Ophthalmology, gastroenterology—what's the difference?

Let me begin by stating that I'm feeling much better. So much better that I almost feel silly for having gone to the doctor at all. But, honestly, there were some concerning symptoms so...anyway...

The clinic was on the third floor of the mall across the street. Rather, it was the third floor of the mall. It was a clinic with everything: pediatrics, OB/GYN, dental, vision, surgery, x-ray, lab, pharmacy, family practice, and just about every speciality one could think of. Quite convenient to having everything together, I think.

Andrew asked if I wanted him to come home to go to the clinic with me, or watch the kids, or something...but I told him it was fine. The waiting rooms are gender-segregated anyway. And the big kids could watch the little kids while I was gone. 

I had to head over to make an appointment. And then I had to head back over for my appointment. 

But it was all fairly straightforward, except for my own confusion when the front desk handed me my paperwork and told me to proceed to clinic 3 and take a seat.

Actually, that part wasn't terribly confusing. I understood that perfectly well.

My confusion set in when I got to clinic 3 was it labeled quite clearly—in large capital letters—OPHTHALMOLOGY. 

Huh. 

Croissants, cows, and not loving walls

Milk is rather expensive here (or at least it feels rather expensive here). It is 100% Qatari produced (at Baladna Farm, which is probably worth a visit someday) from a herd of cows flown in from various countries throughout the world (including 6000 cows from Canada) during the 2017 blockade (with more added since then to bolster the herd)—but even though I grew up brainwashed to support the Canadian cattle industry (I ♥ Alberta Beef!) we have been encouraging the kids to expand their breakfast repertoire away from cold cereal + milk. 

They've been enjoying yogurt and eggs and leftover rice (we've been eating a lot of rice-based meals because we bought a rice cooker for our little hotel kitchen) and these prepackaged croissants from Saudi Arabia. They're pretty good, as far as taste goes.  

As far as typography goes—most excellent!

Phoebe's ice cream adventures in IKEA and disorientation in the GCC

I really will write about our flight(s) one of these days, but in all honesty they were pretty standard (albeit business class) flights and we are busy discovering the world around us. Today we took a field trip to IKEA so that we could get some kid-friendly dishes for our apartment...and to get out on the town and have a meal since we haven't quite figured out how to cook at home yet—we're still getting everything set up.

Years ago (approximately 20 now!) my friend Bridget gave me the advice to pack simple just-add-water things in a suitcase like instant oatmeal or ramen just so that I would know there would be something to eat upon arrival. And we did bring a few things (and have a Carrefour in our basement, as the kids like to joke), but while we're getting settled this was a nice treat. 

After having lunch we wandered around to look at things and try out couches and beds and pick up a few essentials. Then as we were approaching the check out counter Andrew saw a sign announcing ice cream cones for 1 QAR. That's like 0.27 USD! Phoebe has been dropping hints that she would appreciate an ice cream cone for days now. 

Walking around the mall yesterday she pointed at some kids rapturously licking ice cream cones and said, "Look—some parents did get their kids ice cream!" as if to tell us, "See? It can be done!"

We've been telling her no a little too much for her liking. 

She is not the only child who feels this way. 

But at 1 QAR a cone we decided the answer could be yes today.

We ordered five ice cream cones (I didn't have one because I didn't want to take out my braces again) and the kids sat and ate them at the tables by the exit.

Phew!

I had my consult with the surgeon this morning and he feels confident this is not a hernia and I am not in need of surgery immanently. I'm also free to resume regular activity. So that's all good news. 

He thinks it is simply a lipoma (that is causing discomfort because it is attached to my chest cavity...like perhaps was inside my chest cavity...and then slipped out...I dunno...because it wasn't there before and now it is there). Whatever the case, I probably will have it removed eventually because it is uncomfortable to, like, lie on my stomach, for example. 

Plus, he can't guarantee it's benign so suggests eventual biopsy and the way they would biopsy a growth like this is to...remove it. 

But I don't have to squeeze in a surgery in the next 15 days...so that's good, good news.

In other news, we left this morning before any of the kids woke up. They all knew the plan this morning (that Benjamin and Zoë would be collectively in charge), but I left them a reminder note on the table, just in case:

All Along...It was Hamnet

Approximately six weeks ago, Andrew ever so lightly smashed his toe (his words, not mine) and has been in abject agony ever since (my observation, not his). Last week it was so very sore and swollen and he decided to clip his toenail to see if that would release any pressure. He was unprepared when pus started streaming out from under his nail after he disturbed it. 

It felt glorious...but it was also rather concerning and finally convinced Andrew to go to the doctor—urgent care, of course, it being the weekend.

The doctor prescribed a course of antibiotics and suggested that the toenail might spontaneously fall off in the future. They also asked Andrew to come back in and have a physical exam during normal business hours (since Andrew hadn't had one since before his mission...in the year 2003). 

So Andrew went back for a physical. And that doctor looked at his toe and said that the nail probably wouldn't fall off, but recommended that he see a podiatrist anyway. 

Andrew put off that for a few days, but eventually did call to make an appointment because his toe was still dreadfully swollen and throbbing. 

He went in to the podiatrist yesterday and the podiatrist was like, "That's never going to heal. Let's rip that sucker off!"

And that's precisely what they did. 

Andrew was not thrilled. His toe still hurts. But it also now feels like it might one day get better. 

Meanwhile...

I recently finished reading Hamnet. 

Procrastination

"I need to call the doctor to make an appointment for you girls," I said to Phoebe and Miriam while we were playing with play dough in our rather empty basement. 

"Oh, for what?" Phoebe asked. "Please not for shots."

"For shots, actually," I said. "I don't remember which ones. I just have a note in my calendar that says to call the doctor to schedule a couple of shots for you. I remember that when you had your check ups you both had the first shot in a two-shot series, so now it's time for the second shot."

"Aw, man!" Phoebe said. Then she asked brightly, "Can you make the appointment for Sunday?"

"Why Sunday?" I asked (not even bothering to tell her that the doctor's office is closed on Sunday). 

"Because I don't like shots," she explained.

"How would making an appointment on Sunday help that?" I asked.

"Because I know I'm only four and I don't have a good sense of time, but I do know that yesterday was Sunday so that means I have a bit of time to go before it's Sunday again."

"I see," I said. "You'd like to put this off for as long as possible."

"Yeah."

"I'll see what I can do."

Their appointment is for Thursday, which is still a good ways off!

Last Fun Friday

Phoebe was as pleased as punch to get her ribbons from last night's swim meet—especially her speed breaker ribbon (because it's rainbow coloured). She did not want to "spend" her ribbon to pie a coach in the face (even though I explained that she would still get to keep her ribbon).

Broken toad

While Andrew and I were moving a (big, heavy) bookcase, he...pulled it into his (bare) foot and smashed his toe. This was on...Saturday...last week. I remember because soon after we got it outside (for someone else to pick up) Andrew had to leave for the adult session of stake conference (stuffing his poor, throbbing toe into his dress shoes). 

It wasn't so painful that he thought it was broken. In fact, he was upset about it because online it said a hematoma of this nature was caused by trauma to the digit. 

"It wasn't trauma!" he fake-raged. "It was a light tap! I'm fine!"

His toe felt differently and remained painful throughout the week. The discolouration of his toenail was quite severe. 

I believe he will lose that toenail. 

He insists he won't. 

But he was in quite a bit of pain all week. I told him that if the pressure kept building we'd have to go to the doctor for a nail trephination to allow the blood stuck under the toenail to come out of his body.

He felt that drilling a hole into his toenail was a terrible idea. 

"It'll just heal on its own!" he insisted. 

"It'll fall off..." I warned.

"It'll be fine."

And then we went swimming as a family on Saturday. The kids love when Andrew comes to the pool because he'll roughhouse with them a bit more than I ever will. So he was in the deep end with them—not even in the pool with them yet (thank goodness), just on the deck, picking them up and chucking them into the water. 

Dentists and Diners

Andrew took two of the kids to the dentist on Monday and I took three of the kids to the dentist today. Between the seven of us we had zero cavities! I'm always glad when that happens because I don't really enjoy going to the dentist. 

But sometimes we have to do things we don't enjoy, right?

(Hopefully Rachel is brushing her teeth, too.)

Phoebe went first and she asked if I could stay with her, so I sat nearby while she had her cleaning and examination. She did so well—she's come a long way from when she needed me to hold her on my lap while all the dental assistants blew bubbles and sang songs to try to get her to stop screaming.

Ice storm: before and during church

We woke up to a world glazed over with a thin layer of ice (not the half inch we were predicted to get, which is probably for the best). Our power went out a time or two in the morning (and about a dozen more times throughout the day), but only momentarily. We were quite lucky on that front. 

Some of us had a hard time sleeping last night because they were so excited about the storm, and so perplexed about the weird noises frozen rain makes (yet somehow she is sleeping through all the ice crashing onto the roof this evening—make it make sense!). When Phoebe woke up she wanted to explore the ice. 

She found that it was interesting.

And tasty. 

Human again! I feel human again!

This "cold" that I got at the beginning of the year, and which I thought would be a little three-day cold (or whatever) turned out to be more like a three-week cold. But I'm pleased to announce that—at long last—I'm feeling much better. 

I have three classes on Tuesday, but one of them is online...so I only have two classes that I need to be present in. The only problem is...they are this far apart (1.3 to 1.4 miles—last week I walked the path on the right, but today I walked the 28 minute path instead):

Braces

My first few weeks of braces went great-ish. But there was a point where things just got quite uncomfortable and my aligners felt agonizingly tight and my teeth weren't quite tracking.

I remember the person who helped me force the first set of new aligners into my mouth (1) asking me if it was always this difficult to put them in and (2) telling me that things weren't quite lining up with one particularly troublesome tooth, but that "it'll be grabbed."

But it wasn't just grabbed. 

And it was uncomfortable and awful. 

And I've had a few adjustment periods since then, where they rescan my teeth and reorder a sequence of trays to get back on track. So, it's fine. But, like...also frustrating...because I started out with 20 sets of trays over a year ago...and now I have like 15 left to go...still.

Anyway, I laid them all out yesterday and noticed (too late) that when they should have given me trays five through whatever...they gave me tray nine through whatever...essentially skipping eight weeks (two months) of the treatment plan and setting me back at least that long, if not longer.

So that is a little frustrating...and explains that terribleness this summer.

Stitches for Zoë

We left for Tennessee to visit Rosie on Sunday immediately after church. We spent an enjoyable Sunday evening with her family and this morning I told Rosie we'd watch Oaklyn while she took Ireland to speech therapy and went to a chiropractor appointment. No problem—Oaklyn's a cakewalk. 

Unfortunately, I...planned poorly. 

It has been so warm outside and while I knew there was a cold front coming in—it is, after all, winter—I didn't quite register when it would be coming in. I looked at the weather. It said the high would be 55°F (12°C), so I decided that sweaters would do for us. We could still go to the park in sweaters and enjoy ourselves at those temperatures. 

I did not realize that today's high would be at 12:01 am, but that was indeed the warmest part of today. The storm blew in with a fury in the night and brought the cold front with it. The temperature plunged. It was below freezing when we woke up this morning.

We southerners do not do well with below freezing temperatures! (Especially without coats!)

I woke up early with the little girls and let everyone else sleep. After Zoë and Alexander woke up we went outside for a walk, anyway, at the children's and the dog's insistence. Ireland had an extra coat hanging on the coatrack, so I borrowed that for Phoebe, bundled Oaklyn up, and went headed outside for a very brief, very chilly stroll. 

We came back in and decided we'd wake up everyone else around 10:00. 

Benjamin was finally coaxed out of his sleeping bag around 9:45.

He was in a rambunctious mood. 

By 10:15 the little girls were ready for "second breakfast" (or simply "a snack") so I took them downstairs to share a banana and warned my bigger kids that they were getting carried away and that they needed to simmer down. 

I was still in the middle of slicing that banana when we heard (1) a crash, (2) some stifled sobbing, (3) and frantic whispers of...

"You tell Mom!" 

"No, you tell Mom!" 

"No, you tell Mom!"

"No, you tell Mom!"

"Mom is coming!" I warned. "Just let me finish giving Oaklyn her snack..."

Andrew was in the middle of a bowl of cereal. He left it to go check on things because (1) those whispers were concerning, and (2) we couldn't tell precisely who was whispering and who was crying. 

He bolted up the stairs and moaned, "That's gonna need stitches!"

(Pictures of the injury at the end of this post...so be warned).

I shoved Oaklyn her plate of bananas, grabbed the paper towels, and bolted up the stairs after him.

Miraculously, we didn't get any blood on the carpet! 

The kids had been "playing" (read: roughhousing) with the pillow-fort cushions and Zoë ended up falling and landed too close to the wall. She hit the wall with her knee and then...landed on the baseboard, which is a square-edge baseboard...and her knee just...split open. 

Her hands were covered in blood from holding her wound. I took over direct pressure for her with some paper towels and just managed to put my hand out and catch the blood dripping from her hand in my own hand before it got on the carpet—champion choreography! 

I held her wound tightly while Andrew researched care centers nearby that would take our insurance—luckily there was a place not too far from Rosie. 

Here's Benjamin (repentantly) putting some direct pressure on her leg while Andrew and I got ready to go. We left right as Rosie was arriving (Rachel and Miriam were also there, so it's not like the kids were unattended ever). 

Rachel's home!

Rachel's plane touched down around 11:00 last night. She's been home for less than 12 hours and already I've sent her to the dentist. 

Beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I wanted to go outside to take a walk today—it was right around 60°F (15°C) this afternoon—but Phoebe just wasn't feeling up to it. She lazed about all morning (while Alexander and Zoë were at Lydia's baptism (an interesting place for them to be; she is the daughter of my friend and the daughter of Darla's new son-in-law, who is now married to one of Darla's daughters—it's a complex relationship)). 

Instead I threw myself into decorating the house for Christmas.

I've wanted to make a little tree tent for a while now and have slowly collected the supplies from the Buy Nothing Group—a little teepee tent and lots of garland. This year I finally had everything I needed to put it together. Zoë helped me figure out how to do it. We got faux pine needles everywhere.

Zoë made the inside nice and cozy, putting some foam puzzle pieces down on the floor and filling it with all our Christmas blankets and pillows. It's very cozy. 

Well-child checks for Phoebe and Miriam

Rachel went to the doctor today. She has the flu, poor thing.

I also took Miriam and Phoebe to the doctor at the same time...just here in Georgia! 

I need to remember to ask to not see Dr. Z. She was okay at Zoë's appointment in May (though I need to remember to take Zoë back in for a COVID shot) but was rather pessimistic about homeschooling today. 

First, I should mention that Miriam was hoping to have gained at least an inch since her last visit. Instead she learned that they mis-measured her at her last visit, so she not only didn't grow. She's shorter than she thought. 

So it was already a ho-hum visit.

At Phoebe's visit, the doctor insisted she couldn't understand Phoebe very well and that Phoebe thus needs speech therapy. I told the doctor that was ridiculous. 

Actually I said, "Respectfully, I'm going to disagree with your assessment. I'm a trained linguist. I'm currently getting a PhD in children's literacies. I'm around children a lot. And I don't think Phoebe is behind her peers at all. She's made significant improvements from last year—if you recall, she was fronting all of her sounds, couldn't say /k/ or /g/, but now she can say words with /k/ and /g/ and she has mastered several consonant blends and..."

"I'm pretty fluent in toddler myself. I should be able to understand 90 to 100% of what she's saying and I simply can't. Early intervention is key!"

"Yes, but she's making fine progress by any metric," I countered.

Guys, listen—the doctor is working from old standards. 

Newer studies indicate that the "General rules of thumb for intelligibility of multiword utterances, based on data for the lowest performing typical children, are as follows: (a) By 4 years, children should be at least 50% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener; (b) by the 5 years, children should be at least 75% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener; and (c) by just over 7 years, children should be 90% intelligible to an unfamiliar listener" (see further, less erudite discussion here).

Now, I wouldn't say that Phoebe is among the lowest performing typical children range. In fact, I think she speaks rather clearly and that her vocabulary is rather impressive.

For example, consider Benjamin and his "ucky, mucky augie." 

Another rough night for Phoebe and Naanii

Rachel is spending Thanksgiving with her roommate's family up in Idaho. One of Hailey's aunts hails from Glenwood and thus thought the Myrna Layton of Glenwood was Rachel's grandma. But that is not the case. We have plenty of connections to that other Myrna Layton, but have never met her. 

So I was texting my family about Layton-everything this morning, while sleepy Phoebe was snuggling next to me in bed and the morning stretched longer and longer.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned, finally stirring. "Are we going today?"

She has been counting down the days until Thanksgiving, so I very cheerfully answered, "Yes! Today's the day!"

To my surprise, Phoebe broke down in tears. 

"Oh! What's wrong?" I asked her. 

"I don't wanna get a shot today!" she wailed. 

"Get a shot?!" I exclaimed. "It's Thanksgiving! We're going over to Grandpa's house today!"

"Oh, yeah," she sniffed, giggling a little bit. "Not the doctor today."

"No doctor today," I assured her. "But it a couple of weeks, yes."

Apparently she's been counting down the days until her doctor appointment as well. She knows it's coming because (a) all of her siblings have had their well-child checks (except Miriam, who is going in at the same time as Phoebe), and (b) she was worried about having to get a shot when I took her in for pneumonia earlier this month (and I told her that she didn't need to be worried because they don't do vaccines at sick-child visits, only at well-child visits). 

While I was texting my family this story, because it's kind of funny, my mom texted everyone to wish us a happy Thanksgiving and to tell us that Josie is being the cook today because/so my mom got both her COVID and flu shots and my dad is recovering from wrist surger(ies). 

It was kind of funny that my mom would be talking about shots this fine Thanksgiving morning as well!

Made me think of Phoebe's birth four years ago when my mom also got both the COVID and flu vaccine...

Simply Ravenous

After Phoebe had perked up enough that she was actually able to join us for a meal, she was rather... enthusiastic...about the idea of eating, having gone for so many days with hardly any appetite at all.

"Somebody put food on my plate!" she demanded, before the prayer had even been said.

To be fair, we often do put food on her plate so that it can cool off while we're waiting to say the prayer and she can be...satisfied...while everyone else is getting their food. It's probably a bit of a holdover from her toddler years, which are now over. Apparently.

Are we babying her? Probably.

Anyway, we told her that we hadn't even had the prayer yet and were still getting things on the table—so hold her horses!

"Somebody put food on my plate so I can be ready to eat after the prayer," she clarified. "I won't eat before the prayer. I promise."

We eventually did start filling a plate for her and when the prayer was said she tucked in with gusto. 

"Wow, Phoebe," Andrew remarked. "You're ravenous today."

She stopped, looked at him, batted her beautiful eyelashes.

"Fank you!" she said through a mouthful of food. Then, realizing this might have been a self-centered response, quickly added. "You, too!"

"Do you...know what ravenous means?" Andrew asked. 

"I do not," she said. "May I have s'more pears, please?"

"It means that you're really hungry."

"Oh, I am!" she said.

And she was.

Phoebe is 4!

Where do I begin with this girl?

She woke up around 1:00 in the morning (she's been waking up a lot lately—we'll blame it on the pneumonia). 

"Happy birthday," I whispered when I picked her up.

"It's not morning," is what she told me.

"True, but it is your birthday," I told her. "And listen! Your primary songs are even playing birthday songs for you! Isn't that lucky?"

"It's not," she said. "I need a drink."

"Let's get a drink for you," I said. 

Meanwhile Andrew had come upstairs to take over. Phoebe has always been a little bit...permanently annoyed...with me at night time so Andrew has stepped up to be the one to put her back to bed over and over and over again. Because she responds better to him in the middle of the night.

Though I was secretly happy to hear her also tell him "It's not morning!" in response to his "Happy Birthday!" to her. 

Andrew had to work all day on Thursday, so he wasn't there when Phoebe rolled over, put her face in my face and said, "Mom—presents!" to wake me up. 

Joke was on her! I hadn't even wrapped her presents yet because we'd talked about just doing that on Friday instead. She's a baby, we reasoned, she doesn't understand time. Alas, she's not a baby anymore and has been meticulously counting down the days until her birth, pneumonia notwithstanding. 

I put her off gifts by suggesting she help me make her cake.

Phoebe wanted a pink heart-shaped cake with "bad puppies" and pears, pineapple, and cherries (the latter of which she found in our storage room while we were fetching a pink cake mix). I managed to talk her out of the pears and pineapple. The cherries we turned into a filling.

Here she is stirring the cake batter:

Playing!

I took the boys to the doctor (for well-child checks) first thing in the morning, leaving Andrew and all the girls sleeping away. The boys are growing great. Benjamin is 5'3" tall, only two inches shorter than Miriam (who seems to have plateaued) and precisely one foot taller than Alexander. 

When we came home, Zoë was practicing the piano and Phoebe was setting up an elaborate game of "Bethlehem," with the ball at the very center representing baby Jesus.