Overdrive

My mind has been on overdrive this weekend.

I have begun to really stress about Ja.son's upcoming strabismus surgery on Tuesday. I mean seriously stress. It isn't like we haven't been through the whole surgery thing before, and this surgery is far less...intense...than the surgeries we've been through, but I am on Freak Out mode.

This last Wednesday I had to take him to the pediatrician to get a medical clearance. He completely lost his shit once we entered one of the exam rooms. He wouldn't let them take his blood pressure and literally ripped the cuff off of his arm. He wouldn't even let them take his height (37.5 inches!) and weight (30.2 pounds!) without screaming his head off. Then he just clung to me and said, "Are you alright?" in a sad hiccupy voice over and over for the rest of the appointment. It was heartbreaking. We both left the appointment spent.

If that visit is any indication, the surgery is going to be an awful experience.

Medical procedures are different now. They aren't little babies who can't really understand what the hell is going on around them anymore.

Now, they know there is a strong possibility they are going to be hurt by the person wearing white.

Now, they are afraid.

And rightly so. They've had a lot of crappy shit done to them in their short little lives.

I've also got a sweet little gem said by the neurologist racing around in my head. He made a comment about Ja.son possibly having a reaction to anesthesia. He said it in passing, in an offhanded sort of way. But it stuck and now it worries me. I wish I had asked him to clarify... (Yes, I could call him and ask him, but he isn't the most upbeat individual. If he said anything else negative it would really throw me over the edge. I can't afford that at the moment.)

Sigh. Right now I am trying to sit in denial and pretend that all is okay in the world.

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Our next door neighbors purchased the same car we had several months back. I told Is.aac at the time that I bet they were pregnant again. That in itself wasn't that horrible. I don't know them well, so the pregnancy wasn't going to be flaunted in my face all the time or anything.

Two weeks ago, though, she called to me while I was getting the boys out of the car. I spied the obvious bump on my way over and cringed on the inside. I slapped on my happy face and went to chit chat.

She's pregnant with fraternal twin boys and is just about to reach viability.

She's seeing Dr. Doom.

Twin B had an enlarged bladder, a possible clubbed foot, and possible issues with his heart. Dr. Doom strongly suggested she have amnios done on the babies. Both are normal.

At this point, I was getting sick to my stomach. The similarities between her experience with Dr. Doom and mine were too eerie.

She's a teacher (for a different district) also (freaky how similar our lives are, right?) and was on her two week break. She should have started back to work this week.

Her car has been in the driveway all week long, and I've seen her sister bring food to her every day.

My mind is telling me she's on bed rest now. My mind tells me to go over and offer her support. I mean, I know how hard that shit is!

My heart won't let me walk through the door and go talk to her. It brings up way too much pain and bad memories.

I've contemplated just sending Is.aac over with something yummy for them. But I can't get myself to make anything for her, either.

I just plain suck.

Apparently I still have some issues to work through.

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Speaking of twins, there are four sets of twins on my block. Somewhere I read that the national average for twins or higher order multiples is 3%. My block is averaging 10%. Strange, huh?

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Here's more statistics for you. We've recently donated to the Children's Hospital Los Angeles. They are in the process of building a bigger, better hospital. It was supposed to be finished in 2008. They are now saying it won't be done until next year. Anyway, the receipt they sent had some "Did You Know?" facts on it. The part that stood out to me was this:

"(The hospital) performs nearly 14,000 pediatric surgeries a year...nearly 650 neurosurgeries..."

Sh.awn had 8 surgeries during those "very dark days."

His surgeries comprised 1.2% of their yearly total.

That thought makes me sick to my stomach.

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We are now down to two remaining members of the Fab Four. George followed John in the afterlife on Wednesday. I am hoping that Paul and Ringo stick around for awhile.

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Tomorrow (or today I suppose, depending on when you read this) is my birthday. I will be 38 years old.

I'm not really all that concerned about the getting older part except for the implications about my fertility.

My biological clock is no longer ticking...it's now more of a consistent gong.

I really hope this year brings us a real, live baby at the end of it.