifice

While making dinner last night and plating vegetables, Ethan help up his hand and said very politely, "No thank you. I am giving up asparagus for Lent."

I said, "Nice try, you are eating your asparagus, now what else could you give up?"

"Fine! I will EAT my asparagus but then I'm gonna give up school instead. For forty days."

Note: We are not religious ... very creative, this one.

Does It Really Have To Be So Hard?

I spoke to my dad earlier on Friday and got the full report on his health. He still has the compression bandage on. That will be removed once he gets the all clear from his surgeon this week. He has not been allowed to shower for over two weeks now because there is still a wound from the chest tube and his bandage cannot get wet. This lack of showering is, to me, much more of a problem than a few shattered bones and leaky vital organs. (Current update: Bandage is now off and the surgeon reports all is healing as it should ... thank you for all the family well wishes! Also a much-needed shower has been had, or so I have heard.)

Right before I hung up the phone with my father, I did something incredible, irrevocably stupid. I spoke the following words: It has been a full week since someone from our family has had to go to the ER! That is good news! I recklessly did so without throwing salt, knocking on wood, or hiding in the pantry to avoid planes which have ingested flocks of geese and will now come crashing through my ceiling. Insane behavior on my part, and I have only myself to blame for what transpired next.

My husband and I do not argue all that often these days. We are more likely to have little spats as opposed to knock-down drag-out sort of events (though we could toe-to-toe it with the best of them back in our bar-hopping days; I am sure that had nothing to do with alcohol). I'd like to think we have become mellow and mature as the years pass, or perhaps we have just become more complacent. In any event, we are too consumed by Big Life to bitch about Little Things all that often. Unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately, because we were still awake), Friday night was a culmination of little spats that devolved into something more heated.

12 AM The ICU Discussion. I have no idea how this topic got started. Basically this "discussion" is about what happens when I am in the (hypothetical) ICU and he does not visit me enough (hypothetically) or does not speak up when the nurses do not wash their hands before reinserting my brain drainage tube (hypothetically). And DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE?! Yeah. No good response to this one, but it never fails to get me worked up.

12:15 AM - 2 AM More discussion. For the sake of not having to make a trip to family law court at the end of the month, the rest of this argument transcript will remain unpublished. But those close to me are fully apprised of what was going on since you received at least fifty emails over the past week with the subject line: ISO: My Husband's Balls. Monetary Reward Offered For Their Safe Return. I do not feel guilty about publishing this post, because I forwarded the majority of such e-mail messages to him already. I am usually only passive-aggressive when I own up to it after-the-fact. (Note: We are both happy to report that they have since been returned to their rightful owner, who missed then very much.)

2 AM Even lawyers eventually get tired of arguing, and at this point, there was no real resolution. So I had a little midnight snack of Ambien washed down with a half-glass of Merlot and started getting ready for bed.

2:10 AM I am washing my face in the bathroom when I hear this weird strangling noise coming from Ethan's room. From down the hall, it sounds like he is vomiting. I open the door to his bedroom and see him sitting up in bed. The weird noise is the sound of him in acute respiratory distress. He is gagging and wheezing and choking, and he cannot speak.

Asthma, I thought at the time. So I give him two doses of his puffer (the asthma rescue medication) and it does nothing. NOTHING! Jeff calls the emergency phone line to Ethan's allergy/asthma doctor but the line is BUSY. He tries the doctor's cell phone and gets voicemail. Most helpful when your child is blue.

After thirty seconds of waiting for a return call - or seventeen hours - not sure, exactly, since everything is all slow-motion and underwater, like in the movies, I tell Jeff to get the Epipen from downstairs while I sit with Ethan. Ethan hears me say this and struggles to get away. Jeff's eyes well up because Ethan is now frantic - not only because he cannot breathe - but because he is scared of the needle. He knows from past experience that the Epipen hurts. A lot.

So I do it. I sit on Ethan's torso to restrain him and yank his pants down to his knees with one hand. This is now my third time giving Ethan the Epipen during an emergency. I am in life-saving mode, no shaky hands, no stalling, just remove the cap - BOOM! - Epipen injection into his upper thigh while Jeff holds down Ethan's arms and tries to calm him. It goes without saying that "calm" and "five-year-old with live needle still inserted in thigh" are mutually exclusive concepts. Ethan lets out a garbled scream when the needle goes in and I hold the needle in place as I count to ten -- one Mississippi, two Mississippi ... -- while Ethan screams with as much power as he can muster with little to no air.

Jeff has never witnessed an Epipen emergency. So he is now sobbing because ... well, because ... it sucks. Jeff, still sobbing, calls 911. By the time the paramedics arrive, Ethan's breathing has normalized and is almost back to "99%." Thank God.

3-7 AM At the emergency room. The emergency room doctor diagnoses the episode as severe croup, not asthma, but says emergency epinephrine was the "right thing to do." Ethan gets Prednisone, more epinephrine, and some breathing treatments. He is a much better patient than I am and is relieved there are no more needles.

7:30 AM Jeff is retrieving the car from the hospital parking lot (he followed the ambulance). I am waiting in the reception area with Ethan when the night reception clerk recognizes me. HEY! It's you! I thought your dad got out of here!

And I'll all, Yeah, it was this one ... and point to little blond lump next to me, who, despite massive doses of epinephrine, is now slumped over in his seat, eyelids at half-mast.

The guard - who became my buddy last week - is sympathetic. Man ... your luck this week!

Dude. This year ... try, luck this YEAR ...

Twenty-Five

I was tagged on Facebook many times, and finally gave in. Here is my list:

1. Coffee is an elixir of the Gods. Red wine is a very close second.

2. My first love was named Annie. She was a grey pony who was wider than she was tall.

3. My second love will remain unnamed, but he was taller than he was wide.

4. My son did not have a name for four days after he was born. Had my in-laws not shown up to the hospital when they did, there is a good chance we would have let him pick his own name when he was a toddler and he would now be called Juice Box. So I am glad we ended up selecting Ethan, although Juice Box [Last Name Deleted] would be an awesome name to say on ESPN.

5. I try to practice “good enough” mothering and hope for the best. For example, I refused to child-proof my toilets. And I am happy to report that despite my cavalier attitude toward the dangers of modern plumbing, Ethan has never once had a near-drowning experience while attempting to tinkle.

6. Which reminds me, I have my own dramatic near-drowning story: North Shore, Hawaii. November and two-story waves and lifeguard warnings. I survived. Had it been a toilet, however, instead of the ocean? Well, I shudder to think ...

7. I love me some potato products. Atkins did not work out for me for this reason.

8. I was a vegetarian for seven years, until one night when my college roommate convinced me that I wanted a hot dog. I never looked back.

9. I was thisclose to entering a Psychology PhD program but ended up in law school after flipping a coin – fewer years in school, higher projected starting salaries – what can I say? I like to shop … oh, and help the disenfranchised with my legal talents. That too.

10. I have had the pleasure of the full complement of rabies antiserum due to an unfortunate stray cat adoption gone wrong. If you ever see me foaming at the mouth, I suggest you call Animal Control.

11. I did not change my name when I got married. I tried to hyphenate but it did not stick.

12. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt when I first meet them. I think people are, in general, good, and for the most part, nice. Unless said person has ever dated my husband. Because then I will automatically and arbitrarily determine that they are a troll-faced hooker who hates puppies and rainbows.

13. I can type the words craniotomy, subependymoma, syringomyelia and meningioma without having to spell check. Though I wish this was knowledge I did not have, I am grateful I can still type those – and other – words.

14. I hold it together pretty well, except when I don’t. And then I fake it.

15. When shopping, I am drawn to anything metallic, animal print, or painfully shiny. There must be a trashtastic fifty-three-year-old cocktail waitress alter-ego inside of me that wants to come out. Or it might be the rabies.

16. I am better on paper. Despite the rigors of Socratic training (or perhaps because of it), public speaking makes me nervous.

17. My closest friend in the world has been my best friend since I was four. We used to eat paste together and now she is a surgeon at Harvard. We have only had one major disagreement in thirty-some years and that was over a riding helmet when we were eleven. She won. I am still a little bitter.

18. My dad double-majored in theology/biology and seriously considered becoming a Catholic priest. Now he is a dentist. I feel like that option worked out much better for me and my younger brother.

19. My favorite food is lobster. Childhood summers in Maine mean that my favorite food is lobster that was caught one hour before and is still damp from the ocean when it goes into the pot. And, no, they do not scream when you cook them. (But ... my husband ... he does scream when we get the restaurant tab and I have ordered lobster. Ba-da-bump! Don't forget to tip your waiter and try the veal!)

20. I like peonies (pink) and ponies (dark bay, four white socks and a blaze).

21. A big regret? Not moving to California after college. Sunshine and the beach may have made law school that much better … but probably not.

22. I find writing on my blog entertaining and therapeutic. Many people have told me they enjoy reading it and that I should consider writing a book. Hey - I just had a crazy idea! Maybe I should write a book?!

23. The perfect martini – Dirty. Grey Goose. Extra olives. Blue cheese. YES!

24. The best sound on the planet? My son’s laughter.

25. If there was one thing I would like people to say about me, it would be that I care about other people and that I am kind. Or, that I have a really nice ass. Your pick.

Regroup

The month of January and early-February, in review:

1) My husband's grandmother passed away (she was very old, and sick ... but still ... )

2) I went blind and was on house arrest (and then regained sight, miraculously! Praise Jesus!)

3) My father impaled himself with a yard instrument and suffered life-threatening injuries (and is still recuperating, but expected to make a complete recovery).

4) I have brain issues (not new news, but I feel like the karmic bullshit factor of this statement should exempt me from all other problems in life. If you follow this blog, you have learned that it does not).

But first, pleasantries and salutations: You may be bored of reading the following statement, but I assure you that while the words may seem stale and tired (much the way I feel right now), the sentiments are not. On that note: thank you, friends and family, for being so incredible. The prayers, thoughts, and babysitting assistance ... holding it together without your help would be next-to-impossible.

Regarding the father: My dad is now home from the hospital. We were fortunate to be able to celebrate my mom's birthday at my parents' house, with a last-minute Giant-brand cake ("Terrible!") and jokes about Cialis and four-hour erections, while my dad puffed into this hospital-issued plastic device that looked not-unlike a bong. You know, normal family time.

My dad asked me to select a card for my mom when I went to pick up her cake. Since he'd been all busy schlepping around tubes and struggling to breathe and not die for the past week, I felt like he had a proper excuse for not taking on the task himself (and I did not even charge him extra for my time or gas for my car, because I am selfless like that.)

The grocery store greeting card selection was sorely lacking. Seriously, who writes these cards? Or perhaps the true question might be, who buys these cards? All the cards either had goopy poems that made my eyes itch or some sort of scraggly animal accompanied by not-so-funny bodily-function humor. Neither seemed appropriate.

I ended up choosing a card for my dad to give my mom that "sang" Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" when opened, which reduced me to tears, even after the tenth time. Actually - scratch that - ESPECIALLY after the tenth time. My laughter tends to reverberate and I think it may have scared the cats away. Sadie (the agoraphobic feline) is probably still hiding under the wet towels in the linen closet, covering her ears with her paws.

And now, Dad, a word. In the future, if you want your own private TV for Superbowl viewing, I feel like there are easier ways to obtain that goal. I am more than a little worried what you may do to yourself during March Madness to secure some non-Lifetime Channel-interrupted sports viewing. As a preemptive strike to any sort of monkey shines, why don't you just put it on your calendar to come over to our place? You can have the non-sticky chair and I'll order enchiladas! With olives!

Oh - and for Father's Day - instead of the traditional ultra-deluxe set of golf balls and a tie with Jerry Garcia's illustrations of clouds silk-screened on it, Scott and I are going in on a gardening service. Given what you managed to do to yourself with a seemingly innocuous yard tool, we do not even want to imagine what sort of chaos you could inflict if you got your hands on a bag of mulch and some rose shears. You might lose your spleen trying to harvest that American Beauty flower, and nobody wants to see that.

As per usual, after periods of stress and challenge, I always take a moment to re-examine my own life and ask The Big Questions.

Just last night, I took a deep breath, looked around my house, at my family and found myself pondering the following: Can anyone tell me why there is a can of chili sitting on the couch in the living room?

Ice Cream, The Wonder Drug

Ben & Jerry's was a big hit. I don't know if you have heard, but hospital food service is not on par with French Laundry in Napa.

My dad is more human-colored now, less purple-grey and translucent. He can blow up a balloon (which sounds weird) but something the pulmonology people seem to think is important. Maybe when he gets out, he can get a weekend job as a kids' party clown to pay off the medical bills.

Right now, he is still extremely weak and the chest tube is still in. There is a fine balance between how long that should stay in and when it should come out. The longer something foreign sticks into your chest cavity, the higher the risk of infection. So once his lung has healed enough to function on its own, that will be removed immediately.

He can stand now, but just barely and with a lot of effort, which is a huge improvement from yesterday. He will probably be rickety for the near-term while he regains strength -- maybe he'll need a chair for those kids' parties.

He has moved down from the critical round-the-clock monitoring unit, which is wonderful, because it means he is healing. His critical care nurse was, I am sure, not sad to say goodbye. Because while she declared my father to be "a model patient", I was, unabashedly, a non-apologetic pain-in-the-ass.

Where are his compression stockings? They need to be ordered? Ok. Order them. Did you give him his Motrin yet? No? How about now? No. NOW? Just give it to me ... I'll dispense it to him. 600 mg? Why is his Jello purple? The guy next to him has orange Jello! Who do I have to talk to to get some orange Jello? How is his fever? What - two HOURS ago? Can you check it again? Right now? Yes. Now. I'll wait. Did I mention I had client in here just last month? Oh, I did not mention I was a lawyer? Yeah, I LOVE medical malpractice! So fulfilling. Now, about that Jello ...

* Note: I do not do medical malpractice and did not actually play the lawyer card. That is obnoxious. But I have not been shy about making sure he gets attentive care and nothing is overlooked, which I am sure the staff enjoyed. I can joke now because I am overwhelmingly relieved - after crying on-and-off - for the past three days.

You show those organs who's boss, Dad, and I'll take care of ordering the Jello!

When It Rains, It Pours

Many of you know that my dad is currently in serious condition at Howard County General.

He fell on the ice Saturday afternoon while carrying a sledgehammer. He was trying to break up the ice on the back deck, when he slipped and landed on the stick part of the sledgehammer. A freak thing. He suffered blunt force trauma to the chest, resulting in three broken ribs. One of the broken ribs punctured a lung.

A chest tube was put in, surgically, on Saturday night to reinflate the lung. It is still in and will be removed once his lung can sustain breathing on its own. X-rays every day have been tracking his progress to see how the chest tube is working to correct the lung trauma.

He was improving until he spiked a fever last night. I.V. antibiotics were started and the fever has started to go down, as of today. At this point, his temperature is almost back to normal, which is a good sign.

If all went well, he was slated to be released on Tuesday. However, infection/fever are considered a major complication, so right now, we are not sure when he will released from the hospital or when the chest tube can be removed.

He asked for ice cream, which I take to be a good sign. Will keep you posted.

PS My life? I mean ... you CANNOT make this s--- up. I told my brother I am waiting for it to start raining frogs on my house. Hello, Universe? A little less drama. Um-kay? Maybe for just a week.

PPS Thank you for all the prayers and thoughts.