Appointment with neuro #2 was this morning and surgery–after an MRV this Monday–will be February 26. Right before my daughter turns 1 month old.

I wish I had something poignant or some revelation about how much better it makes me feel to have this on the books, but all I want to do is run away. With her, preferably. So, if you see a chubby dark haired woman running with a infant car seat along the side of the road, pick her up and offer her a drink. She could use it.

I’m freaking the fcuk out and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to make it another 2 weeks after hearing things like “skull bone graft” and “may have innervation.” I feel sick.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to vomit up my Valium.

53 thoughts on “Wading In The Velvet Sea

  1. Let me know if there is anything I can do. Like show up at the hospital with a bottle of vodka. 😉 Really, I think I remember how to find you. 😉

  2. Oh, honey. This has got to be so frickin’ hard. Forgive me for calling you honey and forgive me for not saying, “fuckin’ hard.” I just don’t want to offend your other commenters. Hang in – we’re pulling for you and Miss Amelia!

  3. I wish there was something encouraging and uplifting I could say, but there’s not…this all sucks major ass.
    Maybe you can get valium in IV or injection form?

  4. I really wish there was something that I could say to you that would make some difference, but I know that there isn’t.

    I am thinking about you and praying for her…

  5. I don’t do hugs either, even in extreme situations. I can’t bring myself to do it, I’m sorry. So how about (((vicodin))) and (((valium))) and maybe (((moonshine)))?

    Hang in there chickie…one day you’ll look back on this as the month from hell that you survived.

  6. I too wish there were some magical phrase I could spit out that would make all the hurt and worry go away, but alas there isn’t.

    I am however thinking of you and sweet Amelia and will keep the prayers flowing!

  7. Forgive my lack of medical knowledge….uh innervation? From the things I looked up are they saying she may (or may not) have nerves in the new part of her skull?

    Am thinking of you. Nothing I can say is going to make your 2 weeks any easier.

  8. I hate that old saying, “The Lord never gives you anything you can’t bear.” I hate it because (a) it’s not true, and (b) of course we bear what we must.
    I swear to you, you will look back on all of this and say, “How the hell did we get through it?” And then you will look at your beautiful daughter and you will say, “Thank God we did.”
    And you will be able to smile.

  9. Granted, skull bone graft and innervation do not sound pleasant, but you know they have to cover all the scary stuff. I’m sure that Amelia will breeze right through it, and you’ll wonder why you were worried.

    Meanwhile, I think they recommend combining valium with vodka…but do what you gotta do!

  10. I can’t imagine how hard this all is for you right now, but put your faith in these doctors the best you can.
    Then drink as much and as often as you can. Which if your breastfeeding isn’t. So I’ll drink for you.

  11. I can’t even fathom how difficult this is for you. Trust me, if I could I’d get you plastered. (Heck, give me an address and I’ll send you a care package.) I’m still praying for your family.

  12. Oh don’t throw up the Valium! That’s the good shit, sister! Give that beautiful baby lots of cuddles, she’ll help ya get through this. Thinking and praying for you!

  13. Good to have it on the books, meaning after said point you move past this. Because you and Amelia and the rest of the family will move past this. You are always in my thoughts Bec. Much love baby girl.

  14. I want it to be over for you, so you can enjoy this time of sleepless nights and sore nipples. I wish I could make it better. I’m thinking of you a lot.

  15. Oh, God, the first month after all my kids were born were the hardest months of my parenting life so far. Just getting over having a baby, getting used to caring for one, and settling into life with the new family, it’s all so hard. I absolutely can’t imagine how I would have gotten through that along with all that you’re dealing with right now.

    It’s true, they have to cover the scary stuff so you know. And the thing is, if they were talking about my skull, I’d be pretty freaked out but able to hang on. My kids, that’s another story. Do whatever you have to do to get through the next few weeks, and I hope it’s all behind you soon and you can start the really getting to know your beautiful girl.

  16. Like the others, I know there is nothing I can say to ease your worries. I heard the dreaded words that something wasn’t quite right when my youngest son was born. He has a skin condition (cutis marmorata telangiectatica congenita – say that 3 times fast) that the specialist warned us that upward of 50 percent (as high as 90% in some studies) of children have complications from, including neurological and cognitive involvement. So, we sit and wait. We went from the beast that we knew and feared (autism can be genetic) to one I knew absolutely nothing about.

    I do know that Dr. Google, while providing lots of facts, photos, and information for my scientific mind, did nothing for my emotional piece of mind. Dr. Lynanne advises that you stay the hell away from him. 🙂 Hang in there and all the best!

  17. I’ll admit, I don’t know what innervation means, and I looked it up. Are they talking cranial nerves, or topical ones? Any idea what it might mean, or is it a wait and see game?

    Either way, I’m thinking of you and Dave and Amelia. Try to think positive thoughts, and surround yourself with strong people. xoxo

  18. Dammit, it’s supposed to be your time to have fun with your babe, and you have to worry instead. It sucks big time, and I am so sorry. I hope you can find peace, and that it’s over after this so you can relax…you so deserve to be able to enjoy her!

  19. I wish all of your loyal followers could say or do something to make it better. Just know that so many people are willing this all to turn our right and we know it sucks for the time being.

  20. Hang in there, Becky. Amelia will do beautifully. Prayers, hugs, lots of love, and positive vibes coming your way, my friend. She will be great. And so will you.

  21. I hug, so here ((Becky))

    I also drink, so I’ll make sure a few rounds are in your honor tonight when I head out for Decompression Wednesday with the rest of my stressed-out peeps.

  22. I know I keep saying the same things, but it’s only because I don’t know what else to say. Nothing seems enough. We ARE here, and we DO love you and little Amelia. If she’s half as strong as her mother, she will be just fine. Hell, she may even punch the doctor when she comes out of sugery.

  23. Auntie, are they considering it an encephalocele? Or will the next test determine that? I used to work on NTDs and know how frustrating the closed versions are – can be impossible to predict. It sounds like you’re in great hands and I’d be worried if you weren’t freaking out. You’re doing a great job.

  24. I am praying for you both! If it were me, I know I’d be such a mess. I hate that you both are going through this. I know you have so much support and I hope it really helps make you feel even slightly better.

  25. Well, I don’t know what to say other than the whole thing fucking sucks! If you want, I’ll fly out there and rage against the machine with you and hold your hand and take care of the boys and the pets so you can deal however you need to deal. You might have to share the valium, but after that, I’m great in a crisis 😉

  26. Of course I’ll pick you up – and bring you to a baby-friendly bar (surely we could find one somewhere?).

    I wish I had some words of wisdom a way of helping besides positive thoughts.

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