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Awake in the middle of the night because of arthritis pain with a fuzzy brain; dreading the lack of sleep to coffee ratio boomerang to ensue tomorrow.
People with regular insomnia? I don't know how you survive.
Middle of the night reflections on a rather momentous doctor's checkup for my youngest children: It's been almost 3 years since my now 10 year old's last hospitalization. I started this blog in the middle-of-the-night period of my life when I could never sleep more than 4 hours at a time (if I was lucky) without waking to feed my son. We had to feed him multiple times in the night until he was 4 and then once a night until he was 6 1/2 years old. And that was when he was well.
When he was sick there was no point going to bed at all. He was sick a lot. Added to that his younger brother had to be fed at night too. On a different schedule.
I had a lot of middle of the night reflection time so I wrote and I knitted and I prayed.
We were in the hospital a lot. So I wrote, knitted and prayed.
I took up spinning wool so I'd have more yarn to knit.
Four years later and my body still wakes at 1:30 a.m. almost every night. My master closet is packed with a massive wool stash not exactly appropriate for someone living in the South.
Back to the momentous checkup: The boys no longer have to do regular checkups with their geneticist. There are no more tests to be done. They are stable. We still don't have an answer for what exact gene or genes are causing their hypoglycemia. It doesn't really matter at this point because we know how to treat them when they are well and we know how to treat them when they are not well.
It may not sound momentous. You have to listen carefully for the mental clicks; I'm no longer a medical-mom searching journals. I'm not looking for a complete diagnosis or for a cure. Their doctor said it's a bit like wearing glasses. We don't have to know the exact gene for a particular case of nearsightedness; we just order the glasses and deal with the inconveniences.
We still have backup. Their charts light up like Christmas trees and bump them to first in line if they have to go to the E.R. but I feel free. They feel free. They are not patients anymore. That's the important click, the truly momentous and much prayed for click.
Anyone want to buy some wool?
.
Awake in the middle of the night because of arthritis pain with a fuzzy brain; dreading the lack of sleep to coffee ratio boomerang to ensue tomorrow.
People with regular insomnia? I don't know how you survive.
Middle of the night reflections on a rather momentous doctor's checkup for my youngest children: It's been almost 3 years since my now 10 year old's last hospitalization. I started this blog in the middle-of-the-night period of my life when I could never sleep more than 4 hours at a time (if I was lucky) without waking to feed my son. We had to feed him multiple times in the night until he was 4 and then once a night until he was 6 1/2 years old. And that was when he was well.
When he was sick there was no point going to bed at all. He was sick a lot. Added to that his younger brother had to be fed at night too. On a different schedule.
I had a lot of middle of the night reflection time so I wrote and I knitted and I prayed.
We were in the hospital a lot. So I wrote, knitted and prayed.
I took up spinning wool so I'd have more yarn to knit.
Four years later and my body still wakes at 1:30 a.m. almost every night. My master closet is packed with a massive wool stash not exactly appropriate for someone living in the South.
Back to the momentous checkup: The boys no longer have to do regular checkups with their geneticist. There are no more tests to be done. They are stable. We still don't have an answer for what exact gene or genes are causing their hypoglycemia. It doesn't really matter at this point because we know how to treat them when they are well and we know how to treat them when they are not well.
It may not sound momentous. You have to listen carefully for the mental clicks; I'm no longer a medical-mom searching journals. I'm not looking for a complete diagnosis or for a cure. Their doctor said it's a bit like wearing glasses. We don't have to know the exact gene for a particular case of nearsightedness; we just order the glasses and deal with the inconveniences.
We still have backup. Their charts light up like Christmas trees and bump them to first in line if they have to go to the E.R. but I feel free. They feel free. They are not patients anymore. That's the important click, the truly momentous and much prayed for click.
Anyone want to buy some wool?
.
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