Make It Stop

I think I have developed thrush on my nipples. Thrush is a yeast infection, the same kind of yeast infection that the boys snicker about, only on my nipples instead of in my lady parts. Yeast is a naturally occurring organism; everyone has some amount of it in his or her system, men and women. A yeast infection, or thrush, occurs when the yeast gets out of balance and too much is able to grow. The yeast loves the sugars in milk, so nursing moms are often susceptible. Particularly nursing moms who have recently completed a course of antibiotics. Which I have.

Where a yeast infection as people are familiar with it is more annoying than anything- itchy, mostly- thrush on my nipples and in my milk ducts is turning out to be extremely painful. I have actually stopped nursing Phoebe again so I can take some prescription painkillers for a day or two, until the medication starts to work and I can stand her to nurse from me. On Monday I will have to get treatment for Phoebe as well, since the likelihood is that she has thrush in her mouth that is not yet developed, but will be painful for her if it progresses.

So I'm pumping- as much as I can stand to, anyway- and dumping again. Yippee. Did I mention this is extremely painful? As in, extremely painful?

I hope this clears up soon. Jeez. I wish we could catch a break!

Getting Back to Normal

Morning smiles:



Caetlin offers a good morning kiss:



These days it's really hard to get good pictures of the two of them because Phoebe is so stationary and Caetlin is so...not.

I'm Going Home!

Well, I didn't have the CT scan today. There is still too much barium contrast in my intestines to get a good picture. I have been given more magnesium citrate to get everything moving (not that it wasn't already), as well as some prune juice just for good measure. However, my surgeon felt that, having delayed surgery already, and given how well I'm doing, everything else can be done on an outpatient basis, especially since it is likely to take the contrast 3 or 4 more days to really work itself out. The last test was seeing if solid food made any difference, a test I passed with flying colors. My continued lack of pain plus good tolerance of food means no reason to keep running up hospital charges with me.

So, they are discharging me tonight, within the next couple of hours. I follow up with the surgeon on Thursday; he will arrange for the CT to be done next Monday (sooner if I show less improvement), and I'm to follow up with my GI doctor late next week.

I have also been prescribed antibiotics that are incompatible with breastfeeding, which means I'll need to pump and dump for the next 11 days. In a few ways it will be easier to pump at home, since I can rig that up to be truly hands free, and I won't have random people walking in on me at any moment. However, it more sucks than anything, because pumping isn't something I can do in public (like breastfeeding), and pumping as often as I need to in order to keep my supply and caring for Phoebe by myself is going to be a challenge. By the time I'm done, I'll have pumped and dumped for over two weeks. It will be worth it when I can feed Phoebe again, though.

I can't wait to go home, eat some good food, sleep in my own bed, be there when Caetlin wakes up in the morning. Wear my own clothes and not be attached to an IV. This has all been like a very bad dream. Thank goodness I get to wake up!

Quick Status

Everyone on my treatment team (!) appears to be on board with the current plan now; my surgeon was skeptical yesterday, though he agreed with my GI that it wasn't quite time to cut yet. He endorses the plan entirely at this point, since my continued improvement can't be ignored. I was pain free today, completely. And I look great and feel great. I am essentially a healthy person walking around these halls.

Now, if the pictures of my insides will back that up! Hopefully all the barium I had to drink on Friday has cleared my system, so they can get good clear pictures. There is talk of an X-ray tomorrow morning, to make sure the barium is all gone. If it isn't, they will give me more of the laxative that I had yesterday and today. That's not as scary as it sounds; I haven't had anything solid to eat since late Wednesday evening. My last solid elimination was Friday. A laxative doesn't do anything impressive at this point. I hope that the barium is all gone, though, because the sooner we can get a good CT scan, the sooner I can go home.

If the barium is all gone, the CT will show the mass either looking better (more defined, more organized, smaller, whatever the doctors decide is better), or not. If it is better, which I have to assume, since I am feeling so incredibly improved, they will make/let me eat something solid, to make sure that actual food isn't a problem or an aggravating factor. I don't know if they are going to require that the solids come out the other end, though I guess in a system as empty as mine is, that probably wouldn't take too long. But in any event, once they are satisfied that solid food doesn't seem to be a problem, I think they will let me go home. Dare I hope that might even be as early as Tuesday? Probably not, since everything takes longer than I think it's going to here in the hospital, but I can maybe realistically hope for Wednesday, I think.

If the scans aren't positive, that's a different story, of course. I would expect that surgery would be on the table again. I have a hard time believing that it's going to go this way, though. My body couldn't possibly be telling me so aggressively that things are getting better if they weren't. I mean, I guess it could, but I think it is more likely that I actually am getting better at this point.

So that's where we are. Hope for clear scans and solid food.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now? (With Apologies to the Clash)

So, there is disagreement among my doctors. (Per Bruce's recent Facebook status, I really am living in my own personal episode of House. Why couldn't I have been Dr. Cameron in that episode, rather than the Patient of the Week? Shoot, I would even settle for being Cuddy.) Anyway, the surgeon wants to operate. There is a mass (a point on which I don't think I have been clear before, because I wasn't clear until this morning), and he wants to take it out. The GI doctor wants to keep me on antibiotics, because I actually am doing better today. It's a classic surgeon/non-surgeon treatment dichotomy- the surgeon wants to cut, and the non-surgeon doesn't, not yet.

Here are the hypotheses: the surgeon sees a mass in my abdomen, probably in the mesentery, which is the supporting tissues of the abdominal organs, and which also contains the arteries that supply the blood flow to most of the organs. He wants to cut it out, figure out what it is, and proceed from there. It's a pretty big mass, from his description maybe three inches long by an inch or so wide. His take is- this didn't grow overnight, it's probably been there for awhile, let's go ahead and get it out because taking it out will likely alleviate my pain, and if it requires further treatment, then we can go ahead and get started on that.

The GI doctor also sees a mass in my abdomen, but he thinks it might be an infarct in the mesentery. An infarct is basically an area of dead tissue caused by lack of blood flow to that tissue. Most people are familiar with it in the sense of a heart attack- a myocardial infarction. But an infarct can happen anywhere blood flow is cut off. In this case, the GI doctor thinks the mass may be a blood clot and/or dead or infected mesentery tissue, which would resolve itself with time and more antibiotics. He actually has a decent case for this, because I'm getting better. I feel better; my pain is significantly less. My labs look better- my white count is down to normal today.

So, the plan is no surgery tomorrow. I am going to continue on the antibiotics for another day and then on Monday have the CT scan that my surgeon wanted yesterday (radiology gave me injected contrast instead of drinkable contrast, which didn't give as clear a picture as my surgeon would like). If the CT shows improvement, we know how to treat. If it doesn't, well, I may still give it another day or two before agreeing to surgery, unless my GI doctor thinks I should have the operation.

Such good news, to be given hope that I might not need to have major abdominal surgery. That I might not need to have a good chunk of my maternity leave recovering, plus to have the fear that the mass might be cancer or something else really horrible. Plus I feel better, so that's an excellent combination.

Thanks to all who keep me in their thoughts and prayers. I appreciate it more than I can say.

I'm Scared

I spoke with both the GI doctor and the surgeon this evening. They both remain puzzled by what's wrong with me. Basically, the CT scan showed a large area of inflammation in my bowel, but it wasn't clear exactly where or what was causing it. I'm clearly not obstructed, as things are moving along well. It's definitely hinky, though, and the surgeon has concluded that the best option is to open me up to take a look, cut the offending area out, send it to a pathologist and "hope it's benign." Those were his words. If I'm being rational, I don't think he meant to imply that I have cancer, or that he thinks I have cancer- the bottom line is that he doesn't know what's wrong with me, and can't really know until he can actually look at it and feel it. The GI doc thought there was some foreign object that wasn't showing up on the scans- a chicken bone or something- but the surgeon and I both discounted that possibility. I don't chew toothpicks or really even eat chicken or fish with bones, and no way have I swallowed a piece of plastic utensil without knowing it.

Anyway, the surgeon also consulted with another surgeon, who was also flummoxed. This guy is apparently highly regarded, trained at MD Anderson and is a cancer specialist. My surgeon hustled to say, "Not that it's cancer, but he's just a really good surgeon." Somehow that alleviated my fears not at all, though again, if I'm being rational, there are a ton more things that it could be, that it probably is, than cancer, given my age and relatively good health. Anyway, both surgeons happen to be on this weekend, and my surgeon has roped him in because of his experience and skill, and because I am such a mystery.

(I always wanted to be mysterious to someone. This wasn't quite what I had in mind.)

Bottom line is: if I am worse tomorrow, particularly if my white count goes up (which has stayed steady over the past day), they will operate tomorrow. If I hold steady tomorrow, they will operate on Sunday morning. The surgeon will need to convince the GI that there is nothing more to gain by taking more pictures, but he really thinks this is the best course, and I trust him.

I'm scared. We're not talking about minor laprascopic surgery like a gallbladder removal. This will be major, open abdominal surgery. And that scares me. The whole thing- the anesthesia, the opening of my stomach, the unknown wonkiness in my bowel. I'm scared that it is cancer and I'm going to die in 2 months. I'm scared that I'll die on the table. There's no reason to be scared of that- I'm in a great hospital in great hands. But I'm scared just the same, and it's times like now, when I'm all alone because Bruce is with the kids, when it's as quiet as it ever gets in the hospital, that I can't stop imagining wildly out-there worst case scenarios.

I'm going to try to get some sleep.

No Rest for the...Sick

So, my optimism about getting more rest in the hospital was sorely misplaced. I went to sleep at about midnight and threw in the towel on getting any rest at all at about 5 a.m. During that 5 hours, I was awakened no fewer than three times. And this is not just a tech creeping in to take vitals; that I understand and can mostly sleep through anyway.

No, at 1 a.m., someone came in, flipped on the lights and asked me why I was here. I was so groggy and disoriented that I didn't remember where I was, much less why. I struggled to wake up enough to answer her, then spent ten minutes giving a medical history. She was doing the admission questionnaire! I wonder if that could have been done sooner than 1 a.m., given that I had been admitted sometime around 7 p.m.? Or, I wonder if someone might have used some common sense, and said to themselves, "It's 1 a.m. Most people are asleep at this time. Maybe this ought to wait until something approximating normal waking hours, since no one has died because we don't have this information." The tech was quite nice about it, and was apologetic about waking me up, and I wanted to say to her, "What do you expect? I'm sick, I'm in pain, and it's 1 freaking a.m.!!"

I got back to sleep after that, and then was awakened by the tech at 3:30, who was coming in to take vitals. Easy, right? No, the nice lady wanted to know if I wanted a shower or sponge bath and clean linens. "Maybe not...right...now..?" I said, squinting (yes, she had also turned on the lights). Oh, no, she explained, maybe around like 5:30? Still too early for my taste, but more reasonable. And I get that she was trying to map out the rest of her day, but isn't there any consideration of the patient's needs? Doesn't it seem like maybe my need for sleep, you know, the sick one, might trump her need to map out the rest of her shift? Because really, I appreciated her attentions, but I had plenty of time after shift change to take a shower. She was also super apologetic about waking me up. Why apologize? I mean, really.

Finally, at 10 minutes to 5, my nurse came in, flipped on the lights, and started yammering at me about a piece of paper I needed to fill out "just in case I was going to have surgery later." It was a pre-anesthesia questionnaire, that ended up not being collected by anyone until after shift change. Maybe it could have waited? Especially since it wasn't clear whether I would have surgery today anyway? And she asked whether I had given a urine sample in the ER. I hadn't; the ER nurse mentioned it once, I couldn't go at the time, she said it could wait, and it was never mentioned again. I figured it had been dropped as a requirement, since no one asked me about it in the intervening 12 hours. But no, it was apparently a "stat" sample, needed immediately. Right. Immediately. Maybe someone should have followed up on that particular loose end sometime in the 7 hours I was awake, between the ER and being admitted? Maybe given that no one had, and no one was apparently looking for it, it could have waited?

I had had trouble going back to sleep after the 3:30 wakeup, despite my exhaustion, because my breasts were becoming uncomfortably engorged and were leaking everywhere. I still could have slept through it, in a wet gown and wet sheets with painful breasts, if I could have, you know, slept. When I was awakened at 5, I threw in the towel. My boobs hurt, they were leaking all over the place, the tech was coming in half an hour anyway, might as well stay up. The tech was surprised to see me awake when she came in. I thought that was funny.

I've been awake ever since, with the exception of a few short catnaps. Inevitably I go long stretches during which I am told to prepare for some test or that the doctor will be coming in, and so I don't sleep. When I finally do sleep, they come for me 10 minutes later. I get far better sleep with my newborn, I have to say.

What infuriates me most is that there is zero consideration for patient care there. Other than the vitals, none of what I was awakened for needed to be done then. I could have probably forgiven the urine sample if I hadn't been awakened for so much other nonsense so many times before. I'm sick, I hurt, and I'm tired. Maybe better patient care might suggest that personnel think about whether something is truly necessary before waking someone up? And I'm generous- tie up these kinds of loose ends by midnight, then let me sleep until after shift change. I realize these folks have a job to do, but it really feels like no one stops to think whether these decisions are the best for the patient. More like, this is something that needs to be done; must do it now. Maybe night shift workers really lose a sense that normal people are asleep in the small hours of the morning, but if so, someone really needs to remind them.

Anyway, the update on my health: they still don't know what's wrong with me. I had a CT scan this morning that apparently did not show anything out of the ordinary. Confronted with two normal gallbladder images, I guess the doctor had to move on to a different part of the GI system, and has ordered an upper GI, a test that involves me drinking barium contrast and having X-rays of it taken while it's on the way down. I'm not having surgery today; they don't know what to operate on. I'm still in a good bit of pain, and they are just working to figure out what it might be.

It's unclear how long I will be here, and each day they give me more things that are incompatible with breastfeeding. I've dumped something in the neighborhood of 25 ounces of milk just this morning. That's like a two day supply for Phoebe, wasted. I cry every time I empty the bottles, and I hate pumping so much that I am really afraid I will flag in my determination to get through this period. I'm already putting off pumping because I hate it. It's hard to make myself do it when I'm already feeling so cruddy.

I miss my girls- Phoebe is here with me but it hurts to hold her, and I haven't seen Caetlin in almost a whole day by now. I'm hungry- I haven't had anything solid to eat since 11 p.m. on Wednesday. It's rumored I'll be back on clear liquids after the upper GI. I'll take anything at this point. Jell-o and Italian ice can approximate something solid, anyway.

More updates as news comes in.

Because We Couldn't Go A Week Without Some Luna in Some Hospital

I mentioned that last night I was having some abdominal pain. Well, it got progressively worse over the course of the night, and this morning Bruce persuaded me to call our primary care doctor (who I don't much like and I'm trying to find a new one). He saw me and did some lab work, which suggested slightly that I might have a kidney infection, but all my presentation suggested a gallbladder issue. He recommended that I see a gastroenterologist tomorrow, but it was either this afternoon or mid-May, so I went in this afternoon. The doctor took about a five minute look at me and told me I had classic cholecystitis, gallbladder inflammation, and that it was probably infected, as I was running a temperature at that point. He suggested I head down to the emergency room, where he was going to call the GI surgeon and let him know I was coming.

I got to the emergency room and met the surgeon and the surgical resident. It turns out that pregnant women and women who have recently been pregnant are at increased risk for gallstones. Who knew?? So the surgeon was all, "I'm 90% sure that you have gallstones and that your gallbladder is infected, and I wouldn't even do the diagnostic tests if your insurance company wouldn't flip out about it. I would just take your gallbladder out right now." I'm not sure I would have gone along with the "no diagnostics" thing, but luckily I didn't have to. He ordered some (more) labs and an abdominal ultrasound.

The nurse who came to draw my blood first gave me a stick in the back of my hand, and missed the vein, leading to her moving the catheter around in my hand for a second. That hurt! It still hurts, and is already making pretty, pretty bruising. The crappy thing was, it also closed down really fast, so she had to re-stick me in my elbow after just one vial. I don't know why she rejected my elbow the first time, but it hurt a lot less and filled up the vials really fast.

I had the ultrasound done, and was admitted to the hospital and moved to a room upstairs. I was more or less prepped for surgery tomorrow afternoon- not allowed to eat or drink, IV in place with fluids being given, as well as some IV antibiotics ordered, as my labs showed an increased white count, a marker for infection. Then the doctor came in again.

"Amazingly, the ultrasound showed NO gallstones," he said. He went on to talk about how flummoxed he was by this, since I am so exhibiting such classic gallbladder symptoms. He had to (reluctantly) admit that he can't operate, since he doesn't have a diagnosis at this time. His plan is to evaluate my overnight vital signs, my morning labs, and possibly order a CAT scan in the morning as well. He was baffled but seemed confident he would be able to figure it out. Something would point the way to the correct diagnosis, he was sure.

So, that's where I am- in the hospital. Hooked up to an IV that makes using the toilet a challenge and showering impossible. Taking IV antibiotics that mean I will have to pump and dump for at least a day after receiving my last dose. That is on top of whatever they give me in the event of surgery and any pain meds I should need. I hate that part. Just in time for Phoebe's 6 week growth spurt, which I was counting on to boost my supply. It's not like I have any supply problems, but I was hoping I could boost it so I could easily pump some for later. Now I'm just hoping I come through still nursing her at all. I still have no idea what is wrong with me, and I'm still in pain. Not a lot, but I'm uncomfortable.

Silver lining- I'm going to sleep more or less uninterrupted tonight, at least not by baby. Vitals and labs will not take long, unlike feeding the baby. I'm going to wake up in some pain, and have to pump immediately on getting up, I'm sure, but to sleep- that sounds wonderful.

I'm feeling a little sorry for myself, all alone in this lonely hospital room. I'm worried about my innards; I'm worried about being able to continue nursing Phoebe; I'm sad I didn't get to see Caetlin hardly at all today. I'm hot, possibly because of my elevated temperature and possibly because of the temperature in the room. I'm hungry- I was at least able to have clear liquids until midnight, so I "indulged" in two helpings of beef broth, some Jell-o and some Italian ices. It wasn't the most satisfying dinner I've ever had. All the food commercials on TV taunt me.

Anyway, more updates tomorrow as they decide what's wrong with me and what to do about it.

Atlanta Tea Party

So, we headed downtown to join the Atlanta Tea Party protest. I describe myself as libertarian/fiscally conservative, and libertarian/socially liberal. I'm also a huge capitalist and free market champion. Thus, the incredible deficits run up by the Bush and Obama administrations, the eviscerating of the AIG employment contracts, the refusal to let the car companies declare bankruptcy, the "too big to fail" mentality, the "firing" of the head of GM- these are all reasons to protest, in my mind. Add in the tax increases, which almost inevitably will affect my family (we paid a ridiculous amount of money in income taxes last year, plus Social Security, which I would opt out of if I could because no way am I seeing any of that money back, sucked dry by the ever longer-living Baby Boomer generation), and I was moved to add my body to the crowd. I'm not a chanter. I'm not a sign maker. But I wanted to be there and be counted. Both parties disgust me right now. There is no one in the political landscape who represents me, and hasn't been for a very long time.

Am I skeptical about the effects of the various protests yesterday? Yes, but mostly because I am convinced that nothing less than voting politicians out of office gets them to pay attention to the people they supposedly represent. And then it's sort of too late, right? Because you only swap one bum for another.

Cynical? Maybe just a little.

Anyway, we got there at about 7:30, and this was the scene in the little area we were in:



We were crushed between a fence and a fire truck, so we backed out of that mob pretty quickly and went to the other side of the Capitol. There was plenty of room on that side, though we couldn't see the Jumbotron because of all the signage in the way. We listened to the speakers and people watched. At one point we went to the picnic area behind the church that was across the street from the Capitol so I could feed Phoebe. My only real complaint about the whole night was that it was pretty darn cold. I had Phoebe in the Bjorn strapped to me, so she was pretty warm, and she helped keep me warm, but the wind was still quite biting.

Anyway, despite the enormous crowd (someone on the stage estimated 20,000 people- I have no idea if that is right and haven't seen any other estimates today, though I could easily believe it- I could also easily believe that it was far, far smaller than that as well), everyone was very well behaved, even the few folks I saw wearing lots of Obama gear (while I personally am furious at both parties, there is no doubt that the movement as a whole is more generally conservative, so assuming someone with an Obama T-shirt, hat and buttons is a counterprotester is a safe one, I think) or heard espousing different viewpoints.

We stayed through the first segment of Sean Hannity's show (I cannot stand that man-such a blowhard!) and then walked back to MARTA to go home. Our feet were killing us, and I was fortunate that a whole bunch of people got off at the first stop and I was able to get a seat. It was during the course of the evening that I noticed that I had abdominal pain that was getting worse and not going away. More on that in the next post.

So that was my first protest experience- pretty low key. If you didn't see the signs, you would have thought you were at any other large festival. It was definitely a party sort of atmosphere. I'm not sure I'll continue to protest (see above re: cynicism), but it felt good to be doing something, no matter how ultimately ineffective. It felt like being an active political citizen, which was cool. I mean, I've always voted, but this went beyond just voting. Corny as it sounds, I felt like a patriot.

Conversation with Caetlin

Bruce told me he had the following exchange with Caetlin in the car this afternoon:

Caetlin rubs the bruise on her head. From the back seat, Bruce hears:
"Ow! Hurts!"

Bruce: "Don't touch it, silly!"

From the back seat:
"Hurts!"

Bruce: "Don't touch it, Caetlin!"

"Hurts!"

I think he gave up after a couple iterations.**

The offending goose egg, two days post-trauma.

**It wouldn't be funny if she wasn't doing so much better. Her fever was down to a low grade temp this morning and gone entirely this afternoon. She's tired, but seems to be recovering well. Therefore I feel I can safely laugh at her silliness.

At Least Life with Her Is Never Boring

So, Caetlin decided to make life interesting again by having another seizure yesterday. It was in some ways the scariest one she's had, at least to me.

She went to the zoo in the morning, and spent the afternoon after her nap coloring Easter eggs and having an egg hunt at the park with her play group. She came home happy and talking about having high-fived the panda at the zoo (a guy in a panda suit), and about having collected the pink egg as her special one. She had chocolate smeared on her face.

We were all in the living room, and she was standing at the coffee table, when she started to make a strange noise. She often makes strange noises, so I didn't think anything of it. A second later, though, she fell backward, dead weight, her head cracking sickeningly on the hardwood floor. I ran over to her, calling her name, and picked her up as she was simultaneously limp and jerky in my arms. I said to Bruce, "She's having a seizure," and put her down. I stayed over her, watching her lips turn an alarming shade of blue and her face turn a scary grey, though I could see that she was breathing. When strings of saliva started to bubble out of her mouth, I turned her head to the side so she didn't aspirate any of it.

After maybe a minute- or a year, depending on your perspective- she stopped jerking and started to cry a little bit. She was so hot! We scooped her up and gathered Phoebe and some things and headed to the hospital. We've done this enough that I thought to bring Caetlin's blankies and pacifier and pajamas and some diapers.

Bruce lead-footed it to the emergency room and they saw us pretty quickly. She threw up on the way, all over herself and her car seat. When the nurse first took her vitals, she took her temperature under Caetlin's arm, which gave a reading of 98.9, which seemed awfully cool based on how she felt in my arms. When we were admitted to a triage room, the pediatrician saw us fairly quickly. Her ears and throat looked clear, so he wanted to take a urine sample to rule out UTI. We also discussed whether a CT was necessary, since she had hit her head so hard. His thought was that she was alert and talking, and had only thrown up the once, so it probably wasn't necessary, but if we wanted it for peace of mind, we could certainly justify having one done.

Bruce tried to get Caetlin to give a urine sample by making water in the potty, which would have been more pleasant for all of us, but stressed as she was, she refused, so we had to ask the nurse to take a sample with a catheter. The nurse was awesome; she only cleaned the relevant area of Caetlin's girl parts, rather than scrubbing them all over with the antiseptic, which can't feel good, and she got the catheter in on the first try, which is not always the case. While we had her diaper off, we asked them to take another temperature reading, because they were not going to give her any fever reducer based on the earlier reading. We could see she didn't feel good, even as the effects of the seizure wore off. The anal temperature came to 102.2, so she was dosed with Tylenol.

As the Tylenol took effect, she clearly started to feel better. We had the CT done, for our own peace of mind (Natasha Richardson was to the forefront of my mind). The CT was clear for head injury, but did show some fluid on her middle ear and around her jawbone. The urine was clean on the microscope (though we won't be clear on that front until the culture hopefully comes back negative as well), and the pediatrician's best guess is a middle ear infection. That or some random virus, which is always a possibility. He prescribed antibiotics and sent us home.

So, we trooped home, four hours after we left the house. Her fever was down and she fell asleep right away, after having a perfunctory dinner. When she woke up this morning her fever was back up again, so we've kept her dosed with fever-reducer all day, alternating Tylenol and Motrin every three hours. If her fever is still up tomorrow, we'll be taking her to her regular pediatrician for further evaluation.

So that's where we are. Odds are, she'll be fine. As I maintain, kids get random fevers all the time. Caetlin is just more dramatic about it. More updates as events warrant.

My Girls

As I mentioned over on Facebook, this is the best picture I have managed to take of my girls. It kind of captures their relationship at this point pretty well, I think. Caetlin is enthusiastic about Phoebe...maybe a little too enthusiastic for Phoebe's taste. The visible hand holding Phoebe's head is just a nice touch.

Phoebe at 1 Month- The Stats

We went to the pediatrician today for Phoebe's one month checkup (for those of you keeping score, she turned 1 month old yesterday). Here are her vitals:

Weight- 10 pounds, 7 ounces, a growth of 2 pounds, 10 ounces since birth (and over three pounds since her post-birth weight loss). This is right at the 90th percentile for baby girls, per the CDC's growth charts.

Length- 22 inches, a growth of 1.5 inches since birth. This is also at the 90th percentile.

Head circumference- 14.5 centimeters, which is at the 50th percentile. She has her daddy's small head, apparently.

So, she's growing great. The doctor was also impressed with her alertness, and seemed pleased when we mentioned she was starting to smile a bit- mostly around the eyes, but also with her mouth, in her sleep sometimes. She looks perfect, and is healthy as can be. We still had some concerns regarding the amount she spits up, as I mentioned before, but the diagnosis is still overfeeding. Not on my part, on her part. She just doesn't quite get when to stop sometimes. The doctor basically said if it happens every time she eats or starts to really bother her, then we might have an issue, but otherwise, keep feeding on demand and not worry about the spit up.

I also discussed the vaccination schedule with the pediatrician. Because Caetlin has such a history of febrile seizures, at least two of which have occurred on the same day as her shots, I wanted to space the shots out a tiny bit, just so as to not stress Phoebe's system in the event she is prone to seizures as well. At least once with Caetlin, she had an undiagnosed infection the day of her shots that contributed to the fever, but the fact remains that her fever may have been driven up by the shots. The doctor agreed with me that there was ample evidence to space out the shots a bit, so we're going to be doing two at a time, rather than a whole bunch at a time. It means a few more visits, but I'm okay with that, if it reduces the chance of Phoebe having a seizure from a vaccination-induced fever. Maybe it won't; maybe the shots have not had anything to do with Caetlin's fevers and subsequent seizures. But it's worth the extra time. I'm a big proponent of vaccines and will not be the parent that skips them or fails to bring the baby in for the extra visits.

All in all, a good visit. Phoebe is growing like crazy!