Fascinating ...

http://www.immunizenc.com/images/PDFs/06%2001%202009%20Alternative%20Schedule%20Memo.pdf



In researching an alternative vaccination schedule, I turned up this gem - a note to physicians in North Carolina stipulating that, if they do not adhere to the guidelines set forth by this particular board, despite parental objections, they may be refused access to state supplies of vaccinations. Now if that scenario doesn't scare you, I just don't understand.



{The alternative vaccination schedule is one proposed by Dr. Sears, and is actually an attempt to mitigate any damages that vaccines MIGHT present to the developing infant. It seems like a wonderful compromise between the known and the unknown regarding vaccines - keep the good they do and reduce the risk to the still-developing child, especially during times when they are most vulnerable.)

Redefining "Normal" ...

Emma is appearing to be on the mend. She is moving around, a very good sign following 22 days of general inactivity. The hospital asked for permission to vaccinate her. Such a normal request, right? When there has been so much that is not normal happening with your child, it is easy to be blind-sighted by the normal. Up until baby #5 was born, I never questioned the whole vaccination routine. If the doctor said it was time for a shot, baby received said shot. But as I have evolved in my adult life into ... well, into someone who does not just do simply because we are told to do, I have come to question many things, vaccinations being one. (The whole issue with the Gardasil vaccine, involving lawmakers making it mandatory for children -our children - to be vaccinated, did nothing to make me feel less insecure when it comes to this issue.) I truly am on the fence when it comes to vaccines. I can see both sides of the issue, especially when it comes down to what is best for the majority versus the small minority that might suffer complications.

But, when you are part of that small minority... when you are the one who has to suffer, to "take one for the team" ... when it is your child that is suffering, and your family that must cope... I just believe we need to preserve the element of choice, the right of the individual parent to decide what risks he or she is willing to take for the sake of the child. When someone stands to make a buck, good judgment tends to take a back seat to the dollar signs that are waving in the breeze. If we have those in authority making laws that are in favor of things they stand to profit from, the potential risks may be great. When we lack trust in those who rule us, fear abounds. And that is a far greater threat than a virus.

If our school system has done all that it purports to do, then the populace in this country should be educated enough to make informed decisions. And that is what I will try to do as I research vaccinations and the potential risks to my child. But please do not ask me to give consent over the phone for something just because this is how it is done. You may have received my consent unflichingly just a few years ago. But now ... I don't think so.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy ...

"6"? Really? Wow! In the span of six short years, you have turned my hair a shade of silver. That's right, I skipped gray and went right to silver. But when you throw your arms around me, and say, "I love you, Mom", you melt me. And when you rub your blanket under your nose, you melt me. When you wrap that blanket around me while we watch a video, and query, "Are you alright, Mom?", you melt me. And when you laugh - that infectious laugh, the one I've heard about, read about, one that so few possess, a laugh that belongs to a person who revels in life, a laugh I myself lack - you melt me. When you are slaying the dragons in our midst with your sword, flinging yourself into furniture with a tremendous shout of victory; when you are slam-dunking basketballs in your room and the ceiling below trembles in your quake; even when you are banging on your sister's door, demanding entrance so you can do something naughty, like steal a puzzle piece from her desk just so she will take chase - yes, even then, you melt me. Because you are sweet, so sweet, and too adorable for words. And when I gaze upon you, I see life. So while you terrify me with your sense of abandon in all things, you melt me. Happy birthday, baby boy.

Just Another Day in the Life ...

I spent a long Saturday sitting in the NICU, with the baby tightly grasping my finger. She seems to be doing better, although there is still an area of concern in her belly. She is trying to come out of her drug-induced sleep, scrunching up her tiny face, furrowing her brow, trying oh so hard to open her eyes. Her movements are so normal, so ... baby-like ... that it is easy to forget the numerous I.V. lines that infiltrate her small body, the tube that is inserted into her throat, filling her lungs to their proper capacity, and the direct line that feeds into her heart, carrying nourishment and the necessary germ-fighting drugs.

Well, it is easy to forget for the moment - that is, until you refocus and take in the entire picture ... the little body lying in the plastic bubble, unable to be held, head held in place by a bean bag so she does not dislodge her tube. It is then that you realize there is nothing baby-like about this picture, this reality, this horror show. And you want to run, never return, never see the sights of this place again. But you don't. You sit, and you offer comfort in the only way you have - one finger of your hand, extended through the portal of the plastic bubble, grasped ever so tightly by the little hand that lies within. And you open your book and settle in for day #78 of your journey from there to here ... and you wonder "to where"?

Instability, Uncertainty, When Will This Ride End ... And How?

7 p.m. - "This is the doctor from St. Chris. I need to let you know of a change in your daughter's condition. She may need surgery."

8:30 p.m. - "Hello, this is Emma's mom. Can you give me an update on Emma?"
Doctor: "We think she may have a stricture in her intestines, which could perforate. Or she may have C Dif Colitis, so she is now on another antibiotic. Tests will be repeated at midnight. Would you like us to call you then?"
Me: "Yes, please."

Putter, putter, putter ...11 p.m., 11:10 p.m. , putter, putt, putt, putt ... 11:30 p.m.....................

1 a.m.
"Hello, this is Emma's mom. Someone was going to call me with the results of my daughter's tests."
"Hello, this is the doctor you spoke with earlier. Emma's X-Ray looks better, and her blood gases are very good. So, for now, she is stable."

6:15 a.m.
"Hello, this is the doctor from the NICU. Emma's X-ray shows a worsening of the strictures in her bowels. Surgery has been notified. How long will it take you to get down here? I will call you back with the details."


9 a.m.
"Hello, I have been waiting for a return call from the doctor concerning my daughter's surgery."
Nurse: "Surgery? She is not scheduled for surgery."

After over twelve hours of (my) not breathing, it has been decided that the air in Emma's belly may be able to be removed by a suctioning tube. Her lungs are not compromised at this moment, and there is no perforation of air into the abdomen, as noted on the X-Ray. Her platelets did drop, but not as precipitously as when she first fell ill. This could account for the blood in her stool. So we wait. The children and I have a bag packed. It is difficult to just go, because two of the little ones will not be allowed in. And then what would I do with them? This roller coaster ride is slowly killing me. I often think of Emma, wondering how it is for her, praying she is not in any pain, wanting there to be an alternative ... but wanting that alternative to be all of us at home, happy and healthy.

Huh?

Asked of the attendant in the cafeteria at the hospital: "Excuse me, where is the ketchup?"
Answer: "Over there, with the other condominiums".


Getting my "Affadavit for Intent to Homeschool" form notarized:
Notary asks me, as she glances at all my children, "Boy, I bet you're glad when school starts up again".
(I had no clue what she was saying at first. I thought she was referring to the fact that other people's children would be in school. Shouldn't she have read my form?!!)


Finally, I hand the forms for the new school year in to the district, to the parties responsible for monitoring that I am in compliance with the education laws in this state. I tell the woman that, this year, I was filing one form, in lieu of one for each child, to cut down on paperwork as well as notary fees. I ask her if this is acceptable. Her response? "I have no idea."

Home Again, Home Again ... Jiggety, Jig

I came home after 8 days at Emma's side, cleaned the house, spent some time with the other children, and left again for three days. Life has been a blur of long drives, hospital visits, stops at the chapel to pray a bit, and cleaning. Is Emma better? Slowly, she seems to be making a recovery. There are still signs of the illness that ravaged her body - her abdomen is still quite distended, she is still on antibiotics, and they are still performing tests at regular intervals to detect any sign of a relapse on her part. But the good news is she is off the oscillator, and they are weaning her off the drugs that kept her heavily sedated so that she would not fight the oscillator.


Witnessing your baby's recovery from sedation is not a pretty sight. She would tear at the endotracheal tube, kick her legs, and scrunch up her face in anger. But it is far less frightening than the screams of the babies in the NICU who are coming off the in utero "high" induced by their mothers' drug use. That is a horrid shrieking that has no end, a cry that you are sure must stop at some point, must definitely be punctuated - eventually - with a gasp for air ... and yet isn't. Oh, the sounds of the NICU can be haunting. And the sights can be even worse.

But there is something about knowing how much fight there can be in such a little body - the sense of spirit or soul that must be in there to show such spunk, such character. I pray each and every day that Emma will join our family, in our home, that we may be blessed to see her grow, to truly meet the soul that lies within this tiny package, the one that has endured through unimaginable trials at such a young age. But I know I will never forget the Emma who existed to me solely through a protective plastic enclosure, the Emma I could only touch through tiny portals, whose fingers would curl securely around my finger - the Emma I could not offer comfort to in the traditional manner a mother would, by holding and rocking, but who would acknowledge the comfort of my stroking her tiny, fragile head by calming herself as shown by the machines monitoring her heart rate and respiration. That Emma has changed my being - my soul - forever.