Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

My friend Jamie sent this e-mail round to a bunch of us. It made me cry so I thought I would make the three of you that read this cry too.

I thank the universe that Doug has medical insurance otherwise there is no way in hell Amelia would be here today.

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This is sort-of out of left field. But for me this is a really important day, and I just want to celebrate it out loud to the people I love and the people who love Amelia.

At 8:09 p.m. today, Amelia will officially be four years old!(11:09pm Eastern and 10:09 Central Standard)

What’s the big deal, right? Well, some of you were there for this, some of you didn’t know about it when it was happening, and some of you didn’t know us yet, but…

When Amelia was eight weeks old she was hospitalized because she wasn’t digesting or absorbing anything anymore. I started to notice a problem at five weeks, but all the doctors we saw thought that she was just dehydrated. When we finally came to the ER the third and last time, she was lifeless. They ran us straight through triage to a room, and every doctor in the ER was in our room within minutes. They immediately gave her a CAT scan and a spinal tap, as well as a zillion other tests (I might be exaggerating). They had sent us home the night before after giving her IV fluids. I remember being afraid to go to sleep that night because I knew that something was wrong, and the ER doc (Dr. Praeger) knew it, too. He called me at home after his shift and told us to come back. I can’t say for sure, but I honestly think that his call might have saved her life. Wish I knew how to find him to say thanks.

Of course, we ended up staying there. They did abattery of tests. They asked us questions like, “Have you been exposed to any reptiles?” and “You’re not cousins, are you?” After exhausting hundreds of possibilities, her gastroenterologist told us that she had autoimmune enteropathy (beyond rare), and the prognosis for that disease is 2-4 years.

Until this week, I didn’t really realize how much that idea affected me, even though I knew that they had already decided she didn’t have it two years ago. Truth is, they didn’t know what she had then, and they still don’t. All we know now is that she gets a little sicker than other kids, and more often…but it’s manageable.

When she was two, her three doctors (each separately) sat us down and gave us this speech about how amazing it was that she was alive and well. They all seemed genuinely happy (and a little surprised). I had forgotten how grim it looked and I never really knew exactly what they had been thinking. They have good poker faces. One day in the hospital, however, they must have all talked to each other and agreed that she most likely had this really awful thing called congenital microvillous atrophy. Something that would have required a bowel transplant that would have kept her alive for two years or so. Anyway, their poker faces sucked that day. I knew something was up well before they talked to us about it. One of them said, and I’m not joking, “maybe just play her some Mozart or something.”

So we did.

Later that day Dr. Cynamon told us what they were all thinking. They took some cells they had collected from her large intestine and sent them to the most powerful microscope in the United States. It took about four days to get the results back, and I’ll never forget the way Dr. Cynamon came running into our room at 5:30pm on a Friday to give us the great news…out of breath (from basically running there) he said, “It’s not that!”

Happiest moment of my life. Incidentally, Doug’s happiest moment is when she got her PICC line out (IV straight to her heart - dangerous because of the serious risk of infection - which was how we fed her until she was about 6 months old).

We lived in the hospital for a month. While we were there, we met several other families with children who had chronic conditions and diseases. Parents of children with Leukemia and Sickle Cell. Parents of children who couldn’t walk or couldn’t breathe. There was even a little baby girl, a foster child, who had down syndrome and nobody was ever there at all. I would visit her. It broke my heart to see her there all alone.

All of them thought that Amelia was the sickest. The doctors, the nurses, and the other parents all felt helpless. As days went on and no answers were found, hope dwindled. They sent us counselors, came to hang out in our room and brought us presents.

A month of needles and heel sticks and IVs and starvation. Antibiotics and Steroids and Barium. X-rays and ultrasounds and catheters and biopsies. A colonoscopy, an endoscopy, a CAT scan, a spinal tap, a PICC line. Daily blood, stool and urine tests. Immunologists, Dietitians, Gastroenterologists, Pediatricians, nurses and counselors.

And no answers. Never any answers.

The following few months we fed her TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition) through her PICC line (at home). They also let her have a few ounces of Pedialyte to keep her sucking reflex, three spoonfuls of applesauce a day to get her crushed sulfasalazine into her system, iron (yummy), and Prednisone.

Eventually they let her have an Amino Acid based formula (Elecare). It’s $30/can and tastes awful. But she didn’t complain. She almost never complains. In fact, when this all began, they kept asking me if she cried a lot. Because the answer was no, they weren’t too concerned. She’s had a sinus infection for three months and I only knew about it because every once in a while she’ll mention that her head hurts. Instead of complaining about her situation, she says things like, “I want to go get a shot from Dr. Biederman…but not that other Doctor.” She’s not such a big fan of Dr.Green because she often asks us to go for blood draws. Amelia doesn’t mind shots, but blood draws are another ballgame.

And as you all know, we now treat her “condition” with diet alone. A fact that her doctors are just astonished by. Dr. Green has been considering writing it up because it is truly a unique case.

Amelia understands her diet. She doesn’t mind that she can’t eat almost anything she sees the other kids eating, and she has never tried to sneak food she can’t have. She asks us if she can please have stuff like broccoli, and yesterday she fell in love with carrot juice.

What’s my point with all this?

Well, she’s four and she’s NOT dead! How great is that!!

Oh, but don’t give her a Dorito, because that actually could kill her.

I feel so genuinely blessed to have such a beautiful, healthy child. When I think about those other kids on the 4th floor of Cedars-Sinai back in March 2004, or the ones who are there today, or when I think about what could have happened if this had happened 10 years earlier, or even 5, or if we had gotten the wrong doctors, or if my mom hadn’t told me that if I thought something was wrong, something IS wrong, or if Dr. Praeger hadn’t called me that morning, or…

Well, let’s just say thank God for Science, thank God for miracles, thank God for my sweet, beautiful, lovely baby girl, and thank you for taking a moment to celebrate her life with me!

Love to all,
Jamie

ps - I’m attaching some photos of Amelia with her first ever birthday cake & cupcake (made possible by our dear friend Elizabeth - Thanks again!) - i totally cried about it, since it really was so very special

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We are supposed to be leaving the house soonish to meet Jen and to do the pub quiz at the Frog and Forgetmenot. (yes- that is the name of the pub) We have yet to leave because Stuart is seeing the new toys coming from Mac at a Website covering Macworld.

He came in clapping his hands. “The Macbook air is so thin, it can fit in an a4 envelope.”

“Cool”

“Finally they stopped selling them with DVDs!”

“What if you want to watch a DVD?”

“It’s a dead format Thomas.” And then he said something about the information being transmitted wirelessly through the air or something or other but I was too busy playing with my abacus to pay attention.

“It’s better than sex.”

“Okay honey.”

Then, knowing that I was transcribing and blogging his mac orgasm and that his mate Rouven reads this said, “Oy! Rouven. How thick is your Macbook Pro? Bah-hah-hah-hah-ha.”

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I haven’t talked enough about the Christmas holiday. We had a wonderful time hanging out and we all ate and drank far too much. There were also a few silly moments. This one is brought to you by my mother.

The parentals have 4 cats and 1 loopy black lab named Charlotte. Gary, my step-father has to get up at 5 to get ready for work. One morning I heard Charlotte barking and Gary trying to keep her quiet at ridiculous o’clock. I rolled over to go back to sleep- hadn’t slept well the night before. I was about to drift back off when—

I hear my mother SHRIEKING. (I wish I was exaggerating.) “GUYS!!!! COME DOWNSTAIRS IF YOU WANT TO SEE A RACCOON!!!!! GUYS! THERE’S A RACCOON!!!! GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I roll over and look at Stuart. Stuart rolls over and looks at me. We shake our heads each of us thinking, “What the fuck??? I don’t care about no fucking raccoons.”

She starts wailing again. “NICOLE!!!! THERE’S A RACCOON!!”

I had a sudden flash to growing up when she would be really loud on a Saturday morning- crashing around opening closets and cupboards and singing to herself to wake us up because she wanted to have someone to talk to.

Find out later that morning when we get up at a reasonable hour that two raccoons had gotten in the screen porch and were hanging on the wind chimes. The dog and cats (and my mother) were going ape shit.

Jen, bless her got up when my mum yelled. I however, missed the little beasts. I’m okay with that.

I’ll save it for the next visit.

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April isn’t the cruelest Month.

It is January. It is January when it is dark and windy and rainy and brown and you are trying to diet and not drink and work is a bit full on and you just want to hide under the duvet with a cup of tea and your partner and sleep.

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Next week I am going to the Paris office for a couple of days. There is an actual legitimate reason for the trip. It’s not just about me wanting some nice food although that will be a pleasant and not to be avoided side effect.

My hotel is in Montparnasse so I went online to see what places I could get a nice meal there Wednesday night after I get off the Eurostar.

There is Le Dome of course, but I don’t want to take the piss with my expenses, plus it sounds really touristy. Then I came across Wadja and I read review after review calling this little bistro a gem. Good food and cheap.

I asked Celine for help so I could call and make a reservation over the phone. Tried to call but our phones at work are acting up so I will try to be brave later.

Celine gave me this helpful phrase: *Je suis desolee mais mon francais est un peu limite. I have a feeling it will generally be a useful thing to add to the few phrases I know.

*Those that know French please forgive the lack of accents.

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-Is it just me, or does this pic make me look like I have a lazy eye?

This is me. I’m Seventeen. It was taken in the autumn of 1987.

I thank the gods that my hair isn’t as big as some of my fellow classmates. My senior yearbook photo however has got some SERIOUS big hair. I am now happy that I only broke the aquanet out for special occasions.

I graduated in Spring/Summer 1988, but the 20-year reunion won’t be until Homecoming in October.

Maybe I’m nuts, but I wanna go. I didn’t go to my ten year because my cock of a boy friend at the time had borrowed so much money from me I couldn’t really afford to go. (Side note visit to bitter island. Le Cash? Still hasn’t paid back. I sometimes wish I was a bitch and just demanded the interest from the 3K but there is no way the fuckwit could make the 10-year vig. I sometimes wonder if he picked the fight with me a year ago so he wouldn’t have to make good. I suppose it’s a win-win. He got 3 grand and I never have to deal with him again, which is priceless.)

Reason number two, same cock of a boyfriend refused to go with me even if I made it financially possible. Really didn’t want to go to a reunion stag if I wasn’t single.

Reason the third. I was fat.

So now I have 10 months to lose weight- but to be honest- if I don’t lose weight? I’m not that fused. I know how to wear a dress and look pretty even with my big tits and ass. One of the benefits of getting old.

But why do I want to go?

There are some people that I would like to touch base with. Some people that I thought were great, but for whatever reason they weren’t in my circle. And. . . I really don’t give a fuck about the bullies anymore. And- it’s an excuse to go to Vegas. Maybe I will finally do it as a tourist.

I informed Stuart that we were going.

I received an e-mail last week from one of the people organizing the reunion looking for some missing classmates and I felt like a bit of a voyeur flipping trough the spreadsheet seeing where the names that I recognize and where they live and if they are married and if they have kids. She also included the list of people that have died. Something you don’t think is going to happen to you when you are seventeen. I pulled my yearbook down from the loft to put faces with names. I’ve mentioned before that my friend Ray is on that list. Always makes me feel sad.

The way I look at it, the reunion might be fun. Might have some good conversations. Might keep chatting with some folks after.

No mater what, I definitely will be meeting up with my mates and having some laughs, so if the reunion is a wash, it will be all good.

It would be funny if it was fancy dress and we all had to come dressed as ourselves from 20 years ago. Or. . . the people we would be if we could be seventeen now. 

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Stuart turned to Jen, “We should do something for Australia Day.”

Jen nodded. “We should go to a Walkabout. Don’t wear anything nice because Walkabouts are filth.”

“Australia Day?” I asked.

”Yeah,” Jen said. “January 26th. It’s the day that Australians come together and celebrate the slaughter and subjugation of the aborigines.”

“Oh! We have one of those too. We call it Columbus Day.”  

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Just Watched tonoght’s episode of Hugh’s Chicken Run. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is an English celebrity chef and Chicken Run shows the difference between how standard and free range birds are raised. After watching this program, I am never, ever, ever EVER buying a regular chicken. Free range all the way now on. If you make the decision to be a carnivore, you have the responsibility to not eat animals that were tortured to your fork. 

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Roast Dinner

Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

Continuing the food theme. . . my dinner.

Butterflied Lemon Roast Chicken with parsnips and roasted garlic riced cauliflower. . .

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It’s A Wonderful Life is one of my favorite all time films. I bought it in the US because I haven’t seen it for a couple of years and I thought it would be a nice thing for us to watch at my parent’s house on Christmas Day.

Was slightly worried because Stuart can be so fickle about films that he likes and hates. I simply would not abide his slagging off this film. It would be grounds for Unreasonable Behaviour.

Jen told me that she loved the movie and that she teared up at the end. I didn’t ask Stuart. I didn’t want to know but when we were at the airport in the middle of our travel drama he brought it up.

“I really liked that movie.”

“You did!” I’m so glad!”

“Yeah. I even got a bit teary at the end.”

“You did? What was your favourite part?”

“My favourite character was the old bloke.”

“Old. . . the angel? Clarence?”

“No. Err- Mr. . .”

“Mr. Potter???”

“Yeah. Mr. Potter.”

“You teared up at the end and your favourite character was MR. POTTER?”

“Yeah. I felt bad for him.”

“You felt BAD for MR. POTTER?!”

“Poor old guy was never going to see the town be called Pottersville. I thought when he fleeced them out of the nine grand that was a suave move.”

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