How Naps are Hazardous to Your Health

I used to like taking naps when the rare occasion presented itself, however, they’re something in which I’ve not indulged for years now. Maybe it’s the whole “single mom to 6 kids” thing and the overwhelming self-inflicted guilt I feel when I take time for myself. At any rate, I never sleep during the day.

Sunday, it rained. Of course it rained. It’s August in Florida. Anyway, it rained, effectively putting a damper on my plans to hang out at the pool with my kids, so instead, I plopped down on my bed with a bottle of nail polish, planning to take a few minutes to give myself a pedicure. The next thing I knew, I was waking up completely disoriented. I thought I’d overslept for work. When I realized it was too light outside to be 6 am, I tried to figure out what day it was and why I was in bed. Looking at the clock, I discovered I’d been asleep for two hours. TWO HOURS! Two hours of my day were gone and all I had to show for it was a grogginess and headache that made me feel like I’d been out drinking all night.

I never was able to completely wake up and function for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and ended up going to bed by 9 o’clock. Sleeping in the afternoon and going to bed at 9 has its price and it’s called insomnia. At 3 am, I awoke, ready to start my day. Try as I might, I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up and went downstairs to get a drink of water. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I screamed. There was a snake on the floor by my front door! It was dark in the house, but from the sliver of light shining through the window, I could see the black beast coiled up and lying there, just ready to make a meal out of me. I ran down the hall and clambered to safety atop a kitchen chair. I crouched there while my heart rate skyrocketed to somewhere between 190 and explode.

From my vantage point, I could still see the snake. It hadn’t moved. I picked up a napkin and threw it at the snake, but it just wafted down a couple inches from where I stood. You know, because it was a napkin and even my 7-year-old understands the physics that would make a paper napkin a poor projectile. Did I mention it was 3 o’clock in the morning, my eyes weren’t focusing, I was tired, and there was a SNAKE in my house? Thinking rationally was not on my list of capabilities at the time.

I reached over and picked up a AA battery that was lying on the table and launched it at the snake. I have no idea why. I don’t really know what my purpose was. I don’t think it’s possible to kill a snake with a AA battery from four yards away. I’d probably only tick him off and make him come bite my ankles. I’m going to reiterate that it was 3 am once more.

After the battery flew from my hands and hit the wall above the snake I braced myself for the snake to come slithering toward me. It didn’t move. That’s weird. Do snakes sleep? Surely a battery pegging the wall near it would wake it up. Wouldn’t it? Why didn’t I pay more attention to all the books about snakes and lizards and such that I’ve read to the boys over the years? Not that they contained instructions for killing snakes in your house from four yards away while half-asleep.

I carefully lowered myself from my perch atop the chair and inch-by-inch, crept a little closer to the snake, all the while vigilant and aware that it may fly toward me and wrap itself around my neck at any moment. When I got within a few feet of the thing, I blinked several times, trying to bring the world into focus. Not only was the snake not moving, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized it didn’t seem to have an ending or a beginning. It looked almost like it was just a big loop that was haphazardly twisted around.

Finally I thought to turn on the light. I glanced down and saw that the snake was actually a headband. I calmly flipped off the light, turned toward the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of wine before returning to bed.

The next morning my kids asked me, “What were you doing downstairs last night? You woke me up with the light.”

“Yeah, why were you screaming? Did you see a cockroach or something?”

“It was worse,” I said gravely. “I saw a snake.”

“For real?” they asked incredulously. “There was a snake in the house?!”

“Well, it could have been a venomous snake,” I hedged. “But it was a mumble mumble mumble…”

“What? What did you say?”

“It was a headband,” I whispered sheepishly.

“BWAAAA HAAAAA HAAAAAA!!!! You were screaming at a headband? HAAAAAAA!”

Indignant, I repeated, “Well, it could have been a poisonous snake! I could have been killed!”


They continued laughing until they fell off the couch, holding their stomachs. I’m never going to live this down.

Lightning Strikes

Nine years ago in Orange County, a 10-year-old girl was struck by lightning shortly after getting off her school bus at the end of the day. She died. This put the "30/30 rule" in place for the county's school district. The 30/30 rule states that if there are 30 seconds or less between the lightning flash and the thunder, then you must wait 30 minutes before leaving shelter. In Orange County schools, every time you see lightning or hear thunder, you have to reset the clock and wait another 30 minutes. During a 30/30 hold, children are not permitted to leave their classes. If it happens near dismissal time, kids are kept at school to prevent an unspeakable tragedy like the family of that 10-year-old girl experienced not long ago. However, parents can choose to come sign out their child and take responsibility for their well-being as they leave the protection of the building.

Yesterday, 10 minutes before dismissal, the lightning and thunder started. The principal called a 30/30 hold. I don't actually have a 7th period class so I could have left. Except that the parking lot is also the car rider loop. In other words, there was no way on earth I was getting out of that parking lot anytime in the foreseeable future. So, I stood outside the main office and helped direct parents to the line where they'd need to wait in order to sign out their child, then, when they had a pass, I directed them to their child's class so they could pick them up.

Parents waited in their cars for a chance to turn into the overcrowded parking lot. They double-parked, came inside, and waited in another line in order to sign out their child. Sometimes a parent would get in line and we'd shout out a reminder that they must have a photo ID in order to pick up their kid. Then they'd get mad and stomp back off to the car in order to get the wallet they'd left there. I understand how frustrating it was for them. I get it. Some of them had to get to work and didn't have time to wait around. Some of them were worried about getting their kid to football/gymnastics/guitar lessons/etc. It wasn't fun. I tried to be sympathetic.

Most of the parents, although frustrated, understood and accepted the procedures we had to follow. But some . . . Well, let's put it this way: after watching some of the parents in line, I understand why their children act the way they do.

There was the mom who stalked over to the line, then angrily proclaimed for all to hear, "My dad came to pick up my son and you wouldn't release him to him!"

"Was your dad on the list of approved people?"

"No."

"We can only release the students to people you've put on your list. This is to keep them safe."

"Well, I just drove 90 miles an hour to get here and they (apparently meaning every person who works at the school) don't even care if someone gets in an accident on the way here to get their kid!"

I my mind, I said, "You're right. We don't care if you drive like an idiot and get in an accident. We care about your son and keeping him safe. Tell you what, if you'd killed yourself driving like a moron, then we would've released your son to his grandfather. You know, because you'd be dead." In reality I said sympathetically, "I'm sorry. I know it's frustrating. Unfortunately, we have no control over the weather and we have to follow the district's rules in situations like this."

Then there was the dad who flashed his police badge at me and asked, "Will this get me to the front of the line?"

In my mind, I rolled my eyes, then held up my OCPS badge and asked, "Will this get me out of a speeding ticket?" In reality I said, "Nope, I'm sorry. There are 3 lines. Please have your photo ID with you."

And who could forget the mom who yelled, "This is ridiculous! You should all be fired! I have other kids I need to pick up, you know!"

I my mind, I shouted back, "Guess what! I have 6 kids of my own! Half the teachers here have their own kids to pick up! My daughter needed to be at work at 5:00 but I'm still not home to drive her! I have 2 kids at the YMCA that need to be picked up before 6:00 and that's not gonna happen. My 7th grader had to walk home in the rain. The principal's kid has been stuck, sitting on his bus for over an hour because his school called a 30/30 right after they started dismissing! And guess what! We're all stuck here, unable to take care of our OWN kids because we're caring for YOURS! So shut up!" In reality, I said, "I'm really sorry for the inconvenience. I know it's frustrating."

There were plenty of people who ranted and complained while in line. And as they walked out and I saw what kids were with them, a lightbulb went on and I thought, 'Ahhhhh, that makes so much sense now. I completely understand why your kid acts the way he does in school.'

So, if you happen to live in a district that institutes a 30/30 rule during inclement weather, please, please, please remember this: The parents of the little girl who died would give anything to navigate a busy parking lot, stand in line for 20 minutes, and miss their evening activities. But they can't do that. It's too late for them. For the rest of you, frustrating as it may be, it is NOT the end of the world. In the whole scheme of things, it is NOT a big deal. Choose to be happy that your kids have the chance to go to school at a place where people are looking out for their welfare, instead of choosing to dwell on the fact that your evening plans have been disrupted. 

If waiting in line to pick up your kid from school is your biggest problem (worthy of ranting and raving), then you have a pretty blessed life. Something I noticed was that the parents of the ESE (special needs) kids were the ones who were consistently calm and patient. I think they understand what is important and what really isn't.

And remember this. Your kids look to you for guidance. Think about the kind of example you want to provide them. You can tell them how you expect them to behave until you're blue in the face, but it won't make the slightest bit of difference unless you're modeling that behavior yourself.

Shower Rules

It’s football season which means crazy dinner times. Either we eat super-early before practice, or we eat super-late after practice. Yesterday, the kids scarfed down some snacks after school so we opted to eat dinner after practice. When we walk in the door from football/cheer, the girls are usually hungry, Clay has generally lost his appetite, and Jackson tends to be famished. Then again, Jackson’s pretty much always hungry. Of course, when we walk in the door after football/cheer, the boys are drenched in sweat as well. Yesterday, Jackson found a solution to his daily predicament: shower or eat first? 

He stripped out of his sweat-covered practice gear, carefully placed it in his designated area (in a heap on his floor), wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the refrigerator. He opened the door and peered inside for a moment, then turned to me and asked, “What’s the rule about eating apples in the shower?” 

I wasn’t aware we actually had such an oddly specific rule. I know we have rules about taking showers that last half an hour. We have rules about mopping up the floor after forgetting to close the curtain all the way and flooding the bathroom. We need rules about leaving half a dozen empty shampoo bottles in the shower and leaving wet towels on the floor, but I’m pretty sure there are no apple-eating rules. 

I gave Jackson a blank stare. 

“I’m really hungry,” he explained. 

“How are you going to wash yourself with an apple in your hand?” I asked. 

He gave me a look reserved for talking to the simple-minded, explaining to young children why they shouldn’t run out in the street, or answering a clueless parent, and said, “I have two hands.” Duh 

I gave Jackson another blank stare. 

Savannah, who was sitting next to me at the table, gave Jackson a blank stare. 

Savannah and I turned to look at each other, expressionless. 

Jackson, taking my dumbstruck silence as acquiescence, grabbed an apple and headed off to the shower. 

A little while later he reappeared in the kitchen and proclaimed, “BEST. SHOWER. EVER!” 

Savannah and I shook our heads. 

“My friend Johnny says that he eats cereal in the shower!” Jackson exclaimed excitedly. “I’m totally gonna try that! Think of all the time I’ll save!” 

“Think of all the plumbing bills,” I muttered under my breath. I guess I need to come up with some shower rules now. Maybe a laminated list. Where to put it though? On the bathroom door or the pantry?

15 Things Your Child's Teacher Wants you to Know

The pencils are sharpened, the notebook paper bought, the folders labeled. It’s that time of year again. As a parent and an educator, I’ve experienced both the ‘Woo Hoo, it’s the most wonderful time of the year’side and the ‘Sigh, it’s time to go back to work’ side. I’m fortunate in that I have a glimpse into both worlds. At this time, as we head back to school, I’m going to tell you what your kids’ teachers would like you to know.

CONTINUE READING HERE!

How to Keep Your Kids Positive About School (aka: Embarrassing my Children, Just one More Service I Offer)

I remember trying to get to all 3 of my kids' schools on the same night, two years ago, when my kids and I first moved to Florida. It was awful. I was at such a loss. I didn't know anyone here, wasn't familiar with the schools, didn't know the teachers, wasn't used to the stifling heat, and I felt like a total failure, certain that moving here had ruined my kids' lives. The night ended with me having a breakdown and crying like a baby.  I'm not proud of that. I wish someone had been around to slap me and tell me to get a grip, or to make me laugh about the situation.

I’m very happy to declare that I’ve since become more familiar with things here in Florida and, more importantly, I’ve regained my sense of humor. Tonight I took Jackson to the high school to pick up his schedule, get his ID, and walk the campus, searching for his classes. Jackson is a freshman this year. He’s not happy about it. He walked around, sulking all evening. Granted, there were a zillion people there, it was raining, and it was slightly hotter than the surface of the sun, but still…his attitude was less than delightful.

“Freshman year is gonna suck,” Jackson pouted. “The first week of school is gonna suck. Getting to all my classes is gonna suck. Being a freshman sucks. This whole year is gonna suck.” The litany continued throughout our evening.

At first, I offered cheery rebuttals. “It isn’t going to suck. It’s going to be awesome! I loved high school! No way will it suck — you’re outgoing! You’ll make tons of friends and have so much fun! Jackson, I’m not worried about you at all. You’ll adapt and fit in right away, you’ll see.”

However, the negativism kept seeping from him, making the humid air grow even more oppressive with his dark thoughts.

We were standing in line in the media center, waiting so Jackson could have his picture taken for his student ID, when he said once more, “This is going to suck.”

I looked at him and said, “School isn’t going to suck. You know what’s going to suck? It’s going to suck when I get fed up with your complaining and I start doing this…”

Then I raised my voice a bit and said, “This is my son, Jackson. He’s new here. Will you be his friend? He’s a nice guy.” I turned and approached someone else. “Hi, I’m Dawn and this is my son, Jackson. He’s scared about high school. Would you like to be his friend?” I greeted another person. “This is my son, Jackson. Isn’t he cute? He doesn’t have many friends. Would you like to be his friend? He’s a nice boy.”

I’m not sure, but I think Jackson was debating between laughing, running away, and having me locked up. At any rate, he cut the negativity and smiled for his ID picture.

As we walked back to the car, I told him, “Listen, it’s going to be fine. Yeah, it’s scary, but you’re a great guy. You’re outgoing and make friends easily. You’ll find your way around just like everyone else here. You’ll have a good year, I know it. And if you don’t, I can always drop you off on the first day and get out of the car in my pajamas and introduce you around some more.”

Jackson gave me his ‘I am not amused’ look and stated, “I would rather walk to school on my butt cheeks, but thanks anyway.”


I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a good year.

Have Wheels, Will Travel

I remember when my first-born son got his first set of wheels. It was a black truck that he got for a Christmas present. It took him to far away, exotic places like the End of our Driveway and the Next Door Neighbor's House. I could handle him taking off in that truck because I never left his side, as this truck was mom-powered. I spent many hours pushing him around town and had the aching back to prove it.

As he got a little older, he explored a little further - going down the street, sometimes around the corner. Now and then, he'd carry cargo like action figures, Matchbox cars, a jelly sandwich, or a sibling. The truck was converted from mom power to toddler power. I can still see him driving that truck down the sidewalk, his little toddler legs powering the vehicle at breathtaking speeds of .5 mph.

He went off on his own and met neighbors. He stopped along the way and explored, picking dandelions and collecting rocks and sticks. He sometimes stopped at a friend's house and let her have a turn with the truck. Always, he came back home after his little adventure, happy to share his stories of what he'd done and seen along the way. And I'd listen to his tales and admire the treasures (spiders, wood chips, cigarette butts, and handfuls of grass) he'd found along the route, smiling at my little child who was starting to pull away from me and figure out who he was on his own. I knew it was a normal milestone. He was investigating his environment, learning from all he saw and experienced. It was a good thing for a toddler/preschooler to do.

That same child just bought his first set of wheels that actually has an engine. And it will take him much farther than our driveway or the neighbor's front yard. It will take him wherever he wants to go. It will open new worlds to him. It will present him with choices and opportunities. And I won't be there behind him, pushing him on. He'll be on his own.

Now that he has a car, he has a new level of freedom and I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he's 18 years old, it's time that he break away and have freedom. If he was away at college, I wouldn't be there to monitor his every move. He'd essentially be on his own. He wouldn't have to ask permission to go to the mall or the movies or to hang out with friends. He'd have to make those decisions on his own. Since he's living at home while going to school, however, it's a little different. I sometimes forget he's 18. I sometimes look at him like he's that same little kid in the plastic, foot-powered truck, toddling down the driveway. I maybe, sort of, want to hang onto him and not let him go anywhere because he's my baby and I can't protect him if he's not by my side.

So we're finding a balance of freedom and consideration. Although I have no problem with him taking off to go to the store when he feels like it, and I don't feel like he needs my explicit permission to do every little thing, he is still living in this house and common courtesy dictates that he check in with me and confirm plans before leaving. I want to let him go, yet being a single mom to 6 kids, I sometimes still need him to help out. It's a balancing act and we're figuring it out as we go.


Much like his first Little Tikes truck, this car will take him new places. It will take him to college and a job. It will take him to the store and on dates with his girlfriend. One day, it  might even take him to his own wedding. It's conceivable that it could take him to the hospital where he'll bring home his own newborn baby who will grow up and drive a toddler-powered truck down his driveway one day. He'll explore and discover new things along the way. He'll collect items (probably not sticks, rocks, and worms anymore) and memories. And it's all good. That's the way it should be. 

What She Left Us Winner!

Here is the random winner of Stephanie Elliot's newest book, WHAT SHE LEFT US!

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Timestamp: 2013-08-01 00:27:34 UTC

 Bailey's Leaf said...

My Kindle would love a new book! :)

July 25, 2013 at 9:31 AM

 

Congratulations!

Pickled Sausages (and Other Things that Make you Throw up in your Mouth a Little)

To say it was an enormous culture shock when I moved to Florida is an understatement. Things are really different down here from how they were in Chicagoland. Different isn't necessarily bad, but in this case . . . well, in this case, I'm convinced the only reason people stay in Florida is for the weather. And maybe the beach. They sure don't stay for the education or healthcare. They don't stay because of the way people drive down here, and I'm pretty sure they don't stay for the interesting things you find in stores down here either.

I've written about the awesome gems I've discovered while shopping in Florida HERE. In fact, reading that post makes me want to go back to Old Time Pottery because you just can't beat the kind of awesomeness you find there. I've got a few more fun prizes for you today. These are some things I've never seen in Chicago. Ever. Yet, they're abundant in Florida.

Big John's Pickled Sausages. The bigger, better pickled sausage. Better than what? And it never needs refrigeration. What could be better than artificially colored, pickled casings stuffed with mechanically separated chicken and pork hearts. Mmmmm! You get a whole 4 pounds in this jar. It's party sized! I do like the little mascot there, however. He looks like a very red Twinkie the Kid.

I don't really know what collard greens are. I'm quite certain I never saw them on a shelf at Jewel or Dominick's. It looks suspiciously like the stuff I trimmed with my weed whacker this morning though.

I don't even want to know! Okay, maybe I sort of want to know. You know, like a bad accident you can't look away from. You really don't want to see anything awful, yet you can't turn away. 

There are entire aisles devoted to grits down here like we have oatmeal up north. I tried grits once. That was all I needed. One time. All I know is that whenever I hear the word "grits", I think of My Cousin Vinny. "Are we to believe that boiling water soaks into a grit faster in your kitchen than any place on the face of the earth? Perhaps the laws of physics cease to exist on your stove. Were these magic grits? Did you guy them from the same guy who sold Jack his beanstalk beans?" 

Austin looked over my shoulder as I uploaded this picture and asked, "What is that?" 
I answered, "I have no idea what a chitterling is." 
"Look it up, Mom."
So I did. I wish I hadn't. Now I understand why the package says 'triple cleaned'. I guess you can never wash out a pig's intestines too well before frying them up and eating them. Excuse me while I vomit.

They actually call pop 'soda' down here. It's on signs and everything. It makes me cringe.

It's a giant can of boiled peanuts. Peanuts. That are. Boiled. They have the texture of wet chalk and they taste like . . . Let me put it this way - the day I tried my first boiled peanut was coincidentally the same day I tried my last boiled peanut.

Does this really need words? Oh wait, yes it does! I'm totally buying some before my next colonoscopy!

It's a unicorn corkscrew! Perfect for the 10-year-old girl in your life who likes to drink wine!

I love Target, but I'm mad at them for selling these tea cozies. Little old grandmas everywhere are going to have to come up with a new idea for Christmas presents now!

What She Left Us

Stephanie Elliot was the first person ever to ask me for my autograph. (Do you still have it, Steph?) I'll never forget that. At that same lunch date, she also contemplated stealing the pepper mill. Ha! Kidding! Just kidding. Stephanie would never do that. But we sure did have fun. We always have fun when we get together! Stephanie has a gigantic heart and a great sense of humor. It's a good combination.

Here we are at Italian Village with Michelle Brownlow and Mimi Avery. There may have been drinking and laughing going on.

 There may have been some checking out guys going on too.

At BlogHer in 2009. She's an awesome nap buddy!

But, did you know that Stephanie is also a terrific writer? I knew she was a good writer, but I didn't realize how good until I read What She Left Us. Her story drew me in and I couldn't put the book down until I'd finished it. You go along reading, skipping back and forth between the two girls' stories, thinking you know what's going on, but then - TWIST - you're surprised by the turn the story takes. It's AWESOME!

Synopsis for WHAT SHE LEFT US: Jenna and Courtney are dealing with the unexpected death of their mother in different ways. Jenna broke off her engagement to the man she thought she'd love forever, while Courtney headed back to college to take charge of a dorm-floor full of college students as a resident assistant. Six months later, Jenna is fueled by panic over the news that the sisters may have the same disease that caused their mother's death and she makes an irrational decision - she packs it up and heads to college to be with Courtney. The timing couldn't be worse for Courtney, who's discovering love for the first time with Mitch, a sexy guitar player who may just be off limits. Emotionally unstable, Jenna wonders if she made the worst mistake of her life by breaking off her engagement with Darren, and when he shows up to make amends, she can't help but second-guess her decision. But then there's Clay, the compassionate bartender at Klippy's who seems to understand everything Jenna's going through. And those hazel eyes just seem to see right through to Jenna's soul… As the girls maneuver through their unpredictable futures, trying to manage their new health risks as well as tumultuous love lives, Courtney finds a disturbing photograph that indicates there may be more to their family than she ever imagined. This stunning revelation could shatter the sisters to the very core, making them question everything they thought they knew about their family, their faith, their past and, most of all, each other.

WHAT SHE LEFT US is available on Kindle. Don't have a Kindle? No problem, just download the free Kindle app on your smartphone, iPad, tablet, etc., and voila, you're good to go! 

Leave me a comment here to be entered in a drawing for a FREE copy of What She Left Us for Kindle! I'll choose a random winner on Wednesday, July 31st. Good luck!

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The Problem with Healthcare in America

So here's my dilemma - 

I have had Cigna insurance for my kids through my job. I can't afford it any longer, so I applied for insurance through the state. They qualified for Medicaid. Great! I cancelled the Cigna, but the change won't take effect until Sept. 1st. No big deal. 

Last week, when all this stuff went down with Austin and Savannah, I tried making an appointment with their primary care physician assigned to them with Cigna since that doctor is at least a little familiar with my kids. However, because they now have Medicaid, that doctor refused to see them. I argued that they still had Cigna until September, but no dice. They flat-our refused. No problem.

I called the PCP assigned to them through Medicaid. They refused to see Austin and Savannah because they're a pediatrician's office and Austin and Savannah are too old at 17 and 18. When I explained everything going on and told them I was desperate to get follow-up care for my kids right now, they still refused. In fact, last week when I told her about the positive HIV test and how I was certain it was incorrect, she had the same condescending, judgmental, and condemning attitude. "Why does he donate blood regularly?" I heard once more. It makes me want to take the negative test, march over to the office and thrust it in her face while shouting, "See this?! I was right and you suck!"

Anyway, the receptionist at the pediatrician's office assigned by Medicaid recommended I call Medicaid and get a different provider assigned to Austin and Savannah. Fine. No problem. I called Medicaid. After about 20 minutes on the phone with them, I was given another number to call. After speaking to someone else and explaining the whole problem yet again, I was told, "Austin and Savannah were already assigned a doctor. The name and number is on their cards."

"I know! But that doctor won't see them! He's a pediatrician and says my kids are too old. Can they get a different doctor? An internal medicine doctor in the area, please?"

After several more minutes of trying to get her to understand the situation, she finally says, "Well, I show that you still have Cigna. I can't switch doctors until the Cigna is gone."

"I did cancel the Cigna, but those changes won't take place until September first. What do I do in the meantime? No one will see my kids. My daughter is having health issues and my son just got out of the hospital and needs follow up in a week, not two months!"

"I don't know, but I can't do anything until the Cigna is gone."

Today, their primary care doc with Cigna called to schedule an appointment for Austin since they'd received copies of his records from the hospital.

"Oh, so you'll see him now? You wouldn't see my kids last week because of the insurance issues. After she took a minute to look at his file, she said, "Oh you're right. We can't see him. He has Medicaid now."

"So he has to go without any follow-up care because you guys refuse to see him even though he still has Cigna and even though YOU called ME to schedule an appointment?"

"That's correct. I'm sorry."

"Gee thanks! Thanks for NOTHING! That's for nothing, everyone!" Healthcare isn't about the patient's health. It's all about insurance and who will pay for what. Period. As far as I can tell, no one takes into account the patient's needs at all. I admit that I was spoiled with the most amazing doctors who went above and beyond back in Chicagoland, but here? It has been my experience that no one gives a crap about anyone.

Now I need to find a place to take Austin for a follow-up appointment and whole new set of HIV testing so I can take those negative results back to the hospital where I will lie on the floor kicking and screaming until they agreed to amend his medical record. (Anyone who has seen this video of me, knows I have no problem lying on the floor while kicking and screaming in public.) I wonder if I can also get them to go back through records and see who was given negative HIV results during the same time frame because most likely, that person is positive and doesn't know it, thanks to the hospital's screw up.

Our Nightmare

Savannah was still having pain around her middle, in addition to the new worrying symptoms of numbness in her hand and foot, dizziness, and blurred vision. I tried to make an appointment with her doctor, but because of stupid insurance issues that would take an entire blog post to explain, I couldn't do that. So, I brought her back to the ER for the third time on Wednesday. While I was there with her, Austin texted me from the hospital where he was still a patient.

"I'm dying."

"Dying how? Pain? Nausea? Just feeling bad?"

"No, really dying."

"You're not dying, Cameron." (Ferris Bueller reference that was supposed to make him laugh)

"Yesterday, maybe an hour before you got here, a doctor came in and said there was more testing to be done, but the initial results were that I was HIV positive. I just kept crying. That is why my eyes were red. I'm dying, Mom."

My heart stopped for a minute and a wave of nausea flooded me. I felt like all the air had been knocked out of my lungs; like someone had just punched me in the gut.

"WHAT?!!!!!!!!!!! Are you kidding me?"  It's a joke, right? He has to be kidding.

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" Ohmygosh, the doctor told him while he was all alone! And I haven't been there all day! My poor Austin!

"Because the two main things that cause it are sexual contact and sharing needles. I didn't want you to assume anything. I've never done any of that."

"Then it isn't possible. The test is wrong, Austin. You don't have HIV and it was really wrong of him to say something like that before the test was complete. What exactly did he say? What kind of @$$%&(# tells a kid something like that while he's all alone?"

"He said, 'So we got the initial results back from your blood test and they're positive. They aren't final though so there will be another test. Any questions for me? No? Okay.'"

"You donate blood, Austin. They screen for this. You've never been notified of any problems. You have no risk factors. You don't have HIV. False positives are common. That's why they HAVE to do a follow-up test if there's ever a positive."

"But I'm sweating a ton and I looked it up and night sweats are a symptom of HIV."

"So is menopause, cancer, fever, infection, sleeping on a hot, plastic hospital bed with compression things wrapped around your legs, and a whole host of other things.

"Then I have cancer."

"You've been tested for everything, Austin. Cancer doesn't develop overnight."

"It might even develop faster than overnight in my body. Maybe my body is a cancer magnet."

"Stop it!"

"I'm a cancer hotspot."

"Stop it! You don't have HIV or cancer."

"Because it's clearly developed into AIDS already."

"Stop it!"

"Even the AIDS infected cells have cancer which in turn produced cancerous AIDS cells which kept multiplying to make an AIDS/cancer hybrid. Which, despite the name, is actually beneficial to nail and hair growth."

"Well, it's a good thing your sense of humor is back."


On Thursday, the doctor saw Austin before I got to the hospital once again and Austin asked him, "Do you know the results of that test?"

"No, it takes a while. Just call my office after you're discharged," he said nonchalantly, brushing him off.

When Austin told me how he responded to him for a second time, my head exploded. I raced to the hospital and marched straight into the patient advocate's office. I explained how the doctor dropped this bomb on my son and how I was positive the results were inaccurate and how I felt he should have waited until the test was complete to say anything. She said pretty words. "I understand why you're frustrated. I'll have the nursing manager talk to you."

I told the nursing manager how the doctor dropped this bomb on my son and how I was positive the results were inaccurate and how I felt he should have waited until the test was complete to say anything. She said pretty words. "I understand why you're upset, blah blah blah. Some doctors need better bedside manners."

Instead of talking to the doctor, she sent a counselor to Austin's room who left him with information about HIV and AIDS and where to turn for help. When I explained to her that he had ZERO risk factors and it had to be a false positive, she gave me a pitying look. Oh look at this mom who is in total denial.

"He's a good kid! He's never done anything that could possibly get him infected. He even donates blood regularly!"

"Why does he donate regularly?" she asked accusingly.

Ohmygosh, she did NOT just say that! She thinks he donates to get checked! Listen lady, some people donate because it's a good thing to do! Some people are raised to know the importance of donating their used items, their time, talents, and yes, even their blood to others who can benefit from it.

Here's the thing though. Everyone I talked to had the same attitude. You get diagnosed with cancer and everyone is sympathetic. No one can imagine a more horrible fate. But you get diagnosed with HIV and immediately you're looked down upon. You're that kind of person. There is no sympathy; just judgement and condemnation. It's horrible and I don't wish it upon anyone.

I camped out in Austin's hospital room today, determined to finally get a chance to speak with this doctor. Although I'd been by the hospital every single day, I had to go back and forth between Austin and my other kids so I'd missed him every day. When he walked in, I said, "Oh so you're Dr. Korman! That was really crappy how you dropped that bombshell on my son when he was all alone. Do you have kids? No? Well, that was really not cool! And why would you tell him he's positive before the testing was even done?"

He didn't have much to say.

"What test did you run?"

"Uhhh, we checked for (much stammering) antibodies."

"So you just did the one test? Have you done a western blot yet?"

"Yes, they were both positive."

My stomach lurched. If that's true, then ohmygosh! Oh my gosh. Oh God.

"I want to see those results," I demanded. There is no way it's positive. No way!

The doctor disappeared and came back a few minutes later.

"Oh um, I guess we didn't do both tests. We're waiting for the confirmatory test."

"You're doing a western blot?"

"No, we don't do that anymore. That's outdated. We're doing an RNA test."

"And how long will that take?" I demanded.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Ballpark. 3 days? 3 weeks? 3 months? How long?"

"Hopefully soon. We don't do it here. It's sent somewhere else. Jacksonville, I think. You can call the hospital when he's discharged. You could ask for medical records. But they probably won't give you the information. I guess you could follow up with your doctor and have him call the hospital and try to get it."

"Are you kidding me?!" I resisted the urge to slap him. (Although in retrospect, I kinda wish I had. It would have been worth any trouble I received from it.)

Eventually, he gave me his card and said I could call his office to get the results. Then he examined Austin and discharged him.

Before we left, he came back to the room and handed me a paper. "I have the results. The RNA test is negative. I'm not sure what this means."

Sheesh! Even I know what it means! He doesn't have HIV! How do you not know this??? Are you really a doctor? I called my friend who works at another hospital and deals with this stuff. She said the doctor was wrong; western blots are still used to confirm positive tests. She also said that the initial test was indeed a false positive and he definitely does NOT have HIV. The RNA test is a very specific one.

Austin lived through this nightmare for four days. Although I think I had him convinced that there was no way he could possibly have HIV, it was still hanging over his head. He got depressed. He said he'd kill himself if he had HIV. And it all could have been avoided if this doctor had kept his stupid mouth shut until the confirmation test came back negative. Or if the doctors had listened when Austin answered their questions, stating he had no risk factors at all.

And, before anyone asks, Savannah's still not feeling well and we still don't have a diagnosis although the hospital told her she tested positive for methamphetamines because, once again, they didn't listen when we listed off the OTC medications she was taking. The same reason why Austin's arm puffed out in hive-like bumps from his IV because they didn't listen when he told them his IV hurt and didn't feel right when medication went in. 

Watch out for Falling Dogs

Today, four days after Austin got sick, we finally got an answer as to why he got sick. 

In the ER, they asked if Austin was taking any medication. We said, "No." After they diagnosed him with pancreatitis and told us he'd have to be transferred to another hospital and admitted, I knew it would be at least a couple hours before he was actually moved so I ran home to grab some clothes for Austin. While I was gathering his things, I noticed a prescription bottle on his desk and I remembered that Austin actually had been taking some medication. I threw the bottle in my bag and headed back to the hospital. When I got there, I mentioned to the nurse that I'd forgotten that Austin had been taking medication. She told me to tell them at the new hospital since Austin was being transferred.

The paramedic who transferred Austin asked if he took medication. I said he did and showed him the bottle. He made a note of it.

Once we arrived at the new hospital, I told 2 different doctors who saw him in the ER about the meds, just in case the medicine had anything to do with the pancreatitis. I also told a woman who said she was with the pharmacy there. She took the bottle and wrote down the information.

Upon arrival in his room, we told the nurse and also told the regular doctor who saw us that Austin had been taking Monodox for a couple months.

Austin has seen 4 different GI doctors this week. None of them have asked if he has been taking any medication. They all asked him some different questions though. In fact, they all asked the same questions every single day. A couple days ago, one of the doctors asked me these same questions.

"Hi, I'm Dr. So&So. I have some personal questions to ask you. Now, I'm not pointing fingers, but you need to answer honestly. Does he smoke?"

"Nope, never."

"Does he binge drink?"

"Binge drink? He doesn't drink at all."

"Does he do drugs?"

"No."

He asked those questions in an accusing voice. It made me want to say, "Oh yeah, he smokes a pack a day and drinks a case a day and I'm the one who's been buying it for him since he was 8 years old." I didn't think this stuffy doctor would catch the sarcasm however.

"Has he had any blunt trauma to his abdomen?"

"Austin? No. Now, if you were talking about my middle son, I'd say that there's a pretty good chance he suffered some abdominal trauma, but not Austin."

"Anything at all? Has he fallen? Has he walked into something? Has a dog fallen on him?"

I choked back a laugh at his final question. Where on earth did he come up with that one? I pictured dogs falling from the sky. Maybe that's where they got 'raining cats and dogs'. I resisted the urge to say, "No, but once he was hit by a falling cat."

"This is serious. I need to know if he's been hit in the abdomen."

"Sorry," I put on a serious face. "No, he hasn't been hit by anything. Not even a dog." Heh heh heh. So much for the serious face.

And then he was gone. A few quick questions. Cut me off when I tried to ask questions. Poof. Gone.

Austin was tested for drugs, triglyceride levels, autoimmune diseases, HIV (even though we told them he donates blood every couple months and does not have HIV), and other assorted weird diseases, when all they had to do was ask one pretty simple, basic question - are you taking any medication? Or, maybe they could've taken a few minutes to actually talk to us. Or maybe they could've discussed things with the regular doctor who did ask that question. Or maybe they could've taken the time to actually look at Austin's chart. Just sayin'.

Today, a GI doctor asked Austin if he was taking any medication. Austin told him, "Yes, Monodox." 

The doctor instantly exclaimed, "That's why! It's from the medication!" 

The good news is that we know now, thankfully. If they hadn't finally asked about the medication, he could have gone home, started taking it again, and wound up right back in the ER again. It's an easy fix to simply stop taking the meds and that's a great thing! Also, he turned the corner today. He's still very sore and still running a fever, but the pain has started to lesson a bit and he's been able to keep clear liquids down. His oxygen levels are going back up too so it seems like his lung is getting better.

But, because this is my family we're talking about, every time something good happens, something bad has to come balance it out. Savannah, who'd been feeling a little better the past few days, has gotten worse again. She's in a ton of pain and now has numbness in her right hand and foot. Guess who's going back to the doctor tomorrow.