Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

Yes, yes, haven't updated in forever, I know, I know. Life has been busy, and plenty to do and all that stuff. As usual.

So, how have things been? Well, let's see. After weeks and weeks of annoying low-level headaches thanks to being reduced to taking Prilosec while waiting to find out what exactly is going on with our medical insurance, I am now back on the Dexilant, and today is the first headache free day I've had in what feels like forever.

Second... I've been hesitant to proclaim this, but seeing as I'm back on the Dexilant, why not?

I haven't taken my asthma meds in over three months. I haven't needed my asthma meds in over three months. This isn't to say I don't have asthma, because I do, but at the moment, I'd say it's relatively mild, almost to non-existent. Why? Because... I don't think I have asthma. I have acid reflux. Which is being taken care of by the Dexilant.

And I have to say, it is the weirdest thing, to realize that I have been taking asthma medications for some twenty years now that... I probably didn't need. Except I did, because twenty years ago, they didn't have any of the medications that they have now for acid reflux. I remember actually getting medication for acid reflux twenty years ago that didn't even come close to making a dent in my asthma... and I wasn't being treated for acid reflux! I was being treated for a gall bladder flare up that had me throwing up almost constantly, and my doctor was trying to protect my esophagus. So... it's extremely weird to think that my problem all this time has been acid reflux, and when I told my gastro that, he said, "Actually, it's quite common," and he explained why, which I am not going to share because... EWWWWWW!!!

Still, I have to say, the Dexilant has changed my life, and I'm grateful. It's worth the hassle I've been through over the last two months. Seriously.

And I have some... pretty incredible news. Yesterday, for the very first time ever. EVER. The Impossible Son got a 100 on a math quiz.

*pauses to let you all absorb that*

Yes, you read that right. He got a 100 on a MATH QUIZ!!! HUZZAH!!!!!! *does cartwheels*

First, he has a pretty awesome math teacher. Second, because our district has not met "Adequate Yearly Progress" (AYP) in math and reading (among other requirements that haven't been met) my son's class is required to take an extra class that is basically a tutorial class in math and reading. Which is awesome because Mr. Impossible is finally getting the instruction in all the stuff he was supposed to have learned in elementary, and they've finally stopped teaching the stupid "strategies" that were actually hampering his ability to learn math. I'm sorry, but teaching kids the "shortcuts" in how to do certain math functions before you teach them to do it the "long way" is... well... STUPID.

And over at the high school, the district has all of a sudden come to the horrifying realization that, "OMG, our students have no clue when it comes to writing! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN???"

*makes a rude noise*

I'll tell you how it happened, you idiots. It happened because you were teaching the kids how to take a stupid standardized test for the last ten years, and you skipped over some very vital bits of instruction, and gave them the bare minimum it took for them to be able to write a little essay for the test. Woopie. Ding. Dong. And now, now that things have changed, that when you realized, hey, wait a minute... they don't know anything.

The Impertinent Daughter's class is the last who will take the TAKS, and only now is the district changing the curriculum and actually requiring them to know how to write. So over the last two weeks, Miss Impertinent has been literally sitting at the table, staring at her notes, her head spinning as she contemplates complex sentences and structure, compound words, predicate nominatives, superlatives, and all those wonderful parts of speech that my generation was learning in second grade, and that hasn't been taught in our schools in, what... fifteen years??? And all of a sudden, they're supposed to know it? Heh... I know my kid isn't the only one sitting in her chair, looking hopelessly lost while swathed in a paper cocoon of notes!!

So far, that's all I got. But... that's enough, don't you think?

Oh... and I'm contemplating the arrival of... 49. And gave the Blonde Sister heart failure when I pointed out that next year, I'll be contemplating 50.

Awesome.

... what's up with Auntie lately, right?

Heh.

Weeeeellllll... see, remember this entry and this one?

Well, I went and saw a gastroenterologist back in November, and he said with my family history, and the pain I'd been having, it was probably a good idea if I had a couple of tests to figure out what was going on in there, so... I was scheduled for an endoscopy and colonoscopy at the same time. And... that was today.

And I've been nervous and cranky, and all of that, not just because I was going to be basically Roto-Rootered from both ends, but... because they were going to have to knock me out to do it and... I have issues with that.

I had arthroscopic surgery on my knee back in the late eighties, and they used general anesthesia to put me under. Didn't have a problem with that... until the second time I had to have work done on the knee, and... was still conscious when they paralyzed me before intubating me. I couldn't breathe, and I panicked. The anesthesiologist said, "What's wrong?" and I managed to squeak out, "I can't breathe," and he patted my cheek and said, "Don't worry, love, I'll be breathing for you."

o_O?!!!

No, that did not make me feel better, and I remember flailing about wildly with my hands, and a large, warm hand caught mine, and I saw my surgeon standing there, and he said, "You're going to be fine. I won't let go of your hand until you're asleep. I'm right here, and I promise you, you're okay." And he was still holding my hand when everything dissolved.

So, yeah, I get a little freaked when it comes to anesthesia, because no matter how much I will myself to forget it and get over it, it still sneaks up to me and sinks sharp little claws into me when I least expect it. So, after a horrible day of no eating and drinking my nutrition, followed by a horrible night of drinking one of the nastiest substances known to man in order to "clean my pipes out," I was a tottering paranoid mass of hypoglycemic sleep-deprived zombieness. And sitting in the waiting room was the hardest part, because part of me wanted to run, run, run for the hills! (except I couldn't because of the tottering paranoid mass of hypoglycemic zombieness) and part of me just wanted it to be over already. There was also a part of me that desperately needed to go to the bathroom, but we'll just skip over that part, 'kay?

I also really, really, really wanted to faint (that was the hypoglycemia) and I also knew that my intellectual capacity had just dropped from Intelligent Woman to Gibbering Moron, but, I kept looking at my son and thinking, "He did this, well... the endoscopy part, and he came through it fine..."

Then my mouth cut my brain off at the pass and made me quiver my lip at the Husbandly One and say tearfully, "I just don't think I can do this."

THO knows me very well, because he gave me this completely exasperated look and said in those I'm the Dom tones, "You will do this because I've already paid for it, dammit!!"

Which was apparently exactly what I needed to hear, because I did it. Went in when they called me, confessed my hypoglycemia, they fixed me up, I felt much better (and braver), then the anesthesiologist came to chat, and settled my mind about the anesthesia, which wasn't general, it was something completely different. Basically, I would be asleep, but able to breathe on my own and respond to commands. Which made me feel much better, if not a bit more zombie-ish. They took me into surgery, the doctor took my hand to pat it, and the anesthesiologist said, "Okay, I'm adding the anesthesia to the bag, your arm will feel a little warm, and theeeeennnnn yyyyyyooooouuuu'lllll feeeeeel sleeeeeeppppyyyyyyrrrrrrr....."

And then next thing I knew, someone said, "You can open your eyes now," and Holy Mackinoly, I was in another room!!! And I felt GREAT!!! I actually felt better than I had going in!!!

"Stunned" does not even come close to covering it. "Gobsmacked," maybe.

Within about ten minutes, I was up, getting dressed, drinking water, and ten minutes after that, I was heading home. It was awesome!

And the good news is... NO ULCER!! Some mild Inflammation, yes, but the medication they gave me is apparently working, so.... I'm good! And nothing bizarre or scary going on downstairs, either. YAY!! Which is a HUGE relief, because my grandfather died of colorectal cancer in his early to mid fifties, so... yeah, very concerned!

But everything looks good, so I am a very relieved Auntie, believe you me!

The Impossible Son is such a little trooper, he really, really is!!

He handled it just fine, the doctor came back much sooner than we expected with photos of pink, healthy tissue inside his tummy. No redness, no ulcers, everything looks good.

*is so relieved*

So, we will go for a follow-up soon, and talk about the results of the biopsies, and most likely some dietary changes.

Just to show you what a dithered state of mind I've been in since we got home, I was making two pitchers of ice tea, and only after I had added the cold water to start stirring did I realize I had put all the teabags in one pitcher!!

It made a most... interesting mix of tea!! I'll probably be teased about this for the rest of my life!! Oh, well, I don't mind, because right now, I'm too happy and relieved to care!!

I am trying my hand at knitting on circular needles. It took me three or four tries, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. First, I was doing it backwards (because the illustration in the book I was using for reference was... well... fershmeckled), then it ended up with odd ridges in it. Considering I'm doing stockinette stitch, that should not have happened. So it was rip, rip, rip and start over. Now it's going along nicely, and I'm kind of amazed, to tell you the truth.

It's funny that I find knitting more soothing than crochet. I've often said that crochet is my tranquilizer. Any time that I've felt stressed or nervous, I would crochet to calm down. Now knitting is taking that place. I think it's because I can knit and read at the same time, whereas I can't do that with crochet unless I'm, say, making an afghan where I'm using the same stitch over and over, and even then, I have to look to make sure I'm hooking into the right loop.

Right now, I'm working on a scarf in the Impertinent Daughter's school colors. My friend, the Tall Blonde, has more or less commissioned me (actually, it's more of a dare, but she used the word "commission" so I'll run with that) to make scarves for her daughters, son, and herself, plus my daughter and son, in time for the high school soccer season in November. Don't know if I'll have that many made in time, but I'll give it a good try. Her idea is that the other kids will see those scarves, or their parents will, and they'll want some, too. Then they'll ask her where she got them, and she'll either point at me (if I'm sitting there, which let's face it, I probably will. Miss my daughter's soccer games? Not willingly!) or tell them it was me, and I will find myself with orders to make scarves, which I can charge them for, and make some extra money on the side.

*chuckles*

I love her to pieces, but I don't know if my skills match up to her ambitions! But I will give it a good ol'' college try! When she enthused that I could make them with soccer balls worked into the design on the ends, I said, "Wait, whoa, I'm still working on learning how to do stripes, let's not have me doing designs yet!!"

I'm using the school colors pattern from Charmed Knits, which is going along well. And thank goodness I learned how to pick up dropped stitches with a crochet needle, or I'd be in tears now!!

In other news, the Husbandly One and I are gearing up for school to start next week, and worrying over the Impossible Son. I know I've mentioned his tummy troubles before, his complaints of stomach aches, and constant throat clearing, and all that stuff. We've worried that he has appendicitis, or an ulcer, and he's been to the doctor numerous times about it. He's complained of sore throats a lot, too, with no fever or other symptoms. He coughs and gags a lot, like my dad did all his life, throws up when he gets really upset, and we've been at our wit's end at times, trying to figure it out.

Well, our doctor sent us to a pediatric gastroenterologist back in May, and she put him on Prevacid, which did a huge amount of good for him. That and we kept a "tummy log" which we found very revealing. Sometimes, Mr. Manzie would go through these... non-stop eating binges, especially after dinner, where he would ask for grapes, then for cheese, then for toast, then for frozen peas, etc., etc. And we'd say, "But... you just had dinner!!" And he'd say, "I'm still hungry!!"

I was beginning to think he had a hollow leg or something, because the child does not have an extra ounce of fat on him! He's 4 feet 2 inches tall, and weighs 58 pounds, fer gossakes! But, as we kept the tummy log, and he would complain of his tummy hurting before he started asking for all the food, I finally had a light bulb go off in my head. "Are you asking for this because your tummy hurts?" I asked one night.

"Yes," he said, eyes wide.

"Are you hoping if you put enough food in your tummy, it'll stop hurting?"

"Yes," he said uncomfortably.

"Does it work?" I asked, getting down on my knees so we could see eye to eye. And I waited for the answer as he stared at me sadly.

"No," he finally said. "Not always. Sometimes it does, but... most of the time, no."

That was a huge revelation, and one I passed on to the doctor when we saw her again last week. He spent 6 weeks on the Prevacid, and 6 weeks off, and if we hadn't already known there was a problem before, the 6 weeks off would have confirmed it. Because it was as if those tummy troubles came back with a vengeance. With the added bonus of some of the most atrocious breath ever. *grimaces*

End result? He's going to have an upper endoscopy to take a look at his esophagus, stomach, and small intestine. This Friday.

Thanks to everything my dad went through for his cancer, I know what an endoscopy is, and what Mr. Impossible will be going through. However, there is a small, shaking part of me that is curled up in a terrified little ball, because this is my baby. The rational adult knows that this is necessary, because we really need to know what's going on inside his tummy, especially given that he's been having so much trouble for the last three years, and he is the spitting image of his Grand-Daddy.

Just knowing that keeps me from freaking out too much. I listened to my dad do everything my son is doing for years. Coughing and gagging when he was upset. Constantly clearing his throat. Eating the kinds of things that would fill his stomach (and probably make it stop hurting) before he went to bed, like bread and milk. And my dad got esophageal cancer when he was 78.

His mother died of what they thought at the time was "tuberculosis of the throat" at the age of 25, back in 1928, when he was five years old. We're now pretty sure she had the same cancer as my dad.

You bet I want to know what's going on in Mr. Impossible's tummy!!

They'll take biopsies while they're in there, too.

Does it tell you how upset I am that just writing this, I want to faint? Both the kids are sound asleep right now. I want to have my complete freak-out and meltdown over and done with before they wake up. I've put it off for six days now and finally have a moment to myself with no witnesses (except for you guys) to get it over with, so I can be brave, and cheerful, and upbeat for my son for the next five days.

Yay me.

I feel just like I did when the Impertinent Daughter was seven days old, and we were at the doctor's for her first shots. They had taken her from me and laid her on the treatment bed and given her her shots, and she, of course, being an infant, had started screaming. And I remember feeling utterly panic-stricken, wanting to both faint, and snatch her up to run away with her at the same time. The Blonde Sister, who worked for that doctor, stood next to me and patted my arm. She knew what I was going through, and told me the first time was always the hardest.

I feel like that right now. And I am sure that on Friday, I will be sitting in the parents' waiting room at the hospital, knitting for dear life and wanting to both faint, and run in to snatch up my son and run away with him. I think one of the hardest things about being a parent is knowing you have to trust utter strangers to take care of your child in what they reassuringly tell you is safe and controlled, but you know in your heart is utterly and terrifyingly dangerous, but it has to be done anyway. All of this, while you're sitting ten feet away in another room. Knowing that until he's sedated and out of it, that he's scared and wants you there... and you can't be. This is one of the really big, low dips in the rollercoaster of parenthood. I hate it. I just have to keep reminding myself that the rollercoaster will be going back up soon, and truly, that is all that gets me through these moments.

I hate fear. I'll get through it, but oh, man, oh, man, I hate the fear.

He's such a brave little man. In some ways, much braver than his sister. My heart of hearts knows he'll be fine. I just wish I could get the paranoid part of me to believe that, too.