The Paediatric Health Field

So, I’ve complained a lot in the past week or two about my biopsy.  It’s healing nicely, by the way.  However, I have not really said much about Scratch, mostly because those I’ve really wanted to tell whats going on to, I do so over the phone or email.

Scratch hasn’t been well for some time – she’s had a very distended belly, especially after sugar (especially fruit sugars) and other problems that have shown she’s not a well girly…

Right now she is having an Endoscopy and other tubes looking in her in places that give me shivers to think about, quite honestly, as well as a gastric tube being inserted for a barium test tomorrow.

Its difficult, in one part, to know how to tell you what is going on when I don’t fully know it myself.  The doctors, too, are not sure and obviously working towards trying to find out.  All I know is that she is in the right place, where the specialists of the specialisers are and that she is getting the attention she deserves. 

The other part of me worries for MBW, who with her own health problems, is putting herself on the back burner to watch over Scratch. 

So, forgive me if my tweets appear half-in-tune or my facebook is fairly cryptic.  Its not you, its me.

The Aural Disappointment

Ice cream vans – they bring joy to many, sadness to the few who’s lactose intolerance means they regard them as a wind-creator on wheels.  You can guarantee not to find me near an ice cream van as Mr Whippy will leave me feeling rubbish and immobile for an hour.

icecreamvanHowever, my children have found out that these magical vans vend ice cream – I’m blaming their mother.

I have had to educate the children appropriately to counter this.  My friend Bruce had the best idea.

“Blinkity blinkity bongly bong…” sings out the tune of the Frozen Lactose Van.

“Oh,” says one of the three. “It’s the Ice Cream Van!”

“No,” will observe another. “He’s ran out again. I wish he’d come to us first…”

The Socio-Endorphin Correlation

For me – Saturday is a day of rest… if it isn’t shopping, visiting family or cleaning the house.

This particular Saturday was slightly unusual – MBW was going to a fitness workout thing, I am more tired than usual and Monkey has done a full week in School.  The Contwingent?  Full of beans.

I knew what was needed in this instance. Only thing for it to give those so tired they need a pick me up.

Depositing said beans and the bodies they inhabit with the Mother-in-Law, Monkey and I were left at the Great Cathedral of Sainsbury’s.  For future reference, there is:

  • The Greek Orthadox Church of Tescos
  • The Field Chapel of Somerfield
  • The Quaker Co-Op
  • The Seventh Day Advent of Asda

Back to my endorphin lift – and Monkey’s.  Having arrived at the Great Cathedral, Monkey and I made a bee-line for the one thing we knew we each needed: Beans on Toast and a pot of tea for Monkey; and Sausage, Mushroom and Toast with a mug of black coffee for me.

Payment was swift.

Cultlery and condiments acquired.

Table chosen, set and ready.

We cleared our plates, emptied the drinking vessels and took stock.

“We mustn’t forget socks, Daddy” mumoured a content Number One of the Three.

Endorphin pick-me-up – completed.

The Cryogenic Theobromine Formula

This morning, I woke up very early.  Then I woke again, which means I had fallen asleep without realising it.  Then I woke to find Monkey scowling at me.

“Good morning Monkey” I said, because I am nothing if not courteous to the person who I discover kicking me in the arse from the other end of the bed most nights of the week.

“Daddy,” she said, “you have eaten the chocolate from the freezer.”

“Pardon?” I ask, a little bewildered.

Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough tubMonkey points at the empty tub of Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream, the result of a nights passion between MBW and two men who seem to have joined our marriage.  “That was my chocolate from the freezer and you have eaten it and I am not happy that you have eaten my chocolate.”

“Your chocolate?  What do you mean?” I ask – it feels like the kid from the Haribo advert has manifested herself in my bedroom and is about to tell me to sign the ‘fession. 

“I stayed in my bed all night and all day and I went to bed good and that was my chocolate.” She told me.

“I didn’t eat it though,” I protested.

“Well, Mummy didn’t because Mummy doesn’t like chocolate from the freezer.”

I gave up at this point. “I’m sorry?” I murmured, ready to go back to sleep.

“Good.” She said, laying down on me for a cuddle. “Scratch my back…”

The Genetics Correlation between Generations

Its been some time since I mentioned about the re-diagnosis business but this is mostly due to a combination of festive holidays and trying to track my notes down from Cardiff.

However, yesterday we had an appointment for Scratch, who has been a late walker and therefore a concern to us. So we met with a genetics doctor from GOSH (Great Ormond Street Hospital) who, after some fun with the family tree, began to look at Scratch, Nuzzle too as they are twins, Monkey as she has some hypermobility – and then looked at me (like a museum relic).

Then she explained about some bits going on in terms of diagnosis techniques that have changed over the years, that actually I should be seen by Queens Square in London but also know that things are less invasive than they were 10 or 20 years ago. The info would be of benefit now not just to myself but to Scratch too, as it can help any possible DNA testing for them. Yes, she said all of this about me.

She suggested starting with a blood test for CK markers on Scratch, and then then gave me a blood test note for DNA storage.

So, I am now resigned to the fact I’m heading for another biopsy but mostly because this will benefit my children now. Probably a needle EMG too, knowing my luck. The only immediate consulation about the impending jabbing was that they offered to take my blood on the childrens ward. They have the freeze spray there. And cool plasters.

The human existence commencement

Now, far from me to back out of my fatherly duties – in fact, I like to think I get stuck in just as much as any doting father would do.

Except when it comes to nappies simply full of poo.

And when I have to get them dressed, because that takes serious effort.

But otherwise, I’m pretty hands on.

But not tonight – oh no.  Allow me to explain.  Monkey, bless her cottons, had declared in her usual tones “I need a poo”, followed by “I need to be nay-kid…” which in turn was followed by “Muuum can you come with me?”  Since tonight it was pizza, beans and bits, it was assumed (correctly) I would manage in the kitchen (no chefs hat but I’m working on that) with Nuzzle and Scratch for company and MBW would keep the Monkey company in the bathroom.

As Nuzzle, Scratch and myself are discussing the deeds of the day (Nuzzle had managed to save a mouse from a trap), we hear “Why do some babies come out the Mummy’s bottom and some need to be chopped off out of your tummy?”

The kitchen fell silent, awaiting MBW’s response.  “Because most babies are born from their Mummy’s – umm – Mini.  But sometimes if baby gets stuck or if baby is very sick or Mummy is very sick the doctors can do an operation to get the baby out quickly.”

This seems to satisfy Curious Monkey and Scratch continues the discussion in the kitchen about the deeds of the day (she devised a new way to produce a renewable fuel source that wouldn’t destroy the planet) when we hear “But then there’s the thing that needs to be snipped, what’s that?”

Silence fell quickly as we listened for a response.

“When the baby is inside the Mummy, they are attached with a cord because it feeds them but when they come out they don’t need it any more.”

“Why don’t they need it anymore?” She asked.

“Because once they are out they drink milk.”

This has once again sated Monkey and our conversation in the kitchen moves focus towards my deeds of the day (I save… I mean, I worked out a way… I mean… ok, I had nothing) when we heard “So why does some babies drink from Mummy’s boobie and some drink milk from a bottle and not from the Mummy’s boobies?”

Monkey – three and three quarters and asking the slightly difficult ones…  That is not the worst bit though, because as she got off the toilet I heard “I’ve got a little baby because I’m a little girl…”

The 4-4 timing symposium

I like Saturdays.  Saturday is my first day at home in the week when I don’t have to get up by a certain time to be at my desk and logged in to a VPN.  It is the first day in the week when the girls will look at me and know I don’t have to get dressed with any urgency unless we want to go somewhere bright and early to get a whole days worth of day in. 

In fact, I do consider Saturday to be the first day of the week – its a good day.

This morning, for example, we were listening to Gigi D’Agostina – L’amour Toujours, Monkey, Nuzzle and Scratch were taking it in turns to dance with me and just as the lyrics hit “and I will fly with you”, Monkey (who had both her hands in my one hand) crouched down slightly.  So I began to pull her up and MBW carried her on, lifting her up into the air to fly. 

She looked slightly stunned by this but laughed and went doolally with adrenaline for a few minutes.

I like Saturdays.