After Amelia was born and it was determined that there was some sort of issue with her head and brain (bright spots, although excellent on jewelry–think diamonds–are not something, apparently, you want to see on an MRI), I could barely watch that commercial with Alec Baldwin and the brain. Nor could I watch House, MD without having to avert my eyes whenever the picture of the brain came up in the credits.
Why yes, yes I was neurotic. I was probably as bat-shit crazy as I’ll ever be (God willing) and there’s a small part of me that feels as though I should be apologetic for it. Things did, after all, turn out as well as they could, especially considering the diagnosis.
But I’m not sorry. Not even remotely. Since I hadn’t thought there was an actual encephalocele, I’d actually prepared myself for a better Worst Case scenario than. Which means I wasn’t nearly as neurotic as I could have been. How frightening is THAT?
Besides, from the moment she was born, no one told us jack SHIT about anything. It was kind of remarkable, just how little information the hospital and it’s employees would divulge. I probably could have learned more from the lady who cleaned my bathroom than I did from all of the nurses and doctors. COMBINED. My friends who have been there will know if that’s standard or not, but damn, how powerless did we feel?
Moving right ahead, now that my neuroses have been well documented yet again. (If that’s not the purpose of blogging, I don’t know what is)
Amelia turned a whopping 2 months old on the 28th of March and we celebrated, perhaps a bit belatedly, by going to back-to-back doctors appointments. Lucky girl!
Before we went to her pediatrician yesterday, I had a rare couple of quiet minutes wherein I waxed eloquent (If Aunt Becky waxes eloquent and no one is around to hear it…? Did it happen?) about how relieved I am that this is my last child. With my other two, even with Ben’s autism, I was much more laid back and relaxed.
So what if Ben ate from exactly one food group (White Food, for those who wonder)? Who cares if Alex didn’t walk until 16 months? That rash on his ass? Slap some Vaseline on it and call it a damn morning.
But suddenly, after Amelia was born and the threat of her developing abnormally was a Front and Center Issue, I consistently noticed things about her. Wait, she’s rolling her eyes into the back of her head as she sleeps, IS THAT A SEIZURE? Oh my GOD, what is WRONG with her hard and soft palate? IT LOOKS WEIRD.
From neurotic to MORE neurotic, I quickly went.
Until yesterday, when I went to the ped with her and I had an epiphany (ala Arby’s = RB’s = Roast Beef! What? I never claimed my epiphanies were bright.). My daughter seemed…normal. Completely normal. She eats well, has regular craptastrophies wherein several items of clothing are damaged, smiles when she’s happy, pouts and screams when she’s mad, and acts just like a…baby.
Maybe she’ll never join MENSA (to be fair, they’ve certainly never beat down MY door either), maybe she’ll have as hard a time with fractions as her dear old mother does, and maybe she’ll never be known as a Brilliant Mind.
Say it with me now: So. Fucking. What?
Today, at her follow up with with her neuro (F/U in medical lingo. Which always brought me much satisfaction to see in a chart when I was an actual nurse because I am very, very mature) she was discharged from the neurologist who told us that we’d see him in the next lifetime. Which may be entirely too soon for me.
Next week, we’ll be visited by the county health nurse who will follow Amelia for the next two years to determine if she’s meeting all of her milestones. We’re also being followed by the University of Illinois. Apparently her diagnosis is not only rare, but totally interesting!
And they’ll probably find something, because if you look for something long enough, you’re bound to find something or another wrong. But I don’t care.
Normality is totally overrated.