I'm glad yesterday's post provided some comic relief. Believe me, even while I'm complaining, I am laughing a lot...so don't worry that I'm overwhelmed or anything. Over the years, I've become very adept at coping with JB's military commitments. I always experience a bit of stress anticipating his departure. Usually about the time I'm realizing how much "stuff" I'm gonna get stuck doing. (See, it's all about me!)
This week, in addition to putting in my 40 hours in the office, I've successfully navigated a mess with the doctors and the health department and gotten little sister started on her tb meds.
Don't know if I've explained that, but it is a precaution until the final read on the tests from her surgery last week. It takes 6 weeks to positively identify the BCG serum. I know, I know, terribly confusing, but we are dealing. Like I've said, she's started medicine and SHOULD be able to stop once the test comes back at the end of next week. (Insert prayer here.) After you read the effects of this crazy stuff, even the strongest will consider the prospect of continuing this routine for another nine months to be simply out-of-the-question!
There are two drugs. One clear, and one that looks exactly like blood. The folks at the health department told me the combo would kill her stomach. The pharmacist said it shouldn't be any big deal, just give it with food. Who you gonna believe?
She had the first dose last night. It was a LOT to get down her, but we managed. This morning, I was a little surprised to see that it had turned her "pee" pink. (What little girl wouldn't choose pink pee if she could? How bad can this be?)
Dropped her at day care...forgot to mention the meds...after all, she just takes them once a day and she's just had ONE dose. What's the harm?
As I arrive to collect her in the evening, I notice she's changed cloths. No big deal, it happens. They tell me she had a wicked, red blowout. "Oh, really? Oops, I guess I did forgot to tell you, she's started some new medicine."
WB has hair covering his eyes. I can't take it for one more day. I've been threatening for 2 weeks and now we are finally off to Sports Clips for a cut. Fifteen minutes and one cute little "fohawk" later, we stop next door to pick up dinner at the noodle shop. We order and sit down to wait for our "to go" order. The place is packed. Sister is her usual, happy self...bouncing on my lap...laughing, constantly in motion.
Such a lovely scene...
until the waiter delivers the bag to our table...
and, I feel "it."
A wet spot...in my lap. A very large wet spot.
Crap. Literally and figuratively...and the diaper bag is in the car. I reach down, cup her bottom and raise her up using one hand. The other hand discretely pulls the damp skirt that clings to me. (Thank God, I opted for a brown floral pattern today instead of white, and what luck...good old brown poop instead of red!) I stand and tell WB to grab the bag and head to the car. I'm trying to hold sister, using her little body to block the view of my skirt. As usual, people are looking at us because our little sister commands attention in public. I just can't figure out if they are interested in her cute little face, or if they are staring at the warm, wet, goo that I feel oozing through my fingers?
A quick change in the back of the Highlander and we are headed home. WB can't understand why he can't eat in the car. But, in an effort to keep him out of the hospital until his father returns, I decide it is truly best not to use my poop- covered hands to open his dinner for him. (See, I DO know something!)
And now:
they are disinfected,
they are now fed, (I'll spare you the details of the bright orange, projectile vomit that followed dose number two.)
they are now safely tucked in bed,
and, I'm exhausted but laughing at my luck and wondering how I survived for the year that JB was in Afghanistan, when I had ONLY one kid and no blog...
