I Want It Back

My hour.

I want it back.  I don't know if I can adequately express in words how much I detest losing the hour the federal government snatches from me every spring.  Don't they have their hands in enough?  Must they attempt to control time too?  Isn't spring harsh enough with taxes & all the pollen & the lack of college football & the sudden need to shave more frequently?  Finally, someone is speaking up.  Check this out.

I don't like the phrase 'Spring Forward.'  Blah.  Whatever.  I don't spring in the morning, ever, at all, & especially not after losing an hour of sleep.  This was my first 'Spring Forward' Sunday with two kids, & I've been dreading it for awhile now.  As if there aren't enough obstacles involved in getting young kids up & fed & dressed & off to church, let's pick a Sunday to eradicate an hour of time.  However, I ended up avoiding the situation entirely this year because, well, SNOT.  Henry & Reagan are both a tad ill at the moment.  No fever, just general spring yuck.  So, I went to church by myself yesterday morning while Trey stayed home on snot patrol.  Since returning home yesterday afternoon, I've been on snot patrol, & it's not doing a whole lot for my mood.  I guess it goes without saying that I am incredibly excited about getting up tomorrow morning to go face a classroom full of students who've been out on Spring Break for a week & just lost an hour of time.  Oh, the coffee that will entail.

Despite the illness in my home, I did do the speaking thing this past Friday night.  Friday afternoon, I left the kids in Trey's capable hands & headed to Lake D'arbonne State Park.  Well, actually Trey's dad & sister were also at the house because Trey's mom hasn't been feeling well either . . . I'd just like to note that that's three people, three college grads, mind you (one with a law degree), left to do what I do most days, as Reagan would say, all by myself.  It's good to feel needed.  But I digress.  I thoroughly enjoyed the drive out to Farmerville.  I went under the speed limit to allow myself time to sip the coffee I'd made for the drive over, sing along with Celine, & relax as I prepared to speak.  Everyone knows the best way to vocally prep for a public presentation is accompanying Celine, because you know, sometimes she struggles with those high notes.  Where does my heaaaart beat now . . . 

I suppose the speech went well.  It wasn't as polished as I would've preferred, but given that my only run-through was delivered in front of Henry (who thought the whole thing was hilarious), I was pleased overall.  In a thirty minute talk, I managed to make references to The Little Mermaid, Aida, & threw in a generic reference to vampires.  I reigned myself in & didn't get Twilight specific with the vampire example.  I knew I was going to be cutting it close on time, & I figured if it came down to omitting a few Bible verses or a detailed explanation of the virtues of Edward Cullen, I ought to let Edward go, & so I did.  It was refreshing to stand in front of fifty or so ladies who were attentive & generally seemed happy to be there, as opposed to my usual audience, twenty or so students, half of whom are surreptitiously attempting to text &/or surf the Internet on their phone.

I'm a bit behind on photographically cataloging my kids's lives.  Henry hit the nine month mark last week, on Thursday to be exact.  That photo shoot is scheduled for later this week when his face is, hopefully, free of snot.  Here's what I've been taking pics of - -

Are these not the most beautiful numbers you've ever seen?  Last week was pretty dreamy as far as blood sugars go.  At some point I suppose I'll stop taking pictures of the awesome numbers (& texting them to all her grandparents), but currently it still gives me a considerable thrill to see numbers like this pop up on the meter after weeks of crying & gnashing my teeth nearly every time I checked Reagan's number.

I do have one pic of the kids I took Saturday night in the new pajamas Nana & Papa bought them in Denver.  You didn't know this, but my parents spent last week in Denver.  I didn't tell you because, you know, my mom doesn't want me advertising that their house is empty so I don't encourage someone who creeps my blog to break in their house & steal their treasures . . . I mean my mom has numerous clothing items that feature the cast of The Andy Griffith Show, & my dad has tons, & tons, & tons of books; everyone knows thieves can't resist a detailed history of the whereabouts of the Ark of the Covenant.  Don't be tempted; they're home now.  

Here they are, ready to Spring Forward . . . or sleep restlessly & whine randomly, whichever:

I need to go now, but there's one more thing on my mind, & you should know by now that if something is on my mind, it inevitably spills onto the blog.  It's been brought to my attention that a few of you reading the book are, & I quote, "obsessed."  Aren't obsessions the best?  I was obsessed with the book when I was writing it.  There were entire conversations between Edie & Dr. Foster - - or James, I think we can call him James now (I mean if you're reading, surely you see that's where we're headed, & soon) - -  in my head that I'd try & recall when I could find time to sit down & type; sometimes the two of them would not hush.  I could afford the obsession then because I had one child, & she was sleeping all night & taking two lengthy naps during the day.  

As I reread along with some of you, I have to say, the obsession is rearing its head again.  In the past few weeks, I have, for the first time since finishing the book, had to quash the yearning to sit & write again.  I mean, yes, I write when I blog, but between you & me, it's kind of mindless.  There's no coherency; it's stream-of-consciousness, except not the cool D.H. Lawrence kind.  Writing a book is a different matter entirely, & while I well know I don't have the time I'd like to devote to it at the moment, Edie & James are yammering in my head again. Constantly.  I've missed them, but I'm hoping I can get them to shut-up for awhile. 

    

AZ

Overlap & an Invite

I am out of school this week for Spring Break.  Naturally, it is thirty degrees outside.  I thought about cleaning up the house a little & digging out my Easter decor, but then I realized that Easter isn't until April 20th this year, & again, it is thirty degrees outside.  I know everyone is complaining & longing for summer, but, I am not.  I reserve my weather complaints for July & August, when it isn't possible to buy & unload groceries without needing a shower, & it gets so hot you think twice about drinking your afternoon cup of coffee.  So go on & whine now, but I will always welcome thirty degrees & the warm sweaters & fires & hot cups of coffee that accompany it.

Yesterday was a kind of a big deal . . . for me at least, that is, but I hope yesterday was great for you too.  Reagan's highest sugar yesterday was 144; I vacillated between weeping & attempting a cartwheel.  I'm just going to type that all out one more time.  Reagan's highest sugar yesterday was 144.  She went to bed at 122 Saturday evening & woke at 116 yesterday morning, with readings of 122 & 136 in between.  She woke at 93 this morning, & her pre-lunch reading was 104.  This may be Greek to some of you, so I will translate it all into the parent of a diabetic child language -

Also, there was a nap overlap of about an hour yesterday afternoon.  What, you say?  Henry took a long nap from about two yesterday afternoon until around four thirty.  Reagan fell asleep watching Finding Nemo a little after three o'clock.  If you're good at math, you now see what I mean by a nap overlap.  Again, I vacillated between weeping & attempting a cartwheel.  I ended up doing neither, opting for a cup of coffee & a handful of these amazing Ghirardelli dark chocolate chips I bought for Reagan because a serving size (16 chips) is 8 total carbs.  I'll just say that I consumed a few more than 8 total carbs as I downed the coffee in the tranquil house.

My mom will likely read about the nap overlap & say, perhaps aloud, You should have gone to sleep!, but I did not.  I don't sleep on cue all that well, & the coffee & dark chocolate chips were just sitting right there, begging.  It's actually a fantastic week for a nap overlap & for me to be home on break because I have things I have to get done, as in an actual deadline.  This weekend my church is having a Ladies' Retreat at Lake D'arbonne & yours truly has been asked to speak Friday evening.  The theme for the weekend is Daughters of the King, & we're all leaving behind the men & children in our lives to discuss the fact that we are princesses.  Tiaras are optional.

Naturally, in preparation for Friday I am working diligently on a presentation in which I will thoroughly examine Ariel & Prince Eric's relationship, & am in deep thought about how exactly to work a Twilight reference into the talk, which, if I can pull it off, will have something to do with immortality . . . something both Edward Cullen & the Lord have to offer.  You think I am kidding, don't you?

If you're a lady & you're reading, you are more than welcome to join us (unless you're my mother-in-law & are helping Trey out with the kids while I speak).  I am short on some of the specifics, but things get started around 6ish Friday at Lake D'arbonne State Park in Farmerville & I believe I speak around 7ish.  Things pick back up Saturday morning around nine with breakfast, & will conclude that afternoon about two.  There will be three speakers on Saturday.  Feel free to come for any or all of it.  Contact me, either through Facebook or the blog, if you want more details.

Moving right along, did anyone else sleep a little sounder last night now that we live in a world in which Matthew McConaughey is an Oscar winner?  It's something I've felt was inevitable since I saw him in A Time to Kill many, many years ago when I was a wise teen.  Even if you didn't watch the show, his win could not have escaped you since his acceptance speech is all over the news today because he thanked - - gasp! - - God!  As the saying goes, you can take the actor out of Texas . . .  Anyway, I usually don't watch the Oscars, but I paid a bit of attention last night for a few reasons.  First, Idina Menzel! sang her hit song from Disney's Frozen (I was kind of hoping she'd break into "Defying Gravity" when she was done).  Second, I was hoping Bradley Cooper would win a supporting actor Oscar for American Hustle since he was denied a well-deserved Oscar for Silver Linings Playbook last year.  Third, I wanted to watch Jennifer Lawrence present the best actor Oscar because there's always a great chance she will do or say something hilarious & inappropriate.  Finally, I was hoping maybe Bradley Cooper would propose to Jennifer Lawrence so they can just get married already.

I hope you have a great week.  Mine is off to a rousing start.  Given that I have two additional days this week to stay in my pajamas all day, I think I can swing posting three chapters of the book Friday, 13, 14, & 15, which will mean we will have arrived at the halfway mark in Edie's saga.  I am anal & like things to be nice & neat like that, so that's also fueling my desire to reread, edit, & post three chapters this week.  I don't want to oversell them, but I like these next few chapters.  They're filled with dialogue, which I like - I like to read dialogue, & as it turns out, I like to write it.  See you Friday.  

AZ  

A Control Update

So, aside from a few additions to Edie's saga, I've been MIA for a bit.  Where have I been?  Well, for starters, back to the PICU.  And because I always tell my speech students to define terms for their audience, that's the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.  As we continue, you may encounter some other terms & phrases that may be unfamiliar, so I'll provide a link because honestly, I cannot again explain these things.  I mean I get that the general population doesn't know what basal insulin is or why ketones are a bad thing, but I just can't go through it all again.  To those of you who've listened to a lengthy explanation after asking How's Reagan?, I apologize.  There's no short answer, & right now the answer changes from hour to hour.

Mere hours after I posted this manifesto on control, we found ourselves headed back to two of our recent haunts, the ER, & then shortly thereafter, a room in PICU.  From the moment we returned home from the original hospital stay, Reagan's numbers were running high.  I was told to expect some high readings. So okay, I thought, things are going to be rocky until we get the hang of this.  As I read as much as I could online & asked questions of a few individuals I've been in contact with, I realized that I had not been given a proper definition of 'high.'  Most diabetics refer to anything that begins with a '2' as a high blood sugar, & many work diligently to keep their highest numbers in the 140-150 range.

Armed with my inaccurate understanding of a 'high' sugar, there were several days when I was happy if I saw numbers beginning with a 2.  I knew Reagan needed more insulin, but I didn't feel I understood enough about the two insulins she takes to play around much with her dose.  We were told to up her basal insulin by one unit, & her insulin to carb ratio (I:C) was tweaked a bit, but I still saw no real improvement in her numbers.  By the time I spoke with an on call endocrinologist who told me, after hearing Reagan's numbers, to up her basal insulin by two units, she had hit nearly 600 a few times.  I know that all mothers worry about their kids' health, but let me tell you, nothing will age you faster than seeing 588 pop up on your child's glucose monitor.  This was nearly her number when we took her to the hospital in January not realizing she is diabetic.  It was a bit demoralizing that, despite the vials of insulin in my possession, I could not keep her sugars under any better control than when we didn't even know she needed insulin.

After we upped the basal insulin significantly, the numbers were a little better, but I was still seeing far too many post-meal spikes that began with numbers like 4 & 5.  Not good at all.  I began checking her for ketones, & I could not get a clean strip even when I saw a dip in her sugars.  I knew we were in trouble . . . & then she threw-up.  As soon as the vomit hit the floor I told Trey to put her in his truck & take her to the ER.  When the body can't access the sugar & carbs a person eats as an energy source (which it cannot do without sufficient insulin), it begins breaking down the fat & muscle.  Basically her body thought it was starving despite her regularly eating.  This is why rapid weight loss is a sign of the onset of Type 1.  When the body breaks down fat, an acidic waste product (ketones) builds up.  Once ketones reach dangerous levels, the blood becomes acidic, which easily throws off the body's pH, hence, the vomiting.  Blood work confirmed that she was in DKA (Diabetic Ketoacidosis) & we were sent to a room in PICU, where we settled in & had a long talk with the doctor from about 3am to 4am.

Oh, shoot, well there I go again with the ketones speech.  I slipped up after promising you.  I guess I feel everyone needs to hear a fantastic explanation of ketones since I was never given one during our first hospital stay, hence, the second hospital stay.  By the time I'd read enough on the Internet to know when we needed to test her, & when we were in trouble, well, we were in trouble.  They warn you constantly about too much insulin leading to low sugars, but hey, hey guess what medical community?  Consistently high sugars are not so great for a three-year-old either, & sometimes mom is right when she insists the three-year-needs more insulin.  And breathe.

The second stay was shorter than the first, thankfully.  By the next day Reagan's blood work was clean & her IV was removed.  Despite the quick trip, she did leave with a few parting gifts:

I quickly realized that while the hospital staff knew exactly how to normalize her blood & her insulin levels via IV, no one was telling me what I needed to do to ensure we didn't end up back in the ER.  Everyone had a different idea about how much basal insulin she needs; you know whose idea we're going with at the moment?  MINE.  I did speak with her endocrinologist on the phone the day after we were released (since she went to med school & all that jazz) & will be emailing her Reagan's numbers periodically.  The numbers are improving.  Something crazy happens with her sugars between breakfast & lunch everyday.  It doesn't matter if she wakes at 80 or 180, she is soaring by noon.  This is what caused the DKA.  She would fall at night, & then jump before noon, & the amount of insulin I was told to use as her correction factor was just not nearly enough to bring her down so she spent too many days barely dipping near 200.  Sugars over 250 put you in danger of ketones, & as they build & build, you become insulin resistant.  The amount of insulin I injected her with the day before we ended up back in the hospital would knock a grown man flat.

In other health news, a few days after returning home from PICU, I noticed a patch of weird-ish skin on my hand.  I tend to have dry skin & have been known to break out in festive hive-like splotches when I am tired & stressed.  I looked at it & looked at it, & late that night I decided I had picked up staph during our hospital stay.  I called my mom, & about an hour later my mom & I were headed to an after hours clinic while Trey, my dad, & both of Trey's parents attempted to get Reagan & Henry bedded down for the night.  I know, I know.  I may have overreacted.  I am tired & very, very skittish about Reagan being exposed to anything that might stress her body out, because that will jack her numbers up.  I plead my case to the nurse practitioner & she gave me a script for the meds I wanted.

The splotch looks much better.  Maybe I didn't pick up staph, but I am going to finish the meds because in the condition I'm in, I need a boost anyway (& because while I rarely take them, when I do take antibiotics, I finish them, & you should too).  The main reason I'm sharing this is to explain why I was sitting around in Walgreens at almost midnight.  Had I not been waiting for my meds, I would never have seen these gems.  I mean I've been dealing with a lot lately, but I did smile & pat myself on the back for never having had a need for these:

Or this:

 

If my staph scare isn't enough to demonstrate my mental state, I currently owe Target $39.  There could be no greater indicator of the extent to which diabetes has taken over my life than the fact that all I owe to the good people of Target is $39.  I'm surprised they haven't called to check on me.  You know who did call me?  A representative from Blue Cross.  They probably think we're trying to bankrupt them.  A lady from their Disease Division (lovely, I know) asked me lots & lots of questions about Reagan's time in the hospital, how she's adjusting, etc.  She was talking to me like I'm twelve, & I think at one point she may've asked me if I wanted a social worker to pay us a visit.  She did seem sincere at times.  I tried to be patient with her.  I wanted to tell her to hush, that the only thing we need from them is coverage for more of the meter strips we use to check Reagan's sugars because while checking only four times a day is an option for some diabetics, it is not recommended for a three-year-old who was recently hospitalized with DKA & whose insulin needs remain a bit mysterious.  I didn't say that because I doubt the chatty ladies working in the Disease Division have much pull.

To relieve some stress, the day after Reagan was released we took the kids to the park, & I have to share these of Henry with you.  This was his first time in a swing:

He brings me considerable joy.  He is a smiling fool most of the time, & I've never needed a smile more.

AZ

Control

I'll begin by confessing that I am an epic failure at being a pancreas.  Epic.


This book:

is en route to my mailbox as I type.

If you can't bear another post about my child's diabetes, you'd best check out now.  Aside from Henry hitting the eight month mark, which of course I captured in pictures featured below, diabetes is my whole world right now.  I mean, you didn't think I'd pay any attention to the Olympics, did you?  From what I gather, the big story is that Bob Costas has pink eye.  I'll pass.  If I ever make it to bed with enough energy to stay awake awhile, I plan to watch not curling, but Silver Linings Playbook, which has been calling to me from the DVR for weeks now.

When we left Reagan's doctor's office in Jackson a few weeks ago, I was looking at the papers they handed us when we checked out.  I noticed that under "Reason for visit" it stated "uncontrolled diabetes."  I felt like the paper was calling me out; I don't do well with anything that is uncontrolled.  Her blood sugar readings are currently consuming me.  I am only sitting & typing this right now because Trey came home from work & told me he'd play with the kids in the living room because I needed to, & I quote, "Go chill out."  So, this is me, chilling out.

I know that a lot of children are diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at a young age, some even younger at diagnosis than Reagan; there have been many mothers who walked this path before me.  I wonder how those mothers handled it, at least immediately after the diagnosis in this insane period during which we were told to expect some erratic sugar readings until we (& by we I mean ME) figure out how much insulin Reagan needs, & when exactly she needs it.  You should know that I have been on the phone with someone from the doctor's office in Jackson on an almost daily basis asking them to further clarify 'erratic.'  When I'm not on the phone with the doctor's office, I am having this conversation with myself (usually in a corner of the house with a cup of coffee in my shaky hand): Should I check her number?  Maybe I should wait another thirty minutes?  As you can imagine, I am barrels & barrels of fun right now.  

In a recent email exchange with a Type 1 Diabetic, I was told that,"Diabetes is a personal disease."  It sure is.  The insulin dosage that works for one thirty five pound three year-old is not likely to be the insulin dosage that works for another thirty five pound three-year-old.  The doctors are helpful & they know their stuff & all, but I've come to realize their guess is about as good as mine (between you & me, despite my having made a D in chemistry in high school, right now I think my guess is better).  It's all trial & error, & it's a bit maddening at times.  Ok, it's maddening all the time.

The odd thing is that diabetes is, in one respect, a simple disease.  If there is too much sugar in the blood, insulin is needed.  If there is too much insulin, sugar is needed.  Frustratingly, there are so many, many variables that affect one's sugar levels, as I'm discovering, & figuring out how to balance it all to arrive at acceptable blood sugar levels is, to date, the toughest thing I've faced.  Everything is compounded by the fact that Reagan is three.  She has an impressive vocabulary for a three-year-old, but she can't adequately explain how she feels healthwise, nor can she recognize & vocalize that she's experiencing symptoms of hypoglycemia (low sugars) or hyperglycemia (high sugars).  If she pitches a fit, I have to check her number before deciding how to respond.  From what I've read online, having high sugars makes you feel pretty miserable, & Reagan is currently running high almost every day.  Her number skyrockets between breakfast & lunch.  Her doctor is gradually increasing her insulin dosage, but we have yet to arrive at an amount that will prevent these high readings.  I am a few high readings away from having what I think would be termed a mental breakdown.  Bob Costas's funky eyes may not be the most interesting thing on the news soon.  Maybe that's why I'm so eager to again watch Silver Linings Playbook, a movie that celebrates crazy, featuring a man recently released from a mental facility who thinks he can woo his estranged wife by reading American novels, & a woman who is angry, bitter, & sarcastic.  Jennifer Lawrence is so fantastically angry, bitter, & sarcastic that she won an Oscar for her role in the film.  The movie is calling my name.

I've thought a lot about creation lately, specifically when God knitted Adam, & then Eve, together & they rose & walked around, thinking & breathing & creating the perfect amount insulin.  The human body is amazing, & it's unfathomable to me that someone with any knowledge of the intricacies of the human body could deny the existence of a powerful & mighty Creator.  He is in control, not me, & this is as true today as it was the day He created Adam & Eve, the day Reagan was born, & the day before Reagan was diagnosed.    

What I am currently doing (though not well), attempting to keep Reagan supplied with the right amount of insulin, is what happens in my body, & in everyone's body, constantly & perfectly, save those who are, like Reagan, diabetic.  It is likely that Reagan will be on an insulin pump in the future, which I am told offers considerably more control over blood sugars & likely will be better at being a faux pancreas than I am.  I am always in favor of anything that offers more control (unless of course it involves the federal government).  For now, my goal is to check Reagan's number mid-afternoon & be greeted by a three digit number that begins with a 1.  We are all totally cool with the shots, the finger pricking, etc.  I can handle all that, as can Reagan.  If we could just arrive at a ballpark figure of how much insulin to inject, well, then I would chill out.



As promised, here are the results of Henry's eight month photo shoot.  He hit the eight month mark on February 6.

Playing with the number 8:

Sporting his argyle socks I bought him before he was born:

He finally noticed me:

And then he noticed my phone.  The end.

Thank you for the kind words & messages from those of you reading the book.  I am enjoying rereading it & making changes here & there.  You've no idea how much I agonize over a word or phrase or sweater vest in certain places, but if I ever needed a fictional escape, it is now.  Lord willing, I'll post chapters seven & eight Friday.  A little Valentine bonus for you.  I may not be able to reign in Reagan's blood sugar numbers at the moment, but I am all-powerful when it comes to the Boulder residents who live in my mind.  I'm not going to actually say that aloud as Trey might begin to think I need more than just a few minutes alone with my MacBook.    

 

AZ

Highs & Lows

Well I'm still here.  And I mean that in every sense of the word here - physically, mentally, emotionally, & of course, here, blogging away.  I have not checked out . . . but there have been some close calls.  

We made a trip to Jackson last week to see a pediatric endocrinologist.  I told you that we'd be seeing a doctor in Shreveport, but that didn't pan out.  The official reference to a specialist has to come from your primary doctor, & when the office here contacted Shreveport for us, we were told there was a two year wait list.  I know.  The Shreveport folks told us to send over Reagan's medical records & they'd see what they could do.  We did send the records to Shreveport, but also pursued other options because, seriously, two years?  I am intelligent, but I can't manage my child's diabetes for two years while waiting to see a doctor.  I suspected they were just saying that until they got a look at Reagan's records to verify her diagnosis . . . or something, I don't know.  I mean are there people out there who attempt to see a pediatric endocrinologist for kicks?  I guess it's possible as I've learned from my few experiences with the ER that there are indeed a host of folks who jet to the ER when their nose runs.

Anyway, Jackson was our next option.  If you didn't know, one of my dad's many talents is defending doctors (or, more specifically, their insurance company) when they're sued.  In legal speak, it's called medmal.  So, he knows a few doctors & they think he's pretty neat since, sadly, many doctors currently pay six figures for their yearly insurance premiums.  Sometimes doctors deserve to be sued, but many times, they do not.  A doctor in Jackson who is himself diabetic recommended an endocrinologist to my dad.  Trey made some calls & we discovered that not only was she accepting new patients, she takes our insurance.  We were sold.

The day of the visit was long.  We were all four dressed & out the door before eight in the morning, & that right there screams Long. Day.  There were two specific instances that tie for most frustrating part of the day; I can't pick one because they both brought me equally close to screaming.  My blood pressure & I don't want to totally relive either incident via my typing it all out for you, so I'll summarize.  We could not find the doctor's office.  We assumed it was somewhere inside one of the many large buildings that comprise The University of Mississippi Medical Center.  We were wrong.  At one point in our quest to find her office, Trey & I were crossing a major road (there was a crosswalk), Trey carrying Reagan & Henry perched on my hip, & a couple stopped their car to ask us if we needed help.  We did eventually find the office, which is located in a random, one-story building near the large, multistoried buildings.  This is good news for the future as you can park right outside the office, as opposed to parking blocks away in a parking garage as we did on our initial visit.

Additional frustration came later, on the drive home, during several phone calls with our pharmacy.  Basically, Reagan is small & currently doesn't require much insulin.  Her new doctor wants us to deliver the insulin using an insulin pen, a neat device that measures insulin in half units, which Reagan sometimes requires.  It's much more precise than using a syringe, & it's probably best that we move to the pen because I've left a trail of improperly disposed syringes all over the twin cities.  Annnyway, the wonderful folks at Blue Cross who've had no issues taking hundreds of dollars from us each month for years now threw a red flag when the pharmacy attempted to fill the insulin prescription because the dosage prescribed will last Reagan longer than ninety days (because, again, she's small).  The insulin pens are filled with specific cartridges that, you got it, will last Reagan longer than ninety days.  I don't know, maybe there's a black market for insulin out there or something & Blue Cross is keeping an eye on it.  I won't keep you in suspense.  We have obtained the needed insulin pen cartridges & managed to maintain our relationship with the Blue Cross folks, though admittedly things are a bit strained.  I don't know what Trey did, &, I don't really care.  I assume it was all legal.  But again, whatever, we got the insulin; it's this year's oxygen.

The visit itself went well.  Thankfully, the most refreshing & reassuring part of the day involved meeting & speaking with Reagan's new doctor, as well as a few of her nurses & a nutritionist.  The plan now is to tweak Reagan's insulin intake & her diet until her glucose readings normalize somewhat.  It's not easy.  As with life, finding the middle ground sometimes seems impossible.  If you & those you love have a fully functional pancreas, say thanks in your prayers tonight; it's an often forgotten organ but it has an important job.  If I had to describe parenting a young child with Type 1 Diabetes in one sentence (as if I can describe anything in one sentence), it is this: waking your three-year-old at two in the morning & insisting she drink some coke because her number has dipped down into the 60s, & then denying her a banana later the same day because her numbers tend to soar in the afternoon.  If she didn't think we were nuts before, this ought to do it.

Here are a few pics of our day in Jackson.  I took this of Reagan on the drive over:

And this in the waiting room:

The rest are all Reagan's doing.  The day just didn't present many moments that felt like photo ops:

Several young mothers I know have asked me specific questions about Reagan's diagnosis - - what she looked like, what her eating habits were, etc.  I see the worry on their face.  I try to assure them that their young child(ren) most likely don't have undetected Type 1 Diabetes.  It isn't something that goes unnoticed indefinitely.  Once the body lacks proper insulin, changes begin occurring rapidly that you will notice.  Plus, if you are ever truly concerned, I can now check your child's glucose levels in about two seconds.  Just let me know.  Trey checks Reagan's number every morning around two, & she doesn't even wake up, so we can pull off a stealth glucose check if you're interested.

A few people have told me that I just have to write a book.  A book about parenting a diabetic child, that is, not a book about a graduate student who has the hots for her unavailable literature professor & a penchant for shoes she cannot afford . . . anyway, to you all I say, whoa now.  Give me ten or fifteen years.  If this journey on which our family has recently embarked is going to be translated into book form, we're still in the introduction.  So far, here's what I've written: Two weeks ago my three-year-old daughter was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes.  Her glucose levels are still wildly unpredictable, but my Type A personality and I are determined to bend them to our will.  I've waffled between crying & feeling determined, while Reagan's developed a love for expensive almonds dusted with dark cocoa that are only sold at Target & come in at 4 total carbs per bag.  There is a brand new outlet mall just north of her endocrinologist's office in Jackson because, as Paul assures us, ". . . we know that all things work together for good for those who love God . . ."  Stay tuned.

I don't think I've mentioned that I recently read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.  It was the January book club selection & I finished it the night before Reagan was diagnosed because I was planning to meet with the book club ladies the following evening to discuss it.  Ah, plans.  It's an interesting read.  It's not one you're going to pick up & not be able to put down (it's sloooow, especially at first), but it is fascinating, both the content & the author's unique style of writing.  It is set in Nazi Germany, & it is narrated by Death.  Yes, it is narrated by Death.  I think maybe the Lord was preparing me for what He knew lay ahead concerning Reagan; after reading The Book Thief, you realize that whatever your problems are, your life is still pretty fabulous.

I mean, did you see him?  Did you?  How can life not be fabulous when JACK BAUER is making a comeback?!?

AZ

Batter Up

My sister played fastpitch softball for many years. She was a pitcher, & despite some protesting at times, I usually enjoyed watching her on the mound. She was good. She possessed three things every fastpitch softball pitcher needs: control, accuracy, & a stellar game face that rarely hinted at her emotional state. There are numerous images I can call to mind of a batter lurching awkwardly forward, the tip of her bat falling & stirring up some dirt, realizing a split second too late that Jessica had thrown a change-up. She expected speed. She was prepared for a ball that might barely graze the outside corner of the plate. She was poised to guard the plate, but, more often than not, the change-up, a pitch that Jessica delivered with the same physical fervor as a fastball, caught her opponent completely off guard.

I thought about these startled batters this past week more than once. Last Thursday, we learned Reagan has Type 1 Diabetes.

It was absolutely the furthest thing from my mind when I woke Thursday. I am unsure of where to even begin relaying all this, as I am still processing it myself. There were some signs, in hindsight, that we initially attributed to a slight cough & some congestion she had for which I took her to the doctor on Tuesday of last week. She was tired. She was sickly. She was a little pale. She had visibly lost a little weight. She had taken a serious interest in drinking.

Thursday morning, Trey decided to take her to see another doctor, an ENT, to see what he thought. I wanted to give her another day on the antibiotic she'd been prescribed Tuesday to see if there was any improvement, but thankfully Trey didn't listen to me. I left Henry with my mom & taught my first class at Delta while Trey took Reagan to the doctor. About the time my class ended, Trey texted me & said to call him re:Reagan. I knew before speaking to him that we were likely headed to the ER.  When Trey confirmed this, I cancelled my next two classes & hurried to the hospital.  

The ENT doc was worried about meningitis. The ER doc said her lack of fever indicated to him that she likely didn't have meningitis, & that he wanted to rule many other things out before subjecting her to a spinal tap to test for meningitis. So, we sat around anxiously in the ER for awhile. They swabbed her nose & throat to test for flu & strep, both of which were negative. Her lungs sounded clear, but a possible walking pneumonia diagnosis was thrown around for a bit.   

My mother had driven to the hospital with Henry so that I could nurse him, & when I stepped out into the hall to go do that, the nurse asked me if Reagan had ever had any blood work done. She then told me they were going to rerun the blood work because her blood sugar level was over 630 & that had to be a mistake. When I heard that, I knew. The excessive thirst, the weight loss, etc. I felt like I was standing in a pool of light & a choir was singing in the background. 

I was saddened & relieved at the same time. I knew what a diabetes diagnosis meant, but I was also glad to have an answer, & to know that while there is no cure for Type 1 Diabetes (something several of the medical professionals we dealt with feel will happen in Reagan's lifetime), it is manageable. I didn't say anything to anyone, I just went & nursed Henry & then returned to Reagan's room, but when the numbers came back a second time, the blood sugar was again extremely elevated. When the ER doc asked us to sit down, I didn't panic because I knew what he was going to tell us.    

We were moved to a room in the pediatric ICU so that Reagan could be closely monitored while they intravenously gave her fluids to rehydrate her & insulin to slowly, safely normalize her glucose levels. By Friday, her blood work showed she was clear of the dangerous acids that had begun building as a result of her body's insulin deprivation. She soon looked like herself, & by Saturday she was free of the IV & receiving the insulin she needs via shots. 

I know, it sounds terrible, but it's not that bad. We all gathered in her room at ten Saturday morning to learn how to give her the shots. Actually, my dad was absent because he was keeping Henry. That's the number one sign of a family emergency: my dad was keeping Henry. Trey & I gave each other shots, & our moms practiced on each other. My FIL was there too, though curiously I don't think he actually received a shot. Something about his long sleeve shirt. . . Anyway, after receiving one myself I felt much better about things. If you didn't see someone giving you the shot, you would never know you got one. Sunday morning we reconvened to learn how to use a lancet to prick her finger in order to obtain the droplets of blood necessary to check her blood sugar, something we currently do in the neighborhood of five or six times a day, which seems infrequent now after the hourly prick that was necessary for the first twenty-four hours of hospitalization.       

I've been so busy shuttling between our house & the hospital, where we received constant education about how to care for Reagan, that I haven't had much time to wallow in feelings of guilt for not realizing my child was dehydrated & her body was slowly shutting down because she doesn't produce the insulin required to convert her food to energy.  The nurses' shifts run 7 to 7, but Trey & I opted for more of a 9 to 9 schedule.  I slept at home with Henry, awoke to hand him over to a grandparent, & then went to relieve Trey from the night shift.  Whatever you've done in your life that was hard &/or frustrating, I bet it didn't involve an infant who expects to nurse a few times a day & a diabetic three-year-old who's in the PICU, a place children under twelve are not welcome.  Yeah.

Though no one wants to see their three-year-old in the hospital, I can't say enough wonderful things about the PICU doctors & nurses. The nurse who oversees diabetes education came in on the weekend - on Saturday & on Sunday - to talk with us. The nurses who routinely had to prick Reagan's finger & administer her shots were great with her, & excellent teachers when it came time to shift the shot duty to those of us who are Reagan's caretakers. I also can't say enough fabulous things about my parents & my in-laws. Irritatingly, I kept thinking of Hillary Clinton's "it takes a village." I don't know about a village, but it did take all six of us. Seven, actually, because Reagan's Aunt Deni also made regular hospital visits & helped to babysit Henry.

Life is, & will always be, a bit different for us now. A whole kiwi is not simply a piece of fruit; it is a piece of fruit that equals ten total carbohydrates. Eight ounces of milk contains 12 total carbohydrates; this was probably the first one I memorized. It's amazing what I've learned in less than a week. In the process of learning how to properly determine the amount of insulin Reagan needs, I've also seen a crystal clear picture of why it's a bad idea to consume copious amounts of carbs, particularly those that quickly raise the blood sugar, like white bread & pasta & sugary drinks, which is basically any drink other than water, milk, & unsweetened tea & coffee. When you have to account for every carb that your child ingests, & then inject her with the needed insulin her body requires to convert the carbs to energy, you realize what you're asking your own body to do when you down a large fry (& why asking it to do this too often can lead to your body quitting on you earlier than you'd prefer).  

All carbs are not created equal, either. White bread is converted to sugar almost as quickly as syrup, whereas whole wheat bread slowly makes its way through the body, causing no rapid rise in blood sugar. So we're counting carbs to calculate insulin intake, but we're also shying away from things that cause rapid rises in sugar levels. It's these rapid rises that, over time, cause damage to blood vessels, leading to numerous other problems. It's possible all four of us will live longer, healthier lives now.  

I don't know what all this means for the blog. I am sure I'll find a way to ramble on about things at times, but in addition to all the stuff I was doing before, I am now functioning as my daughter's pancreas & I've no idea yet how this new role will affect other areas of my life. I am learning quickly, so we'll see. 

I may never again blog about the outside world. I know that the teams who're to play in the Super Bowl have been determined, but I'm not certain which teams won their respective divisions. I think a Manning is involved. I know that David Vitter has decided to run for governor of Louisiana next year.  Not sure how I feel about that one, & I doubt I'll take any time to form an opinion about the matter. I assume Obama hasn't been impeached . . . if he is, it's your job to let me know. I have to shift some responsibilities.

 

I'll close with a few pictures of Reagan's adventure.

Late Thursday & most of Friday Reagan told us she was hungry. This was a good sign, but they didn't want her eating until her blood was clear of all the mess that had been building up. Soooooo we did everything under the sun to distract her . . .

With her Nana & the new stickers her Aunt Donna brought her:

This was her first meal. She ate & ate & ate. Thankfully a lot of what she ate was chicken, which is pretty much a freebie when it comes to counting carbs.

One of many trips she made up & down the PICU hall with her balloons.  Once she got some insulin in her, she was back to her glorious self: 

Reagan's hospital stay did wonders for her Hello Kitty collection:

The large Hello Kitty in the pics is from her Aunt Kathy, who lives in Dallas.  Kathy called the Build-A-Bear store in the Pecanland Mall & went several rounds with one of their employees over Hello Kitty's attire. Once that was decided, Kathy was informed that Build-A-Bear doesn't deliver. The Build-A-Bear employee was informed that Kathy's three-year-old great niece was in PICU after a diabetes diagnosis. The Build-A-Bear employee made a trip to St. Francis when she got off work that afternoon; I will track her down in the mall one day & shake her hand.  

Reagan with her Barbie cards her other Aunt Donna brought her:

And, perhaps Donna's greatest gift ever, this slinky that Reagan loved. It has seen every inch of the PICU hall:

Her Aunt Deni took this. I think this was the last meal she ate before we took her home. The doctor told me Monday that he'd have to discharge her or move her to a room on the regular floor, because she was making for a poor PICU patient:

Thank you for the prayers I know many of you prayed for her. She is doing well, & I am beginning to pick my bat up off the plate, & my jaw off the floor. We'll be seeing a pediatric endocrinologist in Jackson soon (you didn't think there'd be one of those in Monroe, did you?). Continued prayers are much appreciated. Anyone reading who has experience with Type I Diabetes, your thoughts, & any advice you have, are welcome. Comment on the blog, on Facebook, or send me a message.  

AZ  

Label Me Slow

Do office supplies excite you?  Is a new label maker all it takes to significantly improve your week?  Did you strongly identify with Monica on Friends?


If you answered yes to any of the above, you understand my elation over the recent realization that I can create labels on my blog.  It may've taken me nearly three years, but I've not only figured out how it works, I've been busy making up for lost labeling time.  If you're an observant reader, you might've already noticed the cluster of random links to the right.  So far I've created twenty-four labels, but that number is sure to rise.  I may try & broaden my blogging horizons just so I can create new labels with which to tag the posts.  Right now I am contemplating a 'Label' label that I can file this post under.

I print the blog at the end of every year, & one day last week I was reading through my posts from Christmas 2012 & trying to figure out which post closed out that year's book so I'd know where to begin printing the 2013 book.  Feeling a bit sentimental, I wanted to reread what I'd blogged about Christmas 2011 & look back at the pictures of Reagan, & I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice if there were an easy way to organize this blog based on topic?"  And then I remembered seeing just such an organizational system on other blogs I read.  I visited those blogs, did a bit of googling, & soon had created label after label with which to tag all my previous posts.  

The new labels on the blog are about it for excitement lately.  In the interest of tagging this post with the 'Home improvement' label, I will give my husband a richly deserved shout out on the blog.  Trey spent a great deal of Saturday hanging curtain rods - four curtain rods - , which is no easy task in a house with twelve foot ceilings, an anal retentive woman who's short on sleep, two helpless kids, & a small dog.  Oh, & a Saints game on TV.

We began Saturday by dropping Trey's truck off at Goodyear for an oil change.  If you're interested in the story of Trey's last oil change, check under the label Dumb ideas 'Home improvement/Hobbies.'  Once the truck was safely deposited at Goodyear, we headed to the drive-thru window at Zaxby's to get lunch.  If you were out & about in West Monroe on Saturday, you may've noticed this trailer, pictured below, right off of Highway 80 near Well Road.

Yes, that is Trey pictured with the trailer.  Opting not to eat his usual fried chicken, he had me leave Zaxby's & make two left turns to return to this trailer so he could get some BBQ nachos for lunch.  He said something about this being the way all the guys on Pitmasters do it.  I just kept my mouth shut, made the two left turns, & let him enjoy his nachos.  This is what marriage is about: keeping your thoughts to yourself when your husband decides it's a great idea to buy BBQ from a roadside trailer because you want him to hang your curtain rods.

Two of the rods were hung in the dining/kitchen area:      

Pay no attention to the toys you see in this photo . . . imagine me in a cozy chair, a book in my hand & a smile on my face:

The other two rods were hung in our bedroom for these sheers I decided I wanted to hang about five minutes after we moved in the house two years ago:

And, because a few of you actually asked about it, here's the new rug I mentioned last week:

 In addition to hanging the curtain rods, Trey also hung my new chalkboard from Pottery Barn.  They may charge an arm & a leg to ship things, but Pottery Barn goes above & beyond sometimes & reminds me of why I became a fan in the first place.  This chalkboard is magnetic & comes with six cute off-white magnets that match the off-white wooden frame AND an off-white magnetic eraser with a groove for the chalk.  Between the new chalkboard & my blog labels, I feel so, so organized.  Sophie may benefit most of all, since the chances of her suffering from heartworms in the future have been reduced.  You might notice the second item on the list reads: Feb 1: Sophie heartworm.

Yesterday, nearly a week after he hit the seven month mark, I took Henry's seven month pics (which of course means this post will be neatly filed away under the 'Henry' label).

So, we took Henry's seventh month pics on Sunday in his sweater vests.  Perhaps an Alliteration label is needed?

Sunday AM:

Sunday PM . . . I got a few decent pics with the '7' before he discovered it:

Seven is a sumptuous month:

 In closing, thank you for the kind words about the book, which I began posting Friday.  This links to chapter one.  Chapter two will be up this Friday, & of course, once they're posted, links to each chapter can be found by clicking on the Dear Miss Moreau label.  I may have to write another book, because of course that would mean . . . another label.  Also, I lied to you.  I told you there were twenty-nine chapters, & that's not true.  I went through the whole word document this weekend, & there are thirty chapters.  So that's one more week you'll have to wait to read the ending.  

I must go now.  Tomorrow I begin another semester of teaching, which requires a little mental preparation on my part.  Mental preparation, strooong coffee, & clothing that can't double as pajamas.  As of my last check, all three of my sections are sitting at -2 available seats on the online schedule of classes, which means the registrar is overloading them.  Perhaps soon, an ANGER label.  

AZ

Maintenance

Happy New Year!

First things first, did anyone get an email alerting you to a new blog post, namely this one?  I have no NSA connections, so while I know some have submitted their email address requesting blog updates, I have no idea who you are.  If no one's getting emails, I've done something wrong & will have to figure out exactly what.  More on other blog matters momentarily.

I have a dear friend whose mother once said that the first year of a baby's life is all about maintenance.  I've been thinking about her statement a lot lately.  It seems everything worth having requires maintenance - the kids, the house, the car, the dog.  If it weren't for me, our dog would die of starvation &/or dehydration.  Last month, for the first time in seven years, I forgot to give Sophie, our dog, her heartworm pill on the first day of the month.  I was done with my teaching duties & not thinking about the calendar, & for almost two weeks I didn't realize I'd forgotten to give her the pill.  Everyone assured me it would be fine to give it to her two weeks late (& by everyone I mean Google).  One day this week a cute, shiny new chalkboard from Pottery Barn will arrive that I plan to hang near my desk so that I have a large, visible space on which to jot myself reminders.  I've always been pretty good at remembering things, but as I age, sleep less, & the number of those who depend on me to remember things rises, I've decided my head is no longer sufficient.  Naturally the solution is to order something from Pottery Barn.

Between the kids & the dog, I rarely go a week without having to take someone somewhere to get a shot.  Many days I feel like life is what happens not when I'm busy making other plans, as the saying goes, but in the few moments I am not performing my maintenance duties.  Every morning, I do the following, usually before I've even hit the power button on my Keurig: change Henry's diaper, make sure Reagan has used the potty, fix Reagan's milk, feed Sophie, & refill her water dish.  Then I do a sweep of the house to see if there are any fun urine-related overnight surprises that require immediate attention.  I don't want to complain, but this is a lot for someone who hasn't had coffee yet & currently averages between four & five hours of sleep a night.

When you live with two small kids & a small dog who all depend on you for food, water, shots, regular grooming, toiletry concerns, & also expect you to squeeze some playtime in, other less consequential matters quickly fall by the wayside.  If everyone is alive & clean & dry at the end of the day, you consider the day a success even if you didn't shower, sit down to eat a meal, or do anything to engage in adult-level activities, like read a book with no pictures or ponder the national debt.

I'd like to take a minute, before a dirty diaper or an empty water bowl beckon, & address an idea I have for the blog this year.  Blog maintenance, if you will.  You may recall, or actually you likely don't, that one of my goals for last year was to reread, further edit, & print out the book I wrote (if you're a new reader to the blog, to bring you up to speed, I wrote a book awhile back - - it was when I had one child).  I did do all those things.  I gave the printed copy to a friend who is a voracious reader & whose opinion I value, & she's the only person who's read the book in its entirety.  The story kind of sputters at this point.  We intended to meet for coffee & discuss the book - - what she hated, what she loved (if anything!), what made her laugh, etc.  Like me, she has two young children, & so we've yet to sit down & chat about the book.

In February of last year, I briefly explained the process of attempting to find & secure a literary agent.  Here's that post, if you're dying for a reread.  I did send a query letter to five literary agents, & I  received five polite "thank you, but no thanks" emails.  All of this took place in the months before Henry's birth, & I haven't given any of it much thought since.  I was in no way dismayed by their responses, & was banking on no one biting since I was about to give birth & not in any position to begin the rigorous rounds of editing & revising & negotiating that the publishing process demands.  Looking back, the query letter I wrote is less than stellar.  I have no idea when or if I'll send out further queries, but it won't be anytime soon because at present I cannot even recall half of the events in the book.  Yes, the book I wrote.

This is where you come in.  Do you want to read it?  I am entertaining the idea of posting a chapter or two online every month.  This will provide me with a schedule & with deadlines, which is what I need to go back through, reread, & change up some things that need to be tweaked.  I think I can manage a chapter or two a month, notwithstanding Henry's unpredictable sleeping habits.  By unpredictable, I mean that he just doesn't sleep much, ever, at all, with any regularity that affords me adequate sleep.

I thought about setting up a blog for the book, but then I realized I can create pages on this blog, basically like tabs.  You've probably seen these on every other website/blog out there that's more sophisticated than mine, which is all of them.  So, my extremely focused blogging about my kids & what I've bought at Target lately will continue right here, as always, & if you've no interest in the book, you simply don't click over.

My guess is that there is a small handful of you who fall into what a publisher would term my 'target audience.'  The thing is, I did zero research about 'target audiences' before or during the process of writing the book.  I wrote it for myself.  It was a book I wanted to read, & I thoroughly enjoyed writing it (& I'm looking forward to rereading it, as some of it will be fresh content for even me!).  It's fiction; I created a little world where I went & dabbled around when I had the chance to escape.  Since first mentioning the book on here, several of you've expressed a desire to read it, & I'd like to make that happen if you'll do something for me.  I need eyes that are fresher than mine to peruse the book.  This is your chance to correct me!  If you take the time to read, & you see a misspelled word, or a grammatical error (yes, I do make them), or anything that seems amiss, let me know.  If you love something or someone, tell me.  If you despise something or someone, tell me.  Comment on the post, or contact me through this blog.  Finally, do not feel you must read it because you're my mom, & don't assume that because you find the blog mildly interesting you will enjoy the book.  The book & the blog intersect in only a few areas, namely things with which I am a little obsessed, like literature, coffee, & Target.

I am genuinely curious about your interest in what I've proposed.  Let me know what you think.  I've reread the first chapter recently & can post it soon (as soon as I nail down how to create a page within this blog for the book, that is).  One reason I hadn't seriously entertained the idea of posting the book online was copyright issues.  After a bit of research, I've learned that anything I post on the blog is automatically copyrighted.  Neat, right?  To fully cover my rear, I've signed up with iCopyright Content Services.  Their nifty toolbar is displayed at the bottom of the page now.  I say all this to let you know that I don't care if you 'share' a blog on Facebook, or forward something to a friend, etc.  Do it!  Knock yourself out.  This blog isn't monetized, & I maintain it simply for pleasure & because it's a fantastic way to maintain a record of my children's early years (& other important happenings like my Pottery Barn purchases).  I don't want my book swiped, however, thus the newfangled toolbar on the page.      

I realize I've laid a lot on you in this first post of 2014.  I promise frivolity in the next post, which is likely to be the results of my seven month photo shoot with Mr. Henry, who officially hits the seven month mark on this coldest of Mondays.  I hope you're nestled in somewhere today.  In preparation for today's high of thirty-one degrees, Saturday evening I went to the grocery store & bought a roast to put in the crock pot this morning.  There's nothing better than staying in on a cold day & piddling around the house while a roast & carrots & potatoes simmer in the crock pot.  I thought it was fitting since Deni, my SIL, gave me my crock pot when Trey & I got married & tonight, her alma mater will represent the SEC in the national title game.  Ok, it's a loose association, but go with it.  I am so happy for Deni & I'll be cheering for the Auburn Tigers tonight.  After all, the SEC could use another bowl win considering someone's defeat in the Sugar Bowl.  Speaking of sugar, I also bought extra milk, cocoa, & sugar at the store Saturday & have been drinking hot chocolate almost constantly since having my first cup of coffee this morning.  Henry's going to be drinking syrup for days to come.

I'll likely perform my morning maintenance routine in my black winter robe tomorrow; regardless of who takes home the crystal football, the day after the NCAA football championship is a dark day for me.  I invite you to join me in wearing black tomorrow to mourn the end of the college football season. It's been a great one.

So, add these items to your maintenance list:

-let me know your interest level in reading the book
-stay warm
-cheer for the SEC Auburn tonight
-wear black tomorrow

One more thing.  A friend of mine who regularly reads this blog has recently been diagnosed with cancer.  She's awaiting test results after surgery & her doctors are determining how best to proceed with her treatment.  If you don't do anything else I've suggested, add her to your prayer list.  Thanks so much.

AZ