Half Days Rock My World
As you may have deduced from the title, today is a half day at work, which I could not be more excited about. It's like my own little tiny vacation. Yea!
So the last couple of days have been kind of mentally exhausting, and it's mostly because my uterus has been making preparations for my killing as well as everything else on top of it. Like what, you say? Well, I'm glad you asked.
So Wednesday started with The Smoodge and the Geneticist, which I'm pretty sure is the sequel to Beauty and the Beast, but I could be wrong. Anyway, except for the fact that we had to get up early and drive through morning rush hour traffic to downtown, it was fairly boring. They took her vitals, had a genetic counselor come in and verify some information, had a medical student come in and verify some more information. And can I just say this about the information verification? What is that all about? I wrote it didn't I? It's my address or whatever...you really think I'm going to write down one, then when you verify, go, oh is that what I wrote? that's completely wrong, THIS is the right one. Boy I'm sure glad you verify the hell out of things. Anyway, then the actual geneticist came in and began the physical exam. Now, not to disrespect anyone in the genetics profession, but come on. Do you guys just make this shit up as you go? The doc measured her eyes, top AND bottom lids, measured her ears, measured her fingers, measured her head (i'll give her that one), measured her chest (alright, she can have that one too), then poked and prodded pretty much every where else. And what she came up with was a bunch of subtle signs that individually may not have meant anything, but with all of them together there may be an issue. And apparently, have a curved pinkie is one of those signs. As well as a crease in her hand that has something to do with hockey sticks. Hence the idea that geneticists (genetici?) may just be making all this up. Curved pinkie? Hand crease? Seriously?
But back to the story. So the geneticist finished with her (fake) physical examination and decided that The Smoodge was going to need blood work. Alright, I had already mentally prepared myself for that. After all, geneticists have to do with GENES, and GENES are in your BLOOD, right? So duh about the blood work. What I wasn't prepared for was the 7-10 vials of blood they were going to fill. And while I was assured that it looked like more than it was, it was only about 2 or 3 teaspoons worth of blood, I couldn't help but think they were lying outright to my face. I mean, come on. If I were to lay those viles on her chest, it would have covered her torso, and one or two would have laid on an arm or leg. And even if it were ONLY two or three teaspoons, she can't have more than 5 in her whole body to begin with! She's little! Hello, you know she is short, it's one of your subtle freaking signs! But hey, I'm not the one with the fancy degree on the wall, so by all means you vampires, take as much as you want. And they did. They filled their blue viles and green viles and red viles and yellow viles..at least two of each, and a few maybe three. And poor Smoodge, she took it like a champ...I think I cried more than she did. They also had to get a urine sample, and so they stuck this little baggie on her hoo-hoo and we were supposed to just wait until she filled the bag. And she did...but unfortunately not with urine. She had a rowdy butt explosions that contaminated the bag, not to mention her shorts, the towel the was sitting on, and my arm. So new bag it was. Then we went back out into the waiting room so she could play while we waited for her to piddle. Now, normally I'm not one of those mothers who judges you based on how your kid treats mine. But those little turds in the waiting room left me with no choice. At one point I got to stare down a 3 year old and I have to say, I'm glad I won. I don't know that I could have faced myself in the mirror had he punked me out. I know we're in an enclosed room with nurses and all kinds of play things for kids, but that doesn't mean you get to skip out on being a parent during that time. One guy was on the phone the whole time, completely oblivious to the fact that his little PITA daughter was barricading herself into the playhouse with all the books in the joint, glaring at The Smoodge through the little pink window anytime she made an effort to open the door, yelling what I can only assume to be baby obscenities. What really ticked me off is that she had no interest in the play house until The Smoodge started to play, and then when she did, she was being a little Nazi about it.
So an hour later, The Smoodge still hasn't piddled in the bag, and I've run out of diapers, food, drink, and patience. So the nurses use a catheter on her, which I was hoping to avoid because I've had a few, and the only things more painful and uncomfortable would be kidney stones and running your hand through a meat grinder. Sure, child birth might be up there, but I was smart enough to fully utilize an epidural, so I get to claim blissful ignorance on that one. She cried, of course, but two seconds later, with a vial of urine to prove it, we were finished and got to leave. The nurse gave The Smoodge a little puppy to hold on to for being such a champ through it all, and hung on she did. I think she felt that stuffed animal was the only person who hadn't betrayed her with some sort of abuse all day long. And granted, I didn't inflict any pain, I didn't stop it either, so I got lumped in with the rest of 'em.
Fast forward to after I dropped a VERY asleep Smoodge off at the daycare and was headed back to work when the geneticist called me. I knew the blood work wasn't supposed to come back for 3-4 weeks, I guess because it takes that long to process THAT MUCH BLOOD, so I was quite shocked when she said that the blood work had come back. Well, that couldn't be good. Then she assured me that it was the basic blood work, not the 3-4 weeks stuff, that would still take 3-4 weeks. Gotcha. She started by saying this was fine, and that was fine, and oh this? this was fine too. And while she's telling me how fantastic Smoodge's blood work is (duh, I made her), I started thinking, why is she calling to tell me how good things are? Then the other shoe dropped. Smoodge's liver tests came back elevated. How elevated, you ask? Well, normal levels on these two tests are between 10 and 30 whatchamajigs (and yes, that IS the technical term). On one test, The Smoodge was at about 185, and the other 231. So what does this mean? Well, it means it's a good thing she has her 18 month visit coming up quickly, because if she didn't we'd have to make an appointment in the meantime. And at that 18 month visit, there are going to be more blood tests and possibly a sonogram of her liver. It won't be until we have a comparison test will we know more about why her liver levels are like this. So if the next test shows that they have decreased, then she was probably fighting off a virus that gave no symptoms (and apparently that DOES happen and is common) and her liver was still filtering it out of her system, or the levels stay the same and it means she might have some sort of hepatitis. Not the alphabet kind (A,B,C) but the literal translation of the word hepatitis and that will need to be addressed. I will tell you though, when she said hepatitis, all I could think was, I KNEW THAT SKANK HE'S BEEN SCREWING WAS DIRTY! And now she's tainted my daughter! But no, like I said, not the alphabet kind. Lucky for the skank.... The third possibility is that the levels continue rising, which means there's a very serious issue that needs to be addressed. What that serious issue might be, who knows. Liver failure doesn't normally happen until the numbers get into the thousands, so we do have some time if something is wrong.
So yeah, pretty emotionally exhausting stuff. But, some time, some warm baths, and some chilled wine, not to mention some good advice from mom, have helped calm me down and put things into perspective. We don't know anything yet, and there's no reason to borrow trouble.
With that in mind, only 1 1/2 hours until HAPPY HOUR!!!
So the last couple of days have been kind of mentally exhausting, and it's mostly because my uterus has been making preparations for my killing as well as everything else on top of it. Like what, you say? Well, I'm glad you asked.
So Wednesday started with The Smoodge and the Geneticist, which I'm pretty sure is the sequel to Beauty and the Beast, but I could be wrong. Anyway, except for the fact that we had to get up early and drive through morning rush hour traffic to downtown, it was fairly boring. They took her vitals, had a genetic counselor come in and verify some information, had a medical student come in and verify some more information. And can I just say this about the information verification? What is that all about? I wrote it didn't I? It's my address or whatever...you really think I'm going to write down one, then when you verify, go, oh is that what I wrote? that's completely wrong, THIS is the right one. Boy I'm sure glad you verify the hell out of things. Anyway, then the actual geneticist came in and began the physical exam. Now, not to disrespect anyone in the genetics profession, but come on. Do you guys just make this shit up as you go? The doc measured her eyes, top AND bottom lids, measured her ears, measured her fingers, measured her head (i'll give her that one), measured her chest (alright, she can have that one too), then poked and prodded pretty much every where else. And what she came up with was a bunch of subtle signs that individually may not have meant anything, but with all of them together there may be an issue. And apparently, have a curved pinkie is one of those signs. As well as a crease in her hand that has something to do with hockey sticks. Hence the idea that geneticists (genetici?) may just be making all this up. Curved pinkie? Hand crease? Seriously?
But back to the story. So the geneticist finished with her (fake) physical examination and decided that The Smoodge was going to need blood work. Alright, I had already mentally prepared myself for that. After all, geneticists have to do with GENES, and GENES are in your BLOOD, right? So duh about the blood work. What I wasn't prepared for was the 7-10 vials of blood they were going to fill. And while I was assured that it looked like more than it was, it was only about 2 or 3 teaspoons worth of blood, I couldn't help but think they were lying outright to my face. I mean, come on. If I were to lay those viles on her chest, it would have covered her torso, and one or two would have laid on an arm or leg. And even if it were ONLY two or three teaspoons, she can't have more than 5 in her whole body to begin with! She's little! Hello, you know she is short, it's one of your subtle freaking signs! But hey, I'm not the one with the fancy degree on the wall, so by all means you vampires, take as much as you want. And they did. They filled their blue viles and green viles and red viles and yellow viles..at least two of each, and a few maybe three. And poor Smoodge, she took it like a champ...I think I cried more than she did. They also had to get a urine sample, and so they stuck this little baggie on her hoo-hoo and we were supposed to just wait until she filled the bag. And she did...but unfortunately not with urine. She had a rowdy butt explosions that contaminated the bag, not to mention her shorts, the towel the was sitting on, and my arm. So new bag it was. Then we went back out into the waiting room so she could play while we waited for her to piddle. Now, normally I'm not one of those mothers who judges you based on how your kid treats mine. But those little turds in the waiting room left me with no choice. At one point I got to stare down a 3 year old and I have to say, I'm glad I won. I don't know that I could have faced myself in the mirror had he punked me out. I know we're in an enclosed room with nurses and all kinds of play things for kids, but that doesn't mean you get to skip out on being a parent during that time. One guy was on the phone the whole time, completely oblivious to the fact that his little PITA daughter was barricading herself into the playhouse with all the books in the joint, glaring at The Smoodge through the little pink window anytime she made an effort to open the door, yelling what I can only assume to be baby obscenities. What really ticked me off is that she had no interest in the play house until The Smoodge started to play, and then when she did, she was being a little Nazi about it.
So an hour later, The Smoodge still hasn't piddled in the bag, and I've run out of diapers, food, drink, and patience. So the nurses use a catheter on her, which I was hoping to avoid because I've had a few, and the only things more painful and uncomfortable would be kidney stones and running your hand through a meat grinder. Sure, child birth might be up there, but I was smart enough to fully utilize an epidural, so I get to claim blissful ignorance on that one. She cried, of course, but two seconds later, with a vial of urine to prove it, we were finished and got to leave. The nurse gave The Smoodge a little puppy to hold on to for being such a champ through it all, and hung on she did. I think she felt that stuffed animal was the only person who hadn't betrayed her with some sort of abuse all day long. And granted, I didn't inflict any pain, I didn't stop it either, so I got lumped in with the rest of 'em.
Fast forward to after I dropped a VERY asleep Smoodge off at the daycare and was headed back to work when the geneticist called me. I knew the blood work wasn't supposed to come back for 3-4 weeks, I guess because it takes that long to process THAT MUCH BLOOD, so I was quite shocked when she said that the blood work had come back. Well, that couldn't be good. Then she assured me that it was the basic blood work, not the 3-4 weeks stuff, that would still take 3-4 weeks. Gotcha. She started by saying this was fine, and that was fine, and oh this? this was fine too. And while she's telling me how fantastic Smoodge's blood work is (duh, I made her), I started thinking, why is she calling to tell me how good things are? Then the other shoe dropped. Smoodge's liver tests came back elevated. How elevated, you ask? Well, normal levels on these two tests are between 10 and 30 whatchamajigs (and yes, that IS the technical term). On one test, The Smoodge was at about 185, and the other 231. So what does this mean? Well, it means it's a good thing she has her 18 month visit coming up quickly, because if she didn't we'd have to make an appointment in the meantime. And at that 18 month visit, there are going to be more blood tests and possibly a sonogram of her liver. It won't be until we have a comparison test will we know more about why her liver levels are like this. So if the next test shows that they have decreased, then she was probably fighting off a virus that gave no symptoms (and apparently that DOES happen and is common) and her liver was still filtering it out of her system, or the levels stay the same and it means she might have some sort of hepatitis. Not the alphabet kind (A,B,C) but the literal translation of the word hepatitis and that will need to be addressed. I will tell you though, when she said hepatitis, all I could think was, I KNEW THAT SKANK HE'S BEEN SCREWING WAS DIRTY! And now she's tainted my daughter! But no, like I said, not the alphabet kind. Lucky for the skank.... The third possibility is that the levels continue rising, which means there's a very serious issue that needs to be addressed. What that serious issue might be, who knows. Liver failure doesn't normally happen until the numbers get into the thousands, so we do have some time if something is wrong.
So yeah, pretty emotionally exhausting stuff. But, some time, some warm baths, and some chilled wine, not to mention some good advice from mom, have helped calm me down and put things into perspective. We don't know anything yet, and there's no reason to borrow trouble.
With that in mind, only 1 1/2 hours until HAPPY HOUR!!!
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