Before I share the cute photos from Blizzard Nemo, the following paragraphs are the story of the days leading up to...... (insert scary music) "DUN DUN DUNNNNN"
Our Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Friday. (But it has a happy ending.)
Wednesday Feb 6th:
It has been a month since Audrey’s last dilation procedure,
but as of January 9th all was well, she had not strictured since her
previous dilation, which meant we were cleared to go home to Utah!! Since the kids and Justin returned January 8th,
the anticipation of rejoining them soon was building in spite of all my efforts
to keep patience in my heart.
Missionaries sometimes call this feeling “trunky,” but I tried hard to
keep busy and keep my mind off it. The
problem was, if we were really going to leave this place, we needed to
pack. And purge. And pack some more. The borrowed Christmas tree was still
up. Echoes of my sweet children’s busy
creative souls were everywhere, drawings, paper snowflakes, little toys were
still turning up in every nook and cranny, not to mention my helpless addiction
to books and the ones I had bought over the trip such as “Newport Mansions” and
“Alva and Consuelo Vanderbilt” and “Victorian Etiquette”, the list goes on, and
there was much more than I could hope to fit into our two allotted
suitcases. So packing became an issue. And SHIPPING became an issue. It turns out books and winter clothes are
heavy. And it turns out, I must be more
ADD than I have ever admitted to myself, because my distractability was
overwhelming. So I put everything I
needed to ship in one room of the house, tried one kind of box and realized it
wasn’t going to work, got another kind of box and an estimated cost, then
called in reinforcements in the form of a sweet neighbor who’d offered ANYTHING
I needed. Little did she know. So she helped me take down the Christmas
tree, and then we huffed and puffed our way through packing a couple of big
boxes, all with a busy HELPFUL toddler, and then got halfway through taping
them when I ran out of tape. And this
box is FULL to the brim, and while our neighbor is holding the box tight to
prevent it from opening back up I run to the basement to get the second roll I
thought I had down there. Except that,
for the first time down those stairs, I made a fatal mistake. I forgot to shut the little door behind me
blocking access to the basement. Audrey
knows how to go down stairs; in fact she’s very proud of that ability. We’ve worked on it a lot and she does very
well. She can’t go down the way other
babies go, on their bellies, because that would pull out her G-tube button, but
she knows how to sit and carefully scooch forward until she bumps down onto the
next step, and so forth. Except these
stairs to the basement, unlike the ones in the upstairs, are particularly steep
and short, and so I have always taken her down in my arms or closed the door
behind me. This time in my haste, I
forgot. I forgot how fast she is, and
how sweetly determined to be a part of everything cool going on. She is fascinated with the basement. It is where her beloved brothers lived when
they were here. For weeks after they
left, she would still go to the top of those stairs and call out her brother’s
name hoping he’d answer. The basement is
where Daddy had his office where he would work during the days. The basement is where Mommy washes the
clothes (and her precious pink blankie) and she gets to pull the warm clean
things out of the dryer. It didn’t
matter that I had run down there for less than twenty seconds. She wanted to come. And come she did. Head over heels over head, until our million
dollar baby landed in a stunned heap at the bottom, crouched on her hands and
knees where she’d caught her own fall like a gymnast. She cried.
I cried. There were no bruises or
obvious breaks, but she was inconsolable with fear and exhaustion, it was
already after her bedtime, and I did the best thing I knew how…. I put her to
bed. I went and checked on her often,
but she had fallen asleep quickly and gratefully, and I hoped that was all she
needed. She woke up once and cried, and
went quickly back to sleep, but her breathing was even and she still seemed
ok. And…. there was no roll of tape in
the basement. It had been upstairs all
along.
This was Wednesday night.
I was supposed to depart Monday morning for Utah.
We had another scope and dilation scheduled for Friday, and
under regular circumstances this should have all worked out beautifully. We SHOULD have been able to pack at a more
reasonable pace. We should have had
plenty of time to clean the house Saturday, attend church one last time here
with our new friends on Sunday, then ride off into the sunset, I mean, the sunrise, since our flight was at 6am—err, away from
the sunrise, ride off into the West, on Monday morning.
Except. Eerie weathercasts that
looked like fiction started popping up all over the internet. 22 inches of snow projected Friday-Saturday
for Boston and Southern Massachusetts.
At first I thought they were a joke, like the end-of-the-Mayan-calendar weather
predictions that had come out only a few weeks prior. But no, it was all too real, and the numbers
kept rising. Soon they were talking
insanely high numbers, like 33-39 inches of snow projected, power outages,
storm surge all along the coastline.
This couldn’t be happening.
I don’t drive in snow.
I needed to beat this storm and keep Audrey and I safe.
I wrote to my friend who was staying at the Yawkey Family
Inn near the hospital; it is a bit like the Ronald McDonald House, a group home
at reasonable daily rates for families with a need to travel to the hospital. She said I could stay with her and her
daughter there on Thursday night. I
began to be worried I was going to be stuck there longer than one night, and
talked to the Yawkey office, and very lucky for me, they had a cancellation
that could accommodate us.
Except that I don’t believe in luck.
So, Thursday morning dawns, February 7th.
I’ve packed all of our extra clothes, books, toys, medical
supplies into boxes to ship to Utah, and saved out only what we needed
most. As a last precaution, after the
boxes were already mostly taped, I reached in and pulled out, ohhh, four more
bags for her feeding pump, just to be safe.
Getting us shipped back to Utah is no small feat with an
allotment of two suitcases and a carryon, a squirmy toddler who requires a
feeding pump, sterile bags to go with said pump, and a specialty formula not
available except through medical suppliers, then diapers and all of the normal
baby stuff. Plus it’s winter, so our
clothes are bulkier than the light things we first came out with. And we’ve had several medical shipments,
sightseeing, Christmas, creative kids….
But finally the boxes were packed.
Time to get them sent.
But first I had to bake the cookies. In an attack of ridiculous logic (the
ingredients I’d bought to make them at Christmas time were going to be wasted!)
I had started mixing up two batches of cookies the day before, and gotten
distracted before I finished, so they needed to be baked. Naturally.
And, the Christmas tree box was too large to fit into the
small car I now drove. So, a friend
from church who owned a larger vehicle had to be contacted, and met at the
house that morning, because now we were ALL feeling a bit of uneasiness about
the upcoming storm.
Eerily, the weather was fairly warm and sunny.
And Audrey seemed to be needing to keep me within arm’s
length at all times. I could barely get
anything done at all without stopping to hold her every few seconds. By the time I finished baking cookies, and
comforting Audrey, and emptying the fridge (because of course I was leaving
town, and these groceries could be helpful to my friends at the Yawkey whom I’d
been wanting to make a meal for before the Oregon trip), and comforting Audrey,
and getting the baby all set and us out the door, it was already 3 in the
afternoon. Three. Stinking.
O’ Clock.
I thought, first, the Post office, twenty five minutes
away. Then, UPS, ten minutes farther
drive than that.
Meanwhile, Audrey had woken up that morning obviously
favoring her left arm, and refusing to use it.
It was mildly swollen but did not appear bruised, though it obviously
was very painful for her to try to move.
I had seen a nursemaid’s elbow before.
Eleven years ago, my one year old daughter—first child, only other girl,
my determined and smart tomboy, incidentally my only other one to have major
medical issues at this age (she was hospitalized multiple times for asthma,
twice dangerously so, and had a terrible time with chronic asthma flare
ups)—had come with us to attend the grand opening of the Islamic Mosque in Salt
Lake city as guests of our Pakistani neighbors.
I was seated next to the governor’s wife. My baby girl was a white puffball in her
frilly chiffon dress. As we left
following the event, my determined baby saw her ideal play place—a pile of dirt in the
corner of the parking lot, just perfect for climbing and digging—and made a
bolt for it. I caught up with her and
held her hand firmly, and continued walking her toward the car. She said no, I said yes, and she angrily
pulled her feet out from under her and twisted her body to try to escape my
firm grasp on her hand, and then we were shocked as she yelped in surprised
pain. A long thirty minute car ride
later filled with many loud protestations, we knew this was no mere tantrum,
and she needed to see a doctor. When we
walked into the doctor’s office we were stunned to see him smile as he took her
arm in his hands, gently felt the elbow joint, and ever so carefully bent the
arm in a special way. She yelped in
pain, and then calmed suddenly. The
elbow had been twisted out of joint.
Apparently it is a very common injury in little ones like this, but we
had been unfamiliar with it. It was a
relief then, and I hoped that experience might serve us well now.
But again, the problem of no pediatrician in Massachusetts
served a complication. Not to mention,
we are urgently trying to avoid exposure to any flu or respiratory viruses that
would have been a pretty sure bet inside a doctor’s office. Not to mention, the issue of TIME. Time to beat the storm. Time to beat Boston rush hour. Time to make it before the blasted post
office CLOSED for the day. Time to BAKE
COOKIES for goodness sake!!!!!!
Still, my conscience won out, and pity for Audrey’s patient
little happy self, happy that is except when she was reminded that she still had a second arm
hanging there at her side, unbendable.
First stop on leaving the house, the closest Urgent Care Clinic.
A cold wind is starting to blow. I cradle her in my arms, and hurry inside,
verrrry germophobic of everything I touch and everyone I see. Walk up to the window to verify they take our
insurance, good, and then get the answer I never anticipated. They won’t see her. Because she’s less than two years old. Good thing they got that out of the way right
there, cause man, I didn’t even START giving them all the other answers that
would have given them a “no can do” liability standpoint. I pleaded with them, that this was probably
just a dislocated elbow, but they told me I needed to take her to an E.R. Well,
how convenient, we just happen to be heading to a hospital.
Sort of.
So, I was wrestling in myself, but she was still pretty ok,
so we went and mailed our packages, and then finally got on the road to
Boston. At four thirty. The night before a crazy storm was supposed
to hit—winter storm Nemo, as they’d dubbed it.
We zipped up the freeway, hoping to avoid the outbound traffic since we
were inbound, but no such luck—everyone and their dog was out to shop for storm
preparations, and traffic was at a crawl for hours.
Late, exhausted, all hope gone of fixing a nice dinner for
the house that night, I walked into the Yawkey Family Inn about 8:30 p.m., Audrey in my arms,
both of us fried. Our assigned O.R.
report time for the next morning was the earliest slot; we needed to be at the
hospital at 6 am. It was now about 9pm,
and we had a choice to make. Do I take
her to the ER now, knowing that it will be about a six hour gig, or do we sleep
and hit it early in the morning. I could
almost go before the appointment, I mused, and get a couple of hours sleep now…
and she seemed to be as sleepy as I was.
We were both desperately tired, and I still needed to move my car to the
hospital parking garage because there is no parking allowed at the Yawkey
unless your child has a certain type of medical condition. I might have considered asking for a
one-night exception, but the hospital had put out an edict that all cars must
be moved off all exposed lots by midnight that night, because the storm was now
said to be coming in faster and they needed things open for the plows to move
large volumes of snow.
Meanwhile, Audrey was thrilled to be out of the car, and
walked about merrily until she crashed around 10, and begged to be put down for
bed. I changed her diaper, still
wrestling over whether to take her in that night, and then to my surprise I
looked down, and she was using her left arm.
The elbow had gone back into joint on its own! With great relief, I settled her into bed and
put her pajama top on, gently bending the arm into the sleeve, and she winced
and whimpered a little still…. Swelling, I thought. But we’ll get an x-ray tomorrow just to be
safe. Moved the car the ten blocks to the hospital, rode the hospital night shuttle back to the Yawkey, and got to bed
around 1am.
Friday February 8th, before dawn, we snuck quietly out of
our room where our friends were sleeping, and made our way over to the hospital
aided by the same hospital shuttle driver who’d taken me home the night before
after parking the car. Audrey did a
great job sneaking. She was quiet as a
mouse and smiled happily at me in the darkness as we made our way around the
quiet group home. She knew this was all
some fun secret thing we were doing!
We reported to Same Day Surgery without incident. I remembered to request an x ray of her arm, arms don't typically fall under the jurisdiction of a Gastroenterology visit but Dr Manfredi was a gem and went ahead and ordered it for us, saving us a trip to emergency... we would need to go
after the procedure to the special x ray room and have it done
separately from her procedure though, since the portable x ray machines used for the chest would not work on the arm. She got her "happy juice" (Versed) to help her relax and forget the scary parts, and I carried her
into the operating room, waited till she fell asleep and kissed her good bye, then after about an hour the doctor came to talk to
me.
Stricture. My mind couldn't quite process the word. He needs to dilate again in one week. This means no return to my family as planned. Valentine's Day apart.
Our flight can't happen on Monday as planned, which means Miracle Flights needed some paperwork fixed that day for our trip to happen at all. I had reminded the staff that we still need a reading on the arm x-ray (her arm seems OK now but just to be safe, and we went through a lot of work to get the special x-ray). The surgeon's assistant has to email her colleague asking her for the x-ray reading, because she has already gone home to beat the storm. The surgeon's assistant goes home. The EA surgery office is now totally and spookily empty. I am trying to sort all of this out alone in the lobby of the office, when suddenly the lead surgeon Dr Jennings himself is just sitting there at the receptionist's counter all alone, asking me if I need any help. At first I don't want to bother him, but it becomes increasingly apparent that he is indeed the only one who can help. We then have some humorous adventures figuring out his computer (he apparently doesn't use a word processor much) to put together this official letter changing the dates of Audrey's return, and then another adventure figuring out the fax machine. Success! Dr. Jennings saves the day, and Miracle Flights can now change our plane tickets to a new date. (I guess that means I can't quite call it the NO good very bad Friday, just the MOSTLY no good very bad Friday.)
In the middle of this I get a call from Dr. Jennings' assistant who has just looked at the x ray from home. Audrey's arm is broken just below the elbow. We now absolutely must go to the ER. At least we hasn't left the hospital yet.
Snow is falling fast. Blizzard Nemo is here.
6 pm, after 13 hours in the hospital already, I walk into to the ER. Another x-ray. Find out it needs a cast. What on earth am I going to do. None of her warm clothes are going to fit over a cast; everything but a couple outfits are in boxes that we just sent to Utah. My phone battery is nearly dead, but I call Justin. He is upset that her arm is broken and reminds me to watch Audrey more carefully. I hang up and break down in exhausted and comfortless tears in the ER. The young nurses look at me like I'm a crazy rookie mom, losing it over a little cast, and they all find excuses to leave me alone. Apria Healthcare then calls trying to collect an incorrectly billed (pre-insurance) balance, and does not hang up or show sympathy when I explain I am in the Emergency Room with my daughter on the last breath of my cell phone battery.
We get out of the ER at 8pm, waiting in a long line of people to be shuttled to the family housing in the thick blizzard snow. Thank goodness we have a room to stay there at the Yawkey Family Inn, where there will be guaranteed lights power and heat (and laundry!) until it is safe to return to our house in Westport. My sweet friends have made signs and put flowers in my room, and give me food. I feel loved. Let it snow.
24 inches of snow fall overnight, and a warm haven of safety and friendship envelops us to comfort my broken heart and her broken arm. The house staff give Audrey some warm clothes that fit over her cast.
While we were snowed in,
we spent our time resting,
Skyping with our family,
Playing with friends,
and making new friends.
An unexpected bonus was having the opportunity to say good bye to four of our best friends at the Yawkey Family Inn who are finally getting to go home after their many months in Massachusetts. Such a crazy irony of us all being supposed to leave those few days, and all having to reschedule.
Waiting out the snow drifts and power outage for four days, then finally returning to our rental home just before Valentine's Day.
 |
| Our Valentine for Daddy |
And then: madly packing at the house, spending Valentine's Day alone but enjoying our last day in this beautiful home--Thank you SO MUCH to the generous and caring landlords for ALL your patience and kindness-- returning for a dilation the next morning after needing to be dug out of the snow by my heroic neighbor's tractor, being kept overnight at the hospital unexpectedly, returning to the house for less than 24 hours, cleaning and packing almost all night long, coming to the airport at 5am only to find hour-long lines in the normally empty little airport because of spring break. Missing our flight. Finally making it home only two hours later than originally planned. The family is late coming to meet me, but they come. Tears of joy and exhaustion. That's the short version.
In spite of staying up nearly all night and doing everything I possibly could to succeed in this critical moment, we
actually missed our 6 am flight! The lines were unbelievably long-- think
Disneyland in June. I would have needed to be 2 hours early at the
airport to make the flight, which was basically impossible with the
early hour and the weather and other factors involved. Providence is a small, normally low-key airport so all of this extra
craziness caught me by surprise big time; apparently it was the start of
a school break. All the flights for the day were fully booked too so
it looked like for a little while that we might not make it back at all.
We were very fortunate however that there was another flight just one
hour later that arrived only two hours later in SLC for which another
passenger missed their flight, probably for the same reason as us, (and
honestly, we walked up just in time to board by the time we did the
extra stuff at security) and the longer layover in Denver meant we
caught our breath a little and had a good lunch. We were blessed with
some incredibly kind row-mates on the plane that helped me a lot with my
tired little trooper. 
When we finally reunited with the family, I
hugged and kissed everyone, we drove the hour home, and for the first time in six months I walked into the bachelor pad formerly known as my home. I didn't cry. I tried not to grouch. But I pretty much picked up a rag the moment I walked in the door
and cleaned until 9:30pm (I can only blame it on adrenaline, since I woke up at 3am Eastern
to clean the bathroom at the rental house and have enough time to finish
cleaning and the last tiny bits of packing) until we all stopped for
some food and watched the first half of a movie as a family on mom's
bed-- the older kids have been reading Harry Potter and were excited to
watch the first movie, basically for the very first time. Watching
their reactions to the movie was as much fun as the film itself!
