Waiting

(written 10/28/13)

Need. To. Rant.

Waiting.  I'm tired of waiting.  If it was just for me, that'd be one thing, but this is my son, who has special needs who doesn't understand waiting, nor does he have the ability to wait.

Waiting.  Since he was an infant, I have been struggling with his tantrums, his oddities, his differences.  Now he's 8.  Eight years of waiting and trying to mold him into a good young man, a contributing member to society.

Waiting.  For almost four years now, we have been waiting for doctors and counselors to help us with him.  To head off major problems like suspensions, expulsions, injuring others, and self-injurious behavior.  Four years and all of those major things have happened anyway.

Waiting.  Tired of waiting for doctors and counselors to stop acting self-important and start helping my son, we started seeking evaluations and were put on months-long waiting lists.

Waiting.  Waiting for the school to recognize the problem that we had seen all along.  Day after day of destructive and violent behavior and time spent in the recovery room with the behavior interventionist or being sent home because they can't handle him, yet refusing to assess him for special education, even with a doctor's recommendation, and calling his behavior "average" when they are forced to assess him.

Waiting.  Waiting for evaluation reports to be sent and for assessment testing to be completed.  Waiting for the verdict of what they are going to do with him.

Waiting.  Answers to simple questions that no one wants to respond to.  Listening to people back-pedal and explain and skirt around the issue and refuse to acknowledge me.

Waiting.  The state's finding that the school was not in compliance with state law after a two-month investigation, which brought out lies and covering up.  Findings that will not likely help anything since what's done is done and there's not much they can make up for.

Waiting.  Two months before appointments were available with a new psychiatrist and a new therapist, who will hopefully be able to help more than the others did.

And meanwhile, in the midst of all of this by people who decided at some point in their life that they wanted to help children yet have lost the focus somewhere along the way, there's a little boy who is lost.  A little boy who doesn't understand why he is the way he is.  A little boy that feels unliked by his peers and different from the other kids, made abundantly clear by isolation inflicted by the school.  A little boy that is so anxious about making mistakes that he won't even try.  A little boy who is so frustrated with it all that he has asked numerous times to be checked into a hospital so someone can fix him.  A little boy who is so depressed that he often remarks that he wishes he was dead or that he wants to kill himself and a couple of times has been prevented from grabbing knives to do harm to himself.  A little boy that thinks he is all alone and no one else understands or has struggled like he does.  A little boy who has to try five times as hard as the next kid to pay attention and learn and comes home exhausted from the effort.  A little boy who learns differently and processes slower but is expected to keep up with the status quo.  A little boy who can't even enjoy birthday parties or theme parks or entertainment centers because it's too overwhelming for him.  A little boy with a hyperactivity problem that is expected to sit still all day and had his recess taken away long-term last year.

Bureaucracy and covering your own rear end.  That's what it's all about.  Not about this little boy that has been on crisis mode.  When did the school become this way?  And it's not just him.  I hear stories from other parents who have been fighting the same battle.  There exists a parent advocacy group just because this happens so often.  And even aside from special education, the stories I hear from my daughters about what goes on at school, the lack of teaching, the kids in crisis that no one seems to care about.  Little girls who are not little girls anymore, but exposed to sexuality and violence and drugs as young as the fourth grade.  Having to explain to your daughter what a vibrator is because her 9-10 year old classmate said she was using one and being afraid to allow what used to be an innocent slumber party because fifth grade classmates decided to experiment with homosexuality after their parents went to sleep.  Girls that are so confused that they are cutting themselves and contemplating suicide and experimenting sexually and getting pregnant as early as age 13.  In schools where rapes can occur during school hours.  Teachers yell at them to "shut the f*** up!" or laugh along with other students at special needs' kids and don't defend students against peer bullying, despite all the attention called to the bullying problem in this country.  I know there are good teachers out there (one example) and we have known some excellent ones, but they are outnumbered and fighting an uphill battle.  And in most cases, the problem is lack of parenting.  It just makes me sick.  I know we can't shut ourselves off to the world, even if it feels like we should.  But, how long, Lord?  How far will it go before you return?  I wonder if we are better or worse than it was in the days of Noah when God was sorry He made man and destroyed all but one righteous family.

We are waiting, Lord, for your return.  Anxiously.

The Most Thankless Job

As life is wont to do, this post is in direct contrast to a previous recent post.

I always knew motherhood was a thankless job, and that was ok. The hugs, smiles, kisses were enough. And even when Billy hurls obscenities at me and says he hates me, I've learned to overlook it and know that it's coming from the disabilities that plague him and that his actions show otherwise.

But, lately my kids have been throwing new barbs at my heart. The kind that stick and make you look at them differently and wonder why you bother doing all the vast and taxing things you do for them. I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel this way.

The divorce from their dad was the catalyst. When they were young, the hurt came from their gushing about dad's girlfriend, the very one he left me for. Arrena was the only one that could see through my carefully neutral façade and refused to mention her in my presence, at the tender age of eight.

I take with a grain of salt the angry, "I'll just go live at dad's!" Because I know they're only trying to get a reaction, that it's the difference between the loving discipline designed to grow them into godly young people here and the "Disneyland" at dad's, and even if they were serious, the court prevents it at this time.

There's the little jabs when they gush about how much fun they had at dad's, conveniently forgetting that he went months without picking them up or that he forgot to call on their birthday or that he's gone six months without paying child support and we've been struggling just to put food on their plates.

There's the cruel twist of my heart when they speak glowingly of their step-mom, who was also instrumental in the break-up of the marriage. The fury of knowing they confided rule-breaking to her and she kept her mouth shut so that I'm the last to know.

And, yes, I admit that there's the jealousy of my kids having this whole other step-family that they love and talk about that I don't even know.

Kimberly talks about how she and her step-mom have this plan to move to Florida and open a wildlife park. I know it will probably never happen but the idea that she'd prefer to spend her life with her step-mom over me (she can't wait to go to college out of state and live far away) breaks my heart in two.

The cruelest torture was this week when their dad told me all the things they complain about to him, things that have just enough grain of truth in them to make me believe he didn't make it up, but enough falsehood to make me sound like the wicked witch. How did I turn into the evil step-mother in the fairy tale?

That same night, I listened to both girls talking about how they'd name their first sons after their dad. A dad who tried to kill their mother in front of them, the dad who doesn't show up or call, the dad who didn't participate in parenting even before we were divorced, the dad who followed through on his threat to purposefully get fired so he wouldn't have to pay high child support, the dad who called and left a suicidal message telling them goodbye, the dad who not only threatened to run away with them but actually took me to court to try to take custody and lied in court, and all the other award-winning dad material that makes him worthy of being made a grandchild namesake.  The guy you wouldn't even remotely think was a good man, let alone a good father. Yet, I get nothing. Things they see me do for them, the things they take for granted that I'll always be there, and the things they never saw--things they'll probably never know because I won't tell them. The things they blame me for without knowing the whole story or the motivation behind it. I don't even necessarily want any grandchildren named after me. It just hurts when he seems to win parent of the year over me over and over again.

No, I'm not like many parents that would sit there and point out all of these things to them, in an effort to make myself look better and him look worse.  In fact, sometimes I find myself trying to explain why he is the way he is, almost (almost) defending him, not for his sake, but for theirs.  I've even said that they are smart enough to one day figure it out on their own.

And, yes, I'm sure "one day" they'll see things clearly and that I did the best for them that I possibly could and that he didn't. One day, especially when they have children of their own, I might hear a "thank you, mom" or an "I'm sorry, mom." But in the meanwhile, while I'm embroiled in a fight against the school and the bus company on their behalf, I wonder why am I wearing myself thin, stressing myself out, exhausting myself when dad's the hero. And then I remember that regardless of whether they recognize the sacrifice, I love them and will still do anything for them no matter their reaction. And I bet God feels the same way when His children forget Him. He just keeps on loving us anyway.

Feeling Sorry for Myself Parenting Rant

(written 9/17/13)

I was contemplating how hard parenthood is today and trying to remember a time when it was easier.  The further I reached back into my memory, the more I realized that it has never been easy.  Then I began to wonder what am I doing wrong?  I read stories on Facebook or blogs or news outlets about moms with the perfect husband, the perfect children who always behave, the perfect house that is always immaculate, the perfect job (or if she is a stay-at-home-mom, more than enough income to make it happen), the perfect school/or the perfect temperament to homeschool, the perfect body, the perfect wardrobe, the perfect friends, the perfect family, etc.  So, why am I divorced, constantly struggling with my children whether it be a behavior issue or a dire problem that we had no control over, my house is always a mess despite the fact that all the kids are in school and I am home all day due to the fact that I had to quit my perfect job and my self-employment isn't paying the bills, my finances are always critical, I don't have the desire to homeschool yet I can't get the public school system to give my children the education they deserve without being exposed to filth and violence and can't afford private school tuition, finally on the losing weight side of the teeter totter I've been riding for 14 years, and had to suffer hellish in-laws before I was blessed with the ones I have now while being cursed with cousins who hate me for who knows what.

Being a Mom is Tough, but the Benefits are Amazing

One day when this is all behind us, I'll write the story of this debacle of my girls being assaulted on the school bus. But, tonight I'm tired. Tired from stress, from adrenaline, from talking to people all day, from documenting everything, from being the mama bear. But I had to share this one thing so I won't forget why being a mom and having to fight the fight is worth it.

We have a family routine. At dinner time, we take turns asking the blessing on the meal. Whoever's turn it is, we all have to say something we like about that person. Tonight was my turn. Arrena said she likes mom because "she stands up for us." Kimberly said, "I like mom because she takes us seriously." This mama bear sure does love her cubs.

A Broken-Hearted, Weary Mama

I'm staring at this blank screen with all these thoughts and feelings and yet I am thinking of a word that is seldom used to describe me...speechless.  I am usually capable of spilling my feelings via the written word much more aptly than by saying them out loud.  And yet, here I sit, not knowing where to start.

My son is on my mind.  He's been on my mind constantly for...well...I can't remember when he WASN'T on my mind.  I've written previous posts about him here and there and everywhere and even more.  We're right in the middle of evaluations at this point.  I quit his psychiatrist because he was condescending, offered no practical help, and the things he said didn't hold up when I researched them.  I had planned to stay with him until we had another recommendation, but when they tried to charge me $50 to write a prescription, I had had enough.  Our primary care doctor is a wonderful Christian man and is covering Billy's meds until we find a new psychiatrist.

We finished K.U. Med's testing and they concluded that he did not meet the criteria for autism (though in my heart, I really believe he does) and suggested he may have something called intermittent explosive disorder.  Again, people are only addressing the behavior, but if the behavior were the only problem, we'd have figured out something that would have worked over the course of the past several years.  WHY is he acting out?  There has to be a reason, a cause.  They recommended cognitive therapy, told us that blood work should have been done every year with the meds that he has been on (which we were never told), and advised us to monitor Billy's spacing out because it could be seizures.  We have been to two evaluation appointments at Children's Mercy Hospital and go back next week for a parent-only meeting to go over their results.  I am praying that this evaluation will yield more help and answers than K.U.'s did, but in case it doesn't, I've already been in contact with M.U. and we'll drive to Columbia for more testing if we have to.

In addition, I filed a complaint with the state about the school not complying with my request for an IEP and that is pending.  Since Billy's behavior has continued into the school year and I am not backing down, they are beginning evaluations for an IEP now.

I am thankful for meeting a couple of wonderful ladies who have autistic sons and have been encouraging me and giving me pointers and direction.  I also contacted MPACT, which is a parent advocacy group.  I have communicated with them via email and will be speaking to a representative on the phone tomorrow.  She has already given me great suggestions and gotten me spurred into action and organization.

I began compiling folder after folder of paperwork: Billy's daily school behavior sheets, his 504 plan, communication between me and the school, evaluations and diagnoses records, schoolwork that I did with him over the summer that showed his deficiencies academically, etc.  She also got me to request further records from the school.  My records are now about six inches thick.

In my research and compiling records, I was looking for behavior sheets we had filled out for Billy's former counselor to prove that this has been a long-term problem.  I couldn't locate those sheets--I am afraid they may have been lost when our basement flooded.  So, I had the idea to look through some old emails to friends and family to see if I could find any record of Billy's behaviors there.  What I found surprised me.

You see, I had deluded myself into thinking that around the age of two Billy had started acting out and by age four, he was totally out of control.  Apparently I was living in a fool's paradise.  In my memory, he had been a sweet baby.  I already knew I had a faulty memory, but I really missed the mark on that one.  I also recalled that he had been "slightly" behind his sisters developmentally, but that it was negligible and chalked up to being a boy.  As he was the third child and a difficult one and my job at the time sucked the life out of me, I didn't keep a baby book or a record of his milestones.  I found that he wasn't crawling at nine months (I didn't figure out when he actually did start crawling) and that he was barely stringing together simple phrases that were unintelligible at two and a half.  Following are some excerpts from these emails:

January 2006:

he is such an unhappy little baby and we don't know why.  he is so hard to get along with and really wears us thin.  he cries so much and about the only way to keep him happy is to carry him around all day long, which makes it hard to get anything done.  even then, that doesn't always work--he still fusses.

he has come upon his milestones a lot slower than his sisters, remaining my "baby" longer than they did. 

a few months ago, i had tried to do the "cry it out" things with him because he always had to be "put" to sleep.  you had to rock him, bounce him, feed him to sleep before you put him down.  and usually it was in the bassinet in our room or in our bed.  but, it didn't work.  he would scream for hours!  so i gave up for a while.  about a month or so ago, we tried it again.  at first he cried for a long time, but he finally gave up and fell asleep.  the next night, he cried a little less and the next night, a little less.  there are still some nights when he might cry for 45 minutes to an hour, but more often than not, he will only cry for a few minutes or not at all.  however, this only works at night.  during the day, he'll scream forever.  a couple of weeks  i was so frustrated that i was sitting in the floor crying.  i had had my fill of Billy and it didn't matter if i held him or not, he was still throwing fits.  i had reached my breaking point with him, so the safest thing to do was to put him in his crib and walk away.  at first i did it just so i could walk away and get a breather, but then i became determined to break him.  the more he screamed though, the more it frustrated me and i couldn't even bring myself to go in there.  i was sure that he would eventually wear himself out and go to sleep.  and he goes to bed on his own at night--what's the difference?  no, he screamed for 2 or 3 hours.

about the only way i get ANYTHING done is i have "stations" around the house.  i'll put him in his crib or in the floor in his room to play and i will stay in sight of him and clean in that room, folding laundry or whatever.  when he gets tired of that and gets frustrated, then we move on.  he has his exersaucer and playpen in the living room, a portable high chair in my office area, his full-size high chair in the kitchen, and my bed and his swing in my bedroom.  in all of these places, there is a stash of Billy's toys, so i don't have to carry toys with me around the house.  but everything is on his schedule.  when he's done, it doesn't matter if i am done cleaning the kitchen or writing an email or folding laundry, it's time to move on.  and sometimes he is just done playing and i have to rock him to sleep.  sometimes i can get a few minutes free by putting him in the playpen with his bottle.  i am hoping that once he gets crawling and walking, he will become independent.  

November 2006:

Billy will be 19 months old on the 15th.  he is a handful.  he is into everything, screams pretty much all day, he's a tough guy that likes to beat up on anybody and everybody (the girls, me, the cat...), yet still a mama's boy that won't allow me to leave the room without him or he descends into another screaming fit.  he tries my patience.

Billy is being a monster.  he is screaming incessantly most of the day.  he drives me absolutely insane.  he follows me around the house all day and if i don't do exactly what he wants or sometimes i think he doesn't even know what he wants, he lets out these blood-curdling screams.

April 2007:

Billy is not getting along with the twins and is bullying the baby too [his cousins that were staying with us at the time], so it is CONSTANT fighting and screaming, hitting, biting, scratching, pushing down the stairs, etc.

September 2007:

he enjoys having mama all to himself all day [with both sisters at school], but he is a pain because he wants all my attention and he follows me everywhere.  well, that's not entirely accurate--he wants me to carry him everywhere.  he apparently can't walk from one room to the next.  if i don't pick him up and carry him, he has a major meltdown.  he is talking more.  there are words that anyone can understand, but then there are words and phrases that only mama can translate.

October 2008:

Billy was acting out horribly!  Billy was downright demonic!  he was out of control.  he screamed and kicked and said he hated me.  he threw a can of pop at mom's wall, dumped perfume on her bed, knocked her earrings all over the floor, ran out in the street, etc.  i couldn't handle him.  and i was losing my temper big time.  i was stressed enough and i already felt like a burden to mom then i have this wretched child destroying her house, making it worse.  i couldn't control him.

November 2008:

Billy started calling me names.  i'd try to tell Billy to do something and he would ignore me and do his own thing.  he was acting up and when i would correct him, he'd throw a fit.  he's like a preschool terrorist.

I can't believe that I forgot all this and had this picture in my mind of a content, happy baby.  Reading these broke my heart, thinking that my son has been unhappy his entire life.  Both I and the school counselor have recently asked him what makes him happy and I am devastated to hear him say that he doesn't know or "nothing."  What is wrong and how do we fix it?

Last night, I was invited to come to our church's prayer group so they could pray for me.  I shared about Billy and was touched to listen to them call out our names at the throne of God.  One thing that really struck me was when someone said something to the extent of "God doesn't make mistakes."  Billy is not a mistake.  God made him who he is for a reason and a purpose.  In all these years of dealing with this, I have rarely let myself think of Billy's future.  For one, it's all we can do to manage here and now.  For two, I'm scared to think of Billy continuing with the same problems into adolescence and adulthood.  What kind of life will he have?  What kind of trouble will he get into?  What kind of harm could he inflict on himself or others?  I can't allow myself to go there.  But, thinking about God having a purpose for Billy made me realize that Billy does have a future.  Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  I'm not going to worry about his future, but I know that God has a plan for it.

The prayer team also took time to listen to one of my "theme songs" as of late: Lord, I Need You.  One phrase stuck out at me--a different one than what I usually hear loud and clear: "And where You are, Lord, I am free."  Billy is anything but free right now, but I know who can set him free.

Camping Adventures

In previous posts, over the years, I have blogged about various camping trips that I have taken with my family.  My parents used to camp when I was a toddler (which I don't remember, I've just seen pictures), using a camper on the back of dad's truck, but other than that, I didn't camp until about five years ago or so.  In those five years, I think our camping trips have numbered about six or seven.  And if you have read my previous blogs, you will know that I am not the outdoorsy type.  I do not like the heat, I don't like bugs, I don't like being dirty all. the. time.  But, I made a valiant attempt to camp for my family's sake.  The funny thing was that I ended up being the more gung-ho of the bunch.  The first time or two we went, everyone else was complaining about being hot, bored, etc.  They all wanted a camper so they could have air conditioning and TV and beds.  To me, that's not camping, that's parking.  My apologies to anyone who enjoys parking.  I don't mind camping at all when the weather is mild in the spring and fall and I started to kind of enjoy sleeping under the stars and hearing the locusts/cicadas at night.  That said, I rarely sleep well while camping.  I never sleep well in strange places and air mattresses or sleeping bags are not what I would call extreme comfort.  Once in the early days of camping, I actually got run over while I was sleeping.  Seriously.  A stray dog was loose in the camp and apparently had come careening around our tent and stepped on the corner, where my legs were.  A very rude awakening, I must say.  I had no idea what had gotten me!  My ex-husband was such a baby about being uncomfortable that he bought a small window unit air conditioner and rigged it up in our tent.  Again, seriously.  He SAID it was for Billy (who is susceptible to eczema outbreaks in the heat) and for me, but I didn't buy it.

My husband, Scott, has been talking about a camper a lot in recent months.  I kept scoffing, saying that was the cheater's way to camp.  Again, my apologies if you are a cheater.  But, after this camping trip, he may have swayed me to his way of thinking and I may soon join the ranks of cheaters and parkers.  That is, if we hit the lottery jackpot and can afford a camper.

We were camping on Table Rock Lake near Branson.  This is the second time we have used the campgrounds at Baxter because they are the most well-maintained campground we have run across.  Compared to Heyburn Lake in Oklahoma, where my family reunion is held (also run by the Army Corps of Engineers), this place is like the Ritz.  It takes about five hours or so for us to drive there, so we tried to think of an interesting pastime for the kids on the way there, so we came up with some travel bingo and entertained ourselves searching for Pepsi trucks, Arkansas license plates, and helicopters.

While the weather for our camping trip was mild (amazing feat for August in the midwest), the disappointing part was that we had planned on lots of swimming and going to the water park.  When it's only in the 70s though, that may not be the best plan.  The first couple of days of the trip, the humidity was really high, so it was muggy and even if it was only in the upper 70s to low 80s, it felt much worse than that.  I felt sticky all the time.  And it rained for the first several days, so sticky and wet and dirty and stuck doing indoor (or in-tent) things.  Lovely.

I was still recovering from my surgery and was a little leery about this trip.  I tried to be positive for my family since we had been planning this trip for months, but I hadn't planned on feeling so yucky after surgery.  I was starting to feel better, so I was hoping this wouldn't be too much for me.  I sat back and let the girls and Scott put up the tents when we got there on Saturday afternoon.  After we got the necessities put up, we drove into Kimberling City and went to a pizza place that we were told has the best pizza.  They had a live band and game rooms.  While the pizza was okay, it definitely wasn't worth the bill of $70.  We took leftovers back to camp, but between having to store in an ice chest and having little way to reheat, we ended up tossing it.

We had fogged the campsite before we set anything up, we used Off lanterns, and we sprayed Off on our bodies frequently, but I was still getting bites all over my legs, which were keeping me awake at night because they were so itchy.  Scott and the kids had bites too, but I'm not sure they had as many or were as itchy because they didn't complain so much.  I was trying everything: hydrocortizone cream, antibacterial gel, and then one night I searched the internet on my phone and found a suggestion that you heat them up with a hair drier, so I tried that too.  The initial heat made them itch more, but if I persisted, the itch went away for a couple of hours.  The article I read said that it should only take two to three times of this before the itch would be gone permanently.  That didn't happen.  I itched until a few days after we got back home!

Between being tired, still not feeling 100% from after my surgery, being itchy and sticky-hot, I felt like I was a real grouch the first few days.  I was thinking about how it might have been more cost effective to have stayed in a hotel after you figure in the new camping supplies we had to buy, the food we were buying to cook at camp, and the price of the campsite.  I was lamenting the fact that I wasn't in a cool, clean, dry, comfy hotel room.

Sunday, we had planned to drive to the next town over, Lampe, where my husband's aunt and uncle have a cabin on the lake, and go to the little Baptist church there.  But, when we woke up, Kimberly (my middle daughter who is now eleven) was vomiting.  She has done this on two or three of our camping trips and I wonder why.  What is it about camping that makes her sick?  She thought she felt better and ate, but everything kept coming back up.

We finished putting up the rest of the campsite and realized that the canopy we usually bring wasn't in our stuff.  Our camping is a little elaborate.  We have a large tent for us, which includes an air mattress BED so that we aren't sleeping on the ground.  While this is nice since this campground is quite rocky and when it rains, your bed doesn't get wet, the air mattress was leaking and we had to patch it twice.  Air mattresses are not my cup of tea because they creak so loud every time you move, which, for me, is a lot and if your sleeping partner gets up or moves much, you either sink into the mattress or get launched across the tent.  But, I digress.  The kids have our old tent, which is still pretty large.  They had a queen air mattress for the girls and a twin for Billy (my eight year old).  Both were flat by morning, despite the fact that we had checked them for leaks before we left and found none.  It was a good thing we had made them bring their sleeping bags as well.  But, when it started pouring in the middle of the night, they got a little wet.  We'd all had our windows open since it had been so hot, so when it started pouring, we woke up and scrambled to close them all.  Even then, we found we had some leaks.  The kids tent was leaking at the seams and ours was somehow leaking at the ceiling even with the rain fly.  So, the rest of the night, I felt drips on my face and head.  We also have a screen tent that we put over the picnic table so when we eat, we are shielded from the sun and can zip it up and keep the flies away because they were MISERABLE.  We usually also have a "kitchen area" with a canopy over it.  My husband has a camping kitchen set up with a propane stove.  We also set up tables in that area for food prep and have Rubbermaid tubs with our cooking utensils and non-perishable food in them.  We also got a "shoe tree" to hang up to organize utensils and spices, etc.  Add in chairs and swim stuff, coolers and toys for the kids, luggage and bedding and and air compressor and the kids bikes and you realize why we have two deck boxes, multiple Rubbermaid tubs and have to carry it all on a trailer.  Oh, you laugh, but we've been known to rent a U-Haul trailer before we bought this open one.  Personally, I like the enclosed trailer better because strapping everything down can be such a royal pain and we frequently have to check the load and readjust.  Anyways, we figured out that the canopy had not be packed.  This is a problem because with all the rain in the forecast, it's hard to cook in the rain without some sort of covering.  We also needed to go shopping for the perishable food items and ice and try to find something to help Kimberly feel better.  So, we loaded up and went to West Branson to the Wal-Mart.

We always end up getting way more than we need.  Of course, the canopies aren't cheap and we figured out we hadn't packed a big pot, so had to buy one of those and some towels for drying out the inside of the tents and some Scotchgard to waterproof the tents, etc., etc., etc.  Again, I am thinking that a hotel would have been a better idea.  On the way, we had stopped at a gas station and gotten Kimberly a Gatorade and a travel dosage of Dramamine.  She took them, but threw up in the car (in a bag, we thankfully thought to bring) a couple of times.  At Wal-Mart we got her some Pedialyte and Nauzene because we couldn't find any Dramamine!

Then we went back to camp and decided to go swim in the lake to cool off.  Ouch!  The last time we were there was in April of last year, so we hadn't ever gone swimming.  The beach is completely made up of rock.  Apparently along the entire shoreline of 100 miles of Table Rock Lake, there is only one sand beach!  I have pretty tough feet because I like to go barefoot as much as possible, but these rocks were killing me.  I stayed on my flotation device the whole time and hopped up the beach to my flip flops when we were done.  They have had so much rain in the area recently that one of the campsites close to the shore was completely under water.  You could see the picnic table just above the water.  I had bought a waterproof disposable camera to use while we were swimming.  I didn't even know if they still made them, but I found one and used it.  I haven't had it developed yet--I haven't had film cameras in years!  We made dinner and had s'mores for dessert.  Well, I had a chocolate bar and graham crackers since I hate marshmallows.  Part of our days were also spent playing poker.  Yes, Scott taught the girls to play poker, using chess pawns and checkers for the "pot."  The kids also rode their bicycles a lot.  Our campsite is in the perfect spot--same one we had the last time we were there.  Our driveway was off a parking lot, so the kids could ride around there when it was crowded on the weekends, and not worry about anyone running them over.  We are also a few steps from the bathroom/showers and on the other side of us is a little playground and that's where you could find Billy most of the time.

Monday, Scott and Arrena (my twelve-year-old) and Billy went somewhere-- I can't remember where.  I started cooking brunch while they were gone (we have decided that when camping, three meals is a little too much for us, so we generally limit it to two and just have things on hand like granola bars and such if the kids are hungry besides) and Kimberly and I sat in the shade of the trees and relaxed.  I looked off in the distance and saw very dark skies and thought, "uh-oh" but I couldn't tell which way it was heading or how soon it would be to us and I didn't think to check the radar on my phone or else we would have started stowing things sooner.  When it started to rain, I screamed for Kimberly, who had to run around dragging chairs under the canopy and closing tent windows and pulling down our towels and swimsuits that were hanging up to dry.  I couldn't leave the stove or the food would have burned for sure.  I was so thankful that she hadn't gone with them.  It poured for a while and left lots of puddles, but thankfully Scotchgarding the tents helped and the water just beaded up and rolled off!  The rain was so heavy and the wind so bad that we were getting wet even under the canopy and the pancakes and bacon were getting wet too!

After they returned and we ate our somewhat soggy breakfast, we decided that if it was going to rain most of the day, we'd go into town and do some indoor things.  It's a good 45 minute drive into Branson proper.  When we got there, Scott confessed he was still hungry and we ended up going to Fuddruckers, one of my favorite burger places.  We used to have one nearby but they closed, so any time we are near one, we try to go.  The kids and I weren't that hungry, but who can pass up Fudd's?  So, we split some burgers and fries.
Then we took the kids to a surprise destination.

We had found a place called Wild World online that looked interesting.  It's sort of like an aquarium, but Scott's interest was piqued when he saw that they have a wolf exhibit, which is his favorite animal.  When I moved in four years ago, his entire house was decorated with wolves.  I've managed to contain it to mostly one room now.  Wild World also had mini golf under black lights and an arcade that was included in admission price.  Kimberly was thoroughly excited about this place!  She and Billy got to feed bull sharks and hold snakes.  She even kissed the snakes!(mom comment: ew yuck!)  We saw all kinds of marine life, alligators, even macaws and rabbits and a hedgehog.  Scott watched the wolves for a long time because they were about to feed them.  Apparently they feed them a whole frozen chicken every other day.  I had to use that opportunity to visit the bathroom...because I ate.  This is the primary reason I don't eat much anymore and especially if I know I am going to be out.  Between my IBS and the increased intestinal woe following my surgery, I have little control over when or where my bowels will start to grumble.  And when I say grumble, I mean wail like a cross between an earthquake and a thunderstorm.  The kids have been sitting with me when this grumbling starts and look up in startled shock and surprise and said, "Was that your STOMACH?!?"  And let me assure you of one thing: not only do I hate public bathrooms in general, but I REALLY hate them when the diarrhea monster hits.  Maybe guys enjoy grossing out other guys when they walk into a public bathroom, but most ladies that I know do not.  We want our private business to remain no one else's business.  Hard to do when you feel like your intestines are exploding.  Anyways, I eventually left the ladies room and returned to the wolf area in time to see the feeding and subsequent sibling rivalry of wolves trying to steal each others' chickens.  Kimberly was incredibly tickled by the petting pools.  They had little shallow pools of water with different creatures that could be touched or picked up, such as hermit crabs, starfish, stingray, and Kimberly's favorite, little sharks.  She said she could mark that off her bucket list.  Who puts petting sharks on their bucket list???  Note to self: seek counseling for Kimberly.  She also got to hold a gecko.  Scott made the comment that she was going to save us 15% or more on our car insurance.  The other day, a full two weeks or so after this, Arrena suddenly says, "OH!  I get it!  I thought he meant literally!  I thought they were having a promotion that if you hold the gecko you could save on your car insurance!"  Note to self: check Arrena for blond roots.

They played arcade games for a while, but quite a few of them were out of order.  There was an inflatable there too, so Billy and Kimberly jumped in that for a little bit.  If I had been feeling better, I would have gotten in to jump because it was empty.  Then we went over to the black light mini golf.  By that time, I think everyone was getting a little tired, so it probably wasn't as much fun as it should have been.  I'm easily amused and impressed by shiny things, so I was entertained by the glowing pictures on the wall.  We went to Wal-Mart again to get some aqua socks and some flip flops for Billy since he'd already broken his.  When we came out of Wild World, the sun was shining brightly like it hadn't rained at all.  We had been out so long, we stopped and got some dinner on the way home, rather than trying to cook at camp since it would likely be dark once we got back.  Kimberly's tummy was feeling bad again and she didn't eat much and threw up later in the night.

On the way back to the camp, Arrena started giggling.  We asked what was so funny and after she was finally able to compose herself, she said it was dumb, but she was wondering what if there was a bear in our camp when we got back.  So, we all chipped in to the story, making it even more ridiculous, such as that he was wearing my underwear and one of the bike helmets and had Kimberly's Kindle and was floating on one of our floaties in the lake.  There was more to the story that I can't reveal, though, because the conversation shifted to body hair or lack thereof of someone that we know--a very alarming turn in the conversation, and one I don't think should be shared on the internet!  Arrena then misspeaks when she says, "Great, now I am going to go to sleep on xxxxxx's nipple hair!"  We all stared at her for a second and then burst out laughing as she spluttered, "That's. not. what. I. meant!  I MEANT, I will go to sleep THINKING about that since you all were talking about it!!!"  We were nearly in tears, laughing, by the time we pulled into the campsite.  We looked for a bear wearing our clothes, but all we found was a skunk walking through our campsite.  The kids said that the bear sent him as a scout.  He took off when we arrived, but his aroma lingered for a few minutes.  The kids went to bed and we retired to our tent where Scott played games on his laptop and I struggled to get a connection on my phone to play Bingo.  I heard a thump nearby that sounded like someone getting into the kitchen tubs and I wondered who was up and digging around so I looked out the tent window and saw the skunk a few feet away, walking through our kitchen area.  Scott hit the lock on the truck key fob which makes the headlights come on and it chirps, thinking that would startle him away, but he actually went TOWARD the truck.  Scott hit the panic button, which set off the alarm on the truck and the skunk ran back toward the playground.  We figured if the bear could wear our clothes and use our floaties on the lake, the skunk could play on the playground.

Tuesday morning when we woke up, Arrena told us that a squirrel had chewed a hole in the lid of our dry goods tub.  We looked and sure enough, there were teeth marks and shreds of plastic and a good size hole where they were able to nibble on some crackers.  I had thought those tubs were pretty secure and the smell of food would not be detectable through a plastic bin.  They worked HARD to get in there.  We weren't sure that the squirrel hadn't had assistance from the skunk, but Arrena said she saw the squirrel sitting on the box, so she was convinced he had been working alone.

Pretty much all of the weekend campers had left and we were the only people in the campgrounds for most of the week.  I think there was one other camper at the other end and then towards the end of the week, people started trickling in for the weekend.  We started to wonder If Kimberly had had a tummy bug because now Arrena was throwing up.  She and her sister are vastly different when they are sick.  Kimberly will go throw up quietly and then come tell you about it.  She's very low maintenance.  Arrena, however, is the exact opposite.  She will stand there, moaning, "mommy!" instead of running to the bathroom and most of the time ends up vomiting on herself or the floor or the bed or wherever the happens to be at. She also wants you to be with her while she is getting sick.  It does not matter that you cannot do anything to help her or that you might get sick too, watching her getting sick, if you have a weak stomach (not saying that I DO, by the way....), she hangs on to you and begs like you could suddenly pull out a magic wand and make it all better.  Wow, boy, do I wish such a wand existed!  She is very high maintenance when she is sick, so she demands all your time and attention.  We had been planning to go to White Water, the water park, that day, but with her puking, we couldn't.  It rained a bit and Scott ended up going into town to an Ace Hardware to get a bug zapper since the flies were driving us batty!  I aired up the wading pool we had and filled it up and Kimberly and Billy played in it.  They wanted to go swimming in the lake, but we weren't sure what the weather was going to do and it was kind of chilly.  The wading pool was a decent compromise.  Kimberly's stomach bug must have traveled to her head because she was acting like a lunatic in the wading pool (see video at the end of this paragraph for exhibit A).  We ended up going down to the lake to swim even though it was sprinkling.  Arrena took her puke bag and laid on the picnic table by the shore and took a nap, got up and threw up, and then conversed with the groundskeeper.  Even though I know better (one of the worst sunburns I ever got was on an overcast day), I forgot to put sunscreen on any of us and we all got small sunburns.  The problem with my sunburn is that it made this mark on my forehead more pronounced.  In the last couple of months, Scott and I had noticed a brown patch on my skin between my eyebrows above the bridge of my nose.  I thought it was just an age spot, but it's very irregular in shape and quite large.  The kids started making fun of me, saying it looked like it was shaped like a cat.  I got a little self-conscious and started putting makeup on it (who wears makeup while camping?), but even that didn't mask it very well.  The sky cleared a bit and I took some sunset pictures at the beach.  Even just trekking back and forth from the beach to our campsite and vice versa, even though it wasn't that far, was wearing me out.  I was really wondering how I would do when we went to Silver Dollar City.

Mornings around the campsite are usually lazy.  I sleep so badly at night, I usually sleep in until they wake me (either intentionally or just being too loud) or when the sun starts to heat up the tent (which was not the case this trip).  We had our brunch and then moseyed into Branson to goof off.  First stop was at Dixie Stampede.  The kids love to see the horses.  One of these days I'd like to see the actual show, but since it's expensive for the five of us, we just stop at the stables and look at the horse.  There's one named Billy, which my Billy loves.  Then there's one named Janie, which is my aunt's name.  Last time we were there, mom and/or Janie were commenting on my picture about how she was a blond and how she had her rear to the camera.  Well, this time, as we approached her, she lifted her tail and peed.  I grabbed the camera, but by the time I took the picture, it was just a tiny stream.  Ha, ha!  I'm sure my mother will love that!  Then we went to Dick's Five and Dime.  It's a really cool store that has all kind of things--from collectibles to cleaning supplies and toothpaste.  It's cram-packed--tight aisles with tons of stuff--even stuff on the ceilings!  The kids enjoyed it, but Billy started in with, "I want that!" and "Ooh, can I get that?"  We went a couple of doors down to a restaurant that I can't remember the name of.  Scott had seen that they advertised apple dumplings and he wanted one.  The kids had root beer floats and I wasn't hungry, so I ordered a lemonade.  I tried a Coke that one time and my stomach really got upset.  Scott wasn't convinced that it was the Coke that upset my stomach so he wanted me to try it again, but I didn't want to until I was at home, near a bathroom.  I missed drinking Coke, but I knew it was better for me that I was drinking lots of water.  However, most restaurants don't have a variety of non-pop beverages, so I was generally drinking water and was about tired of not having anything with any flavor.  For between meals I didn't mind, but with my meals, for whatever reason, I prefer something with some flavor.  Fudd's had a fruit punch/lemonade that was really good.  This lemonade they brought me was the worst lemonade I have ever had.  It tasted like lemon flavored water--BARELY lemon flavored!  I put seven or nine packets of sugar in it and it STILL didn't taste good.  Yuck!

We had bought tickets to Silver Dollar City for that day, but since they have the policy that if you come in after three, you can come back the next day for free, we decided to do it that way.  Give me a short day first and then we would come back Friday (they were closed Thursday) and spend the whole day.  We hadn't told the kids that we were going.  As we turned down the road that leads to Silver Dollar City, it started to dawn on the girls and they were grinning.  Billy took a little longer.  He looked out the window and did a double-take and said, "What-?"  Then  he said, "What?" again.  He looked dumbfounded and said, "Are we?--  YES!!!  I always wanted to go there!"  His reaction was priceless!  I had never been to SDC before, so I was a little excited too.

We parked and rode the tram in.  As we walked through the shop, we considered the cave tour, which I think the girls and I would have enjoyed.  But we overheard them telling someone else that it was a strenuous walk with lots of stairs, so I knew I couldn't do it and neither could Scott, so we went on.  In my excitement to surprise them (and also to avoid tantrums if it didn't work out for us to go), I hadn't even thought about preparing Billy for the park ahead of time like his occupational therapist had recommended for new and overwhelming places.  It was overwhelming and Billy became grouchy very quickly.  He was thinking rides and not shows and demonstrations, so he became frustrated every time we stopped to watch a blacksmith or a candy maker.  We had to get onto him several times for his attitude and yelling at us.  There was a street performance, a skit between the Hatfields and the McCoys that everybody thought was funny.  We rode the Flooded Mine, which Billy loved because you get to "shoot" at targets along the way, like a video game.  Then we rode the train around the park so we could see everything.  Quite a line and a bit of a wait, but it was worth it.  Billy was mad at first because he didn't want to ride the train.  But, he ended up liking it because they stopped and put on a skit about a train robbery that was pretty funny, especially when the random lady from the crowd didn't answer as they'd planned and they had to ad-lib.  When we got off, we went to Half-Dollar Holler, which was nearby and a place for little kids.  Billy ran around the treehouse and rode the carousel, but he was getting really grumpy and was yelling at me, so we decided it was time to go.  It was getting close to closing time anyway, which is 6pm.  We ate dinner and went back to camp and there was the skunk, a little too close for comfort.  We'd forgotten to throw away the trash before we left and he was busily eating breakfast burritos.  I was thinking, "Too bad we don't live in Kentucky--we need Turtleman from Animal Planet to come get this thing!"  I went for the water hose because if he came near me, I was going to squirt him first!  Kimberly ran off screaming the other direction, waving her arms in the air like an idiot.  He went off toward the playground again and I went to the bathroom to change and use the facilities.  When I came back, I was face to face with him in the kitchen area--with him between me and the hose.  We'd thrown away the trash, but apparently we'd missed a chunk of burrito, so he'd come back for it.  We managed to scare him off and sent Kimberly to throw away the rest of the food.  When she came back, she saw my clothes in my arm and said she thought it was the skunk because I missed my kitties.  I guess she was thinking about the eyeglasses commercial where the lady is calling her cat to come in and a skunk follows her in.

Thursday, I would have liked to have gone to the water park, but Scott said it was too cold.  I wanted to go to the sand beach, but he said we could do that Saturday.  I grilled hamburgers for brunch and put some white chili in the crockpot, then we drove in to Branson, hoping the skunk couldn't unlock the lid of the crockpot and that if he did, he would burn his stanky self!  Scott had decided to take the kids to "Ride the Ducks."  If you have never been to Branson, you probably have no idea what this means.  A "duck" is an amphibious truck.  It started in the military in WWII.  It was called a "DUKW"  Here's why (from Wikipedia):

The designation of DUKW is not a military acronym; rather, the name comes from the model naming terminology used by GMC:

• "D" indicated a vehicle designed in 1942,
• "U" meant "utility",
• "K" indicated driven front wheels,
• "W" indicated two powered rear axles.

So, Branson has these "duck" vehicles that they drive around, giving you a tour of the area and relating some history and then they take the "duck" onto the lake and drive around for a little bit.  The kids thought this was amazing.  They give everyone a "quacker"--which is an annoying little whistle-type thing that, when blown, sounds like a duck quacking.  They tell you certain times to quack it, like at another "duck" or if we believe the captain is pulling our leg, etc.  Billy was quite annoying with his quacker and gave me a headache, but he had fun.  Each of the children on the tour was given the opportunity to come up and "drive" the "duck" on the lake and have their parent take their picture.

Friday, we were going back to Silver Dollar City.  Billy and I had a talk about how now that he knows what it's like, he should be able to handle it better.  We know it's going to be loud, crowded, and overwhelming.  He understood that he had to behave or we would have to leave.  I also brought his "fidgit kit" that his occupational terapist recommended (the one I carry has gum and paper clips in it--the one he has at school also has pipe cleaners, mints instead of gum, and a squeezy ball).  He did much better Friday.

Scott had been insisting since Wednesday that we both should get motorized vehicles.  My pastor's wife had suggested that to me too when I expressed concern that I wouldn't be able to keep up.  SDC is very hilly.  But, I didn't want to use an "old lady" vehicle.  I vehemently refused.  I wanted to do it myself.  I wanted to walk and build up some endurance.  Scott protested that while that was good, the fact that I haven't been taking in enough protein to keep my energy up and that I only recently have started to be able to take in more fluids, reducing my dehydration risk, I should take it easy and not overdo it.  He ignored my protests and proclaimed that he was renting it for me anyway.  But, he didn't.  He rented one for him and I walked.  I was very proud of myself.  We were there for about seven hours.  The last hour or two, I was completely wiped and had no energy left and I took frequent rest breaks, but I was happy that I'd been able to hang in there and walk the whole park.

First we went to the farm animal petting area.  Then we rode American Plunge, which is a log ride and we got soaked.  Scott was not too happy that we were wet the first thing (remember the temperature was still not very high), but we were making our way around the park, starting at one side.  It's hard to save all the water rides for last since they are scattered around the park.  Both of us had worn denim which takes forever to dry.  The girls then decided they wanted to ride the roller coaster Wildfire, which they did TWICE.  There was an observation deck and I was able to take some pictures.  One of the other coasters was closed, so the girls were disappointed.  We all rode Fire in the Hole which was an indoor coaster.  Billy was a little scared and hung on to me tightly, but when we were done, he said, "can we do that again?"  The line was too long to do it again though.  The kids did Riverblast and then we decided to get something to eat and some souvenir drink cups that are refillable for a low price.  

I wanted a pretzel and the kids wanted nachos and across the way was pizza that Scott wanted.  I got a little cocky with my progress with digesting food and didn't take into account that the yummy pretzel was too doughy and I should eat small bites and chew slowly.  I had gotten about three bites in when I realized it wasn't going down.  I should have gotten up then, but I thought it would eventually go down since I hadn't had any regurgitation in a while.  I drank some water, hoping that would help it go down, but I think that made it worse, pouring something else on top of the traffic jam.  By the time I realized it was coming back up, it was too late.  We were sitting in the middle of a long table and had people on both sides of us.  The rows were very close together and hard to get through.  I grabbed a wad of napkins as I stood quickly and "barfed" into them.  I felt sorry for the people around us who were trying to eat their lunch as I am stumbling past, puking.  I managed to get out of there and to a nearby trashcan where I got some more of it up.  I stood there for a minute, wiping my eyes and trying to calm down.  Kimberly brought me some more napkins and my water and asked if I was all right.  I asked a nearby janitor where the closest bathroom was because I realized it wasn't over AND I also needed to use the potty.  As I sat down on the toilet, I was relieved to find a trashcan with a sack in it next to the toilet, meant for feminine products, but which I used to evacuate the rest of the pretzel.  The whole thing took about ten minutes.  My stomach muscles were sore and my eyes felt like they were bulging from the socket and I had tears streaming down my face.  I cleaned myself up and went to find my family.  If it hadn't been for the cost of the tickets and the fact that this was our last chance in the park, I would have left then because I felt awful.  I was shaking all over and couldn't bring myself to eat any more.

We went to a Cajun music show, which was nice for me to be able to sit down.  I gave Billy some gum and a paperclip to help him remain calm while we sat and did something "boring" to him.  He did fine through most of it.  The girl on stage tried to get him to come up and dance with her, but he refused.  When it was almost over, he complained that it was too loud and hurt his ears, so we left.  We went over to the Wilson's Farm area and the girls got in line to ride the barn swing.  Billy did a little frog race game and then was "milking" a fake cow.  He was almost done and he gave one last tug and I don't know if he meant to or not, but his left leg shook a little (kind of like when you rub a dog's tummy and their leg starts kicking).  The people behind me just cracked up.  Billy looked around like he couldn't figure out what was so funny.  

The barn swing was quite amusing.  The girls' faces were hysterical and with my zoom lens I was able to capture those looks of pure terror!  The girls would have loved to have ridden the new roller coaster, Outlaw, but there was a 45 minute wait, so they decided not to.  The kids and I rode the Lost River of the Ozarks.  Scott had just dried out and didn't want to get wet again, so he took pictures.  When we came around the bend, we saw him and started waving.  At just that moment, the raft dipped on my side and I got drenched by a wave.  Perfect timing!  We went over to Geyser Gulch, which is pretty much just a kid playground.  There's water guns and fountains to play in, but they have a huge "ball pit"--the kind where you shoot foam balls at each other--and climbing areas.  Scott and I sat and instructed the girls to follow Billy around.  

When we left there, we went to the Grand Exposition area.  We ate a little bit, nachos, french fries, and such.  The kids were begging off my frozen lemonade (which was much better than the other lemonade).  By that point, I had hit a wall and didn't want to do any more.  I walked ride to ride and sat.  The rides were mostly for kids: swings, baby coaster, teacups, etc.  Billy did some and the girls did some.  Scott and Billy played a basketball game and won a basketball.  At that point we were back to where we had left off on Wednesday, and I was pretty done and it was getting closer to time for the park to close, so we started heading back to the front.  The girls had missed a coaster, Thunderation, the first day, so they rode that and then we all went to Grandpa's Mansion, which was like a fun house.  When we came out, there were stairs to go back to where we were.  I couldn't do it.  I walked around a few buildings to avoid the stairs and we left.

We had planned our meals around our activities, so that if we knew we were going to be out or tired, we would eat out, but otherwise eat at the camp.  We went to Mel's Hard Luck Diner, which has singing waiters and waitresses.  The last time we were there, we saw one of the waiters that had been a contestant on American Idol, Matt Kester.  Our waitress this time was Dana Lynn Bell.  We bought one of her CD's (hard decision which one) and one of the trio that we had heard the last time, that includes Matt Kester.  Then we walked around the Grand Village Shops to the BIG CHAIR so I could take pictures of the kids.  We came across my arch-nemesis...a squirrel!  Kimberly chased it and it ran right up the wall, two stories and onto the roof!

About a mile down the road from our campgrounds is a place called Black Oak Amphitheater.  That night they were having a concert featuring Journey and Starship!  If the kids hadn't been with us, Scott and I would have been there!  We both love Journey and Starship was the first modern rock band I ever heard.  My parents listened to oldies and country and gospel, but one time I went to a friend's house when I was in maybe fourth grade and she turned on the radio and the first song I heard was "We Built This City."  When we drove back to camp, we slowed down as we passed the amphitheater, hoping to hear some good music, but we heard nothing!!!  What gives!?  We had hoped we could fall asleep to the sounds of the concert since we were so close, but with the hills, even just a mile was too far!  Bummer!

When I woke up in the morning, Scott had a proposition.  We had planned to stay until Sunday, but the girls were whiny and wanted to go home and Scott thought it would be a good idea to let them have a day to recover before school started on Monday.  I had really wanted to visit the sand beach, but knew it would be crowded on a Saturday.  And the campgrounds were crowded--we'd had some noisy neighbors that night and some kid kept running around our campsite.  Crowded campgrounds mean that the bathrooms are harder to get access to and between my intestinal woe and the girls having been sick all week, we needed immediate access to bathrooms.  Plus, I had been tired since day one.  I hated to go home early, but I was tired, dirty, itchy, and ready, so I agreed.  We broke camp and I went to the Corner Drive In to pick up some lunch and we headed home.

While I was a die hard tent camper before, I am starting to cave to my husband's desire for a camper between bugs, heat, air mattresses, length of time it takes to set up and take down camp, rain, etc.  I'm actually voting for hotels next vacation!

Nissen Fundoplication: Four Weeks Post-Op

This week, eating continued to be easier, but the appetite was lacking.  I'm beginning to wonder if they did surgery on my taste buds.  Nothing appeals, nothing sounds good.  Partly it's because I know that eating is going to cause the diarrhea.  Partly, I am sure, is that my stomach has shrunken and I'm not as hungry.  My husband has been good enough to run after anything that appeals to me, just so I will eat something.  But, once I get the food that I want, it just doesn't taste as good as I thought.  I may as well be eating cardboard.  Very few things taste good.  Yogurt, cheese, cashews, energy ball--that's about all that holds any flavor for me.  I was able to eat some pizza this week and it was okay.

Saturday, I walked the neighborhood with the kids and ate pretty good, considering.  But, Sunday started my poor appetite.

Monday was somewhat a disaster.  Anyone who knows me knows that I love Coca-Cola.  I haven't had any since my surgery.  Besides not being able to have my favorite drink, the withdrawal sometimes wreaks havoc on my migraines.  So, we were out running errands and I was thirsty.  In the last few weeks, you hardly see me without my 28 ounce hospital mug full of water.  But, I'd left it at home and was really thirsty (common occurrence these days).  So, I got a Coke at Sam's.  It tasted a little different and felt a little funny going down, but was pretty good.  About 30 minutes later, I was in excrutiating pain.  We were at Big Lots and I had horrible gas pains.  I went to the car to try to relieve it, but I ended up needing to go home and hit the bathroom.  It felt awful, so I guess I won't be touching Coke again for a while.  And next time I do, I will make sure I am home close to the bathroom just in case.

I guess this is the part of recovery that I read about, forcing yourself to eat because you know you need to, not because you feel like it.

We've been running errands and I've been working all week getting us ready for our camping vacation and I have been totally worn out.  I hope I can relax some during our trip.  Between my fatigue and the forecast of rain, I almost wish for a hotel room rather than camping, but I will try to keep up with the family as best I can.

Nissen Fundoplication: 3 weeks post-op

This week started off bad but has ended up pretty good.

Friday, I tried eating some cheese to combat the diarrhea, since yogurt and rice and applesauce and Fiber One bars and Imodium wasn't helping.  The cheese didn't help.  I was getting tired of food with no flavor so I tried some tuna and put some squirt cheese on my crackers.  Yum.

Saturday brought more cheese, applesauce, Fiber One bars, and yogurt and then I added an energy ball.  I got the recipe from Facebook--it contains peanut butter, honey, oats, chocolate chips, and ground flaxseed.  Thought that would add even more fiber, but the diarrhea continued.

Sunday, I was really starting to feel the dehydration.  I was getting dizzy, especially getting up from a sitting position, had a headache, my muscles ached, and occasionally I felt my heart racing.  So, decided to do only fluids all day.  I drank water, a little bit of grape and apple juices, Boost, and broth.  I wasn't even hungry.  I felt really drained, so I laid on the couch most of the day.  My BFF came by with her children to visit (they moved quite a ways away).  We had planned on going out for lunch, but her plans changed, so I went home after church and laid down and started my fluids day.  They came over later.  I wasn't much company since I felt horrible and was grumpy.  But, it was good to see her.  She recently had bariatric surgery and understands.

Monday, my husband (a paramedic) came home from work with two IV bags, just in case he needed to get me rehydrated.  I decided to try to take my enzymes.  I used to use this powdered enzyme in my Sunny D to help with diarrhea (I have chronic diarrhea.  Working diagnosis is IBS, but my gastroenterologist wants to investigate it further once the other end is taken care of).  Then I started taking a capsule called Digestzyme before my meals to help.  However, it's a large capsule and there's no way I could get it down.  So, I decided on the powder.  I had been avoiding citrus, per suggestions I read online, but Sunny D is the only thing that seems to work well with the powder.  So, I had some of that first thing and it didn't seem to help immediately.  I made crockpot white chili for my family for dinner.  It smelled so good and I wanted it so bad!  But, it has two different kinds of beans in it, so I was sure that wouldn't be a good idea.  So, I took out a chunk of chicken and ate that.  It was so good, I ate it too fast and I felt it stuck and thought I was going to regurgitate it, but I managed to get it down.

Tuesday, I didn't eat much, but we did go out to eat.  For dinner, I talked them into IHOP because I could get scrambled eggs and yummy Cinn-a-stack pancakes.  Then after that, we went to a park by a lake and had a good time.  The great news was that I didn't have any diarrhea for the first time since I came home from the hospital!!!

Wednesday, I took the enzymes again.  I took the kids to to mall because Kimberly had birthday money she wanted to spend and her birthday was literally a month ago.  I also knew I needed to start doing some walking and build up some stamina before vacation.  I was worried though since I am constantly thirsty and concerned about diarrhea.  I had to stop several times to sit and rest because I was tired and sweating, but I made it.  I had thought about taking a walk around the neighborhood that evening, but I was pretty tired and I had to run Arrena back and forth to church, so I decided not to.  For the second day in a row, I didn't have diarrhea!  Progress!  So different from Sunday, only three days prior!

Thursday, more enzymes and yogurt and such.  I barbecued burgers for my family and was able to eat half of one.  I don't know when it happened, but I am able to drink more than just a few sips and I seem to be able to eat a little faster than I was.  I even ate some cashews.  I was hesitant because nuts usually cause me more diarrhea, but they tasted so good.  They didn't lose their flavor after chewing them thoroughly.  We ran some errands, so I was out walking and in and out for most of the afternoon, which wore me out.  I had a semi-solid BM and then more diarrhea.

I've been freaking the kids out with the internal stitches that have worked their way to the surface, making them touch it and totally grossing Arrena out by pulling on it!  I have one sticking out that is a loop.  I was able to pull one out, but the other three that I see are still a little too uncomfortable if I pull on them too much.

I am so happy and thankful that I seem to be making progress.  I am going to continue to try walking and maybe some exercising to build up my endurance.  We are contemplating two days of Silver Dollar City during our camping vacation, so I need to get ready for that.  At this point all that walking in the heat scares me.  Plus, worrying about diarrhea.  Praying the progress continues!

Nissen Fundoplication, Two Weeks Post-op

This week has not been as good as I had hoped it would be.

Friday, I ate a creamy peanut butter and toast sandwich.  Creamy PB and toast were on the soft diet list, but I guess I must not have chewed it up good enough and I ended up regurgitating it.  It took quite a bit to get it up and hurt pretty good.  My husband may not call it puking, but it feels worse than actual puking.  The only blessing is that there isn't any stomach acid mixed in with it to make it taste so nasty.

The next day, Saturday, Nurse Ratchet and Dr. Ratchet (what my husband called himself and his mother) decided to take over my care and put me on a strict every six hour regimen of Tylenol and decided to watch what I eat, to make sure I am not eating anything that would cause further gas or diarrhea and add Fiber One bars to my diet.  I was worried that would cause more gas and diarrhea, but they said I needed more fiber.  I took two gelcap Tylenols and felt them get stuck, which was painful, until they eventually went down.

Sunday, I started breaking my Tylenol tablets in half and taking the halves a few minutes apart to make sure they went down.  I also found that I wasn't able to drink as well as I had been.  Anything more than a few sips and I felt it painfully backing up.  I started to wonder if I had injured myself with the regurgitation.

Monday, I started eating yogurt.  Even though I am lactose intolerant, we thought it would help with the diarrhea which has been increasingly worse.  The chief nursing officer from the hospital called after hearing from my surgeon about the problems we had.  She wanted to hear directly from us what happened, so I told her about the miscommunication and about not having a phone in my room and even about the nurse that stabbed the shot into my stomach.  She promised to take care of all of it.  At dinner, I ate part of a cheeseburger and regurgitated it.

Tuesday, I called the surgeon's office and told them how much trouble I have been having even drinking fluid and taking meds.  I was starting to worry about dehydration with the diarrhea and not being able to take in as much fluids.  They got me in that afternoon.  I had lost 2.6 more pounds since my appointment last Thursday.  He ordered a barium swallow test to see what's going on in there.  He said he hasn't had patients make backward progress before.  I didn't eat much Tuesday.  I haven't been eating much anyways, but even less than my new norm.

Wednesday, I went first thing to have my barium swallow.  They started with a thin version of the barium and had me take a few sips.  That seemed to go well, so they had me swallow those Pop Rock-type things that expand air in the esophagus.  Then they had me drink thicker barium--the consistency of paint.  I felt so uncomfortable as it all backed up.  Then they asked me to swallow a barium pill, which went down and then sat there and wouldn't go through into the stomach, showing just how tight the opening to my stomach is.  They couldn't tell if it was from swelling or just wrapped too tightly.  I felt a little hungrier and ate a bit more than usual.  My tummy was so upset though.  I couldn't stay out of the bathroom and the gas was so bad.  My stomach rumbled so loud and it was so painful.  I feel such pronounced movement in my abdomen that if I didn't know any better, I'd think I had a 7 month fetus kicking me in there.

Thursday (today), I wore myself out, running errands and feeling awful.  I went back to see my surgeon.  He said that he would like to wait until my six week check and see how things are then because he'd rather not do a balloon dilation when I am still healing, wait until things are more normal.  So, then he mentioned a feeding tube, which I immediately vetoed.  I hope I never have to do that because it totally freaks me out and after the esophageal manometry, my freaking was justified.  He said to really push the fluids and if I started to get dehydrated, they might have to top me off with some IV fluid.  I went home and regurgitated some crackers.  I'm tired of feeling yucky.

My incisions are healing up well.  They were really itchy, but that seems to have subsided for the most part.  Occasionally, I move funny and hurt one of the incisions, but otherwise, they are doing great.  It's hard because outwardly, I am healing well, but internally...not so much.  I am tired a lot, probably because I'm not able to eat and drink enough.  I am trying to do more, a few household chores and some errands, but I feel totally wiped out afterwards.

I did research before I had the surgery, but I don't remember reading anything about having trouble getting liquids and meds down.  We go camping for our family vacation in about two weeks.  I just hope I can enjoy myself and that I won't be too much of a downer to my family.

Nissen Fundoplication, one week post-op

I've been having trouble with acid reflux or GERD for a couple of years now.  I have tried every medicine on the market to help it and nothing works.  I have followed all the suggestions for combating acid reflux.  It has gotten so bad that I have to sleep sitting up in the recliner.  If I don't sleep sitting up, I have aspirated several times on the stomach acid, which I can assure you is extremely painful and scary.

Several months back, my doctor sent me to a gastroenterologist who recommended a nissen fundoplication  surgery, following an EGD.  The EGD showed some gastritis and a small hiatal hernia, but the big news came from the Bravo monitor that they installed in my esophagus.  It relayed info to a pager-like device I had to keep near me.  Then after a few days, it detaches and passes through your system.  It was a really weird feeling, but it recorded 233 reflux incidents in less than two days.  And I thought it was a relatively minor sampling.  The nurses said that my GI is never impressed and this impressed him.  So, he referred me to a surgeon that specializes in this procedure.

That surgeon told me that I was too overweight for the surgery and that if he did it, the surgery would come undone because of the pressure in my abdomen.  He recommended a gastric bypass.  I definitely did not want that.  For one, I don't think it's natural and couldn't imagine the major lifestyle change that would entail. For two, my weight problem has nothing to do with overeating--it's about what kind of food I eat and the amount of exercise I get.  And three, I haven't heard many good things about that kind of surgery.  Even if I had wanted that, my insurance doesn't pay for it.  So, I went after a second opinion from the surgeon who took out my gall bladder two years ago.

I had to have one further test to be sure I was a good candidate for surgery, an esophageal manometry, which I blogged about prior.  That came out okay, so my surgery date was scheduled.

I went into the hospital last Wednesday for some preliminary bloodwork and got preregistration all taken care of.  Then Thursday, I checked in to the hospital at 10:30 am, with my procedure due to begin at 12:30. I have no idea why I needed to be there that early because it took forever for them to call me back.  I think it was at least noon before they came to get me.  Then it was over an hour waiting back in pre-op.  They had me go to the bathroom, got me into a gown, asked me lots of redundant questions, got me hooked up to an IV, brought Scott back, and left me to wait.  When I was changing, they gave me some mesh underwear since I was on my "cycle".  It was apparently made for someone a lot smaller than me.  They were nearly impossible to pull up, so I pulled on the legs and heard a "RRRRIP!" and then I was wearing a mesh miniskirt.  Oops.  Pair number two was treated a little more gingerly.  When I complained about them cutting off the circulation to my legs, Scott found some scissors and did a little creative cutting, making them "hicuts".  Scott found a surgical marker in the drawer and we joked about writing on my arms and legs, "keep this" and "don't cut here" or writing on my thighs and butt, "suck out as much as you like!"  Finally about 1:15 or so, they came to take me back and shot me with some meds in the IV that made my hand hurt so much I thought it would fall off.  They already had a bag of antibiotics up, ready to prevent any infections--I thought that was strange.  The only things I remember after that was seeing the robotic arms that they were using to perform the surgery and scooting from the bed I was on to a table.  I really wanted to see this robot.  My daughter Arrena was really freaked out by the idea of a robot-assisted operation.  If my mind wasn't too clouded by meds to be objective, it reminded me somewhat of Doc Ock from Spiderman.

I woke up in recovery.  I usually hate recovery because they are so pushy and I just want to go back to sleep and be left alone.  They weren't too pushy, though.  I barely opened my eyes, so most of my memory of recovery was what I heard.  The first thing I remember was saying that I needed to urinate.  They told me that I had had a catheter and so I didn't need to go, but that taking it out probably made me think I did.  I was as alarmed as I could be in that state because no one had said anything about a catheter.  I am betting that they hadn't intended to since it was initially supposed to be a two hour procedure and ended up being around four hours.  I was a little anxious about this since I was on my "monthly cycle".  My throat was sore from the  breathing tube, which is normal, but I had high hopes after the awesome anesthesiologist I had for my gall bladder surgery.  I heard them talking about which room they were taking me to and it seemed it changed about three times before they decided on one.  I also heard them talking about trying to find my husband and the family of another patient and saying that they hadn't found either.  They told me I would be able to call my husband's cell phone when I got up to my room.

When I got to my room, the orderly remarked that there wasn't a phone in my room.  I also noticed that it was 6:15, five hours after they had taken me back to surgery.  When the nurse came in, I asked her to call my husband.  She did and the call connected, but the reception was bad so they couldn't hear each other.  I was really anxious about finding him.  The next thing I needed was ice for my throat, which they obliged me with.  When she came in again, I said that he'd had a pager.  She said they couldn't page him from there, but she would try to find someone downstairs to page him.  Apparently he was having a hard time downstairs.  He had asked about me about three hours into the surgery and they told him they still had two and a half hours to go.  Then he couldn't find anyone to tell him anything.  They had given us a paper telling the family what to expect.  It had a number on it to call, so he tried calling that, but just got voicemail.  He found another number to call and finally found out where I was and got to my room about 7:30pm.  Poor guy!  Over six hours, not knowing what was going on!  As soon as the nurse came in, he requested that they locate the house supervisor.  She came up pretty quickly and Scott told her the whole story.  She took down notes and apologized and promised to look into the problem and have someone come talk to us in the morning.

7:00 is shift change there, so I got a new nurse right away.  He was my favorite nurse the whole time I was in there.  I asked him where he was from because he had an interesting accent and he said, "Kenya.  Guess I should have said Lenexa, though."  He asked me about a billion questions, again all redundant.  He threw in a nonsense question, just to make sure I was still listening since I had been saying, "yes" for so long.  When the female tech came in, I asked her to help me into the bathroom because I desperately wanted some underwear on.  Getting out of bed was an ordeal since I was hooked up to an IV and also was wearing floaties (inflatables) on my legs to prevent blood clots.  I had to go to the bathroom every two hours between the IV fluid and the ice and water I was drinking, so every two hours, I had to call the nurse in to unhook me and help me out of bed and to the bathroom and then hook me back up afterwards.  Relieving myself was an ordeal in itself.  I felt the urge, but once I got in there, I had to squeeze and squeeze to get it to come out.  It sometimes took ten minutes to get it all out.  The nurse said that was normal, though I don't remember having this happen with any of my other surgeries.

They gave me fentanyl for painkiller in my IV and I was loving that stuff.  Made me totally loopy and floaty and immediately sleepy.  The problem was how fast it wore off.  The morning nurse started giving me two lortab 5s to make sure I could get by on that since that was what I would be going home with.  After that, I only asked for IV meds once more.  The nurse also gave me a shot of something in the stomach to prevent blood clots.  I was a little nervous about that, but it didn't hurt.  They brought me a breakfast of French toast.  I was surprised because I was under the impression that I would be on a liquid diet for a while, so I didn't eat it.  When the room service guy came back, I asked him about it and he said he had me down as on a soft diet.

My surgeon came in late morning and asked about my eating and said that he'd like me to stay another day until I was able to eat something solid.  He said that the reason that surgery went so long was because my anatomy had made it difficult--for example, they had to keep lifting my liver out of the way.  He said for that reason, I would probably be quite sore for a while.

My husband needed a break, so the moms brought the kids up to visit after they ate lunch and my mom stayed with me while my husband went home with everyone else to take a nap.  I nibbled on soup and an egg salad sandwich, just to make them happy, but I didn't feel like eating much.  Plus, I thought it was dumb that they were giving me gas-causing foods and feeding me with a straw that introduces air into your system.  I decided to eat the bare minimum to get out of there and then create my own diet based on my research and how I felt when I got home.  Dinner was some sort of tasteless fish, fried potatoes with skin-on (hello?  hard to digest!), and some green beans that were so hard to chew that my mom couldn't eat them with her dentures--yes, I passed off most of my food to her so it a) would not go to waste and b) would look like I has eaten more than I had.  Since I was taking in fluids and able to go to the bathroom okay, they unhooked my IV.  I slept off and on the rest of the day.  I finally turned on the TV for the first time.  Up to that point, I just wanted to sleep and eat ice and go to the bathroom.  The nurse also helped me get into the shower.  My husband came up later for a few hours, but went home to sleep since I was doing well.

The nurse the next morning came in to give me my belly shot and literally stabbed it into me!  OW!  I was expecting a tiny poke like the one the day before, but she was so violent with it, my stomach muscles involuntarily contracted, making it worse.  I still have a bruise on my belly from it.  I nibbled some scrambled eggs for breakfast, but still didn't feel like eating--it was painful and made me feel bloated and uncomfortable while I was digesting.  The on-call doctor came in and told  me that I could go home, so we waited for the nurse to get everything together so I could leave.  They delivered a lunch of pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, mushrooms, etc.  I nibbled a little bit of it, but before I had too much time with it, the nurse came in and said I could go when I wanted to.  So, I got dressed, Scott gathered up my stuff and the nurse wheeled me out.

I went home and went to sleep.  I had been trying to sleep all morning but every time I would doze off, someone new would come in the room: shift change--new nurse, nurse's tech, doctor, room service guy, someone from the respiratory department, etc.  I went back to mostly liquids.  I had some chicken noodle soup that evening.  The next day, I ate mostly liquids and mashed potatoes and crackers.  Since it was Sunday, my husband tried to talk me into going to church with the rest of the family, but I did not feel like getting out the day after I got home from the hospital.  I didn't even feel like getting dressed, though I did shower.  I was finally able to start going to the bathroom without having to work at it as much as I had been.  Around bedtime, I stated having chills and body aches.  My husband said I was slightly warm (kids have lost all thermometers in the house).  My mother-in-law asked me if I was doing my breathing exercises and I hadn't been.  So, I started doing them again and I felt much better in the morning.

Monday was pretty much the same.  Tuesday, my mother-in-law thought maybe I could handle a cheeseburger since ground beef is pretty much already chewed anyway.  I decided to split a happy meal with Billy since he wanted a PB&J.  He would take the drink, apples, and toy and I would take the baby-sized fries and the cheeseburger.  However, they messed up the order and gave us chicken nuggets.  The coating was a little rough, so I decided not to try it.  While my baby boy likes to strip the coating off his nuggets before he eats them (OCD, I think), I do not care for naked chicken.  So, I slowly and carefully chewed the tiny order of fries and did okay with that.  For dinner, the moms and the kids were having Applebee's, so I ordered a cheeseburger and ate about half of it, chewing thoroughly.  It kind of takes the joy out of eating because I have to chew things so much that I chew the flavor right out of it.  This is really going to reteach me about eating.  By the time this is over, I will be reprogrammed to eat to survive instead of enjoying food.  Maybe a good thing, but not really what I had bargained for.  I tried to spend more time sitting in the living room with the family instead of in my bedroom recliner either napping or watching TV, per my husband's request.  He thought the more I was up, the faster I would heal.  When I went to bed, I decided to try sleeping in the bed, instead of the recliner where I had been sleeping for I don't know how long.  And I tried sleeping on my stomach.  While it was difficult to get comfortable and I woke up fully to change positions since I am hyper aware of my stomach soreness and I was a little more sore when I woke up, it was nice to be able to sleep in my bed and to sleep in my favorite position.  Since I left the hospital, I have been having trouble sleeping.  I guess it is probably due to sleeping too much the first few days and being uncomfortable.  I stopped taking my narcotics during the day on the second day home and only take them at night (only use Aleve during the day).  I used to be knocked out with a Lortab 7.5, but taking two 5s isn't making me the slightest bit sleepy.  Tuesday night I had a horrible time sleeping even though I took a sleeping aid.

Wednesday, the moms were going home, so they wanted to have a final lunch together before they left.  My hubby chose Chinese and we tried to figure out something that I could eat, since I am pretty picky about Chinese food.  I love crab rangoon and they thought I should be able to tackle that fairly easily.  I think I was too caught up in the social aspect of lunch (so hard to concentrate on eating when meals are social by nature in our culture) and wasn't paying attention to chewing carefully.  I got about 2/3 of the way through one crab rangoon and realized that it was stuck.  And it hurt.  A lot.  I sat back suddenly and tried to lean back to give more room for digestion (my mother-in-law suggested that I go "recline" for a while in my room following meals so I could digest because after solid foods, I was a bit uncomfortable for a little while).  The kids were alarmed and I excused myself to go to my bedroom recliner.   I sat there for just a bit when I suddenly retched.  I had grabbed a handful of tissues and spit into them, then called for help.  My mother-in-law came to my rescue and got a trashcan for me as I began to clean myself up.  The crab rangoon had dislodged and come up.  They called it "regurgitation" as opposed to "vomiting" although it felt much the same except it hurt more and was somewhat scarier.  At least there was no stomach acid with it, so it didn't taste horrific coming up.  That scared me quite a bit and I began trying to make sure I chewed everything thoroughly.

I was getting depressed.  For one, the moms were leaving and that meant that I would have to be doing more as the mom of the house.  And also, it was nice to have my mommy there when I didn't feel well and my mother-in-law who is a very experienced nurse, having spent fifteen years of her nursing career doing post-op nursing.  While I like being babied and having an excuse to sit and not do any work and their leaving signaled that I would have to start doing more and more, I was suddenly anxious to be back to normal.  While I had somewhat prepared myself for a lengthy recovery, it suddenly sank in that this was vastly different from the surgeries and procedures I have had in the past.  While I am recovering quickly from the six laparoscopic incisions, my internal anatomy is different than it was before and is taking some getting used to.  Then I wondered how long things will be like this and how long til I can eat normally.  I was feeling pretty down about it.

Thursday came and I was due for a one-week post-op check by my surgeon.  I hadn't been out since I came home from the hospital Saturday and it felt a little strange driving myself to the appointment, since I still didn't feel so well.  But, it was good medicine to get outside and breathe the fresh air and see the sun.  It lifted my spirits considerably.  The surgeon said that my incisions looked good and I was free to get in the tub or the pool.  He asked me how eating was going.  When I told him about the incident the previous day, he said that it would likely get better in a week or two.  He wants to see me back in six weeks.  He said that obviously they tightened up the opening to my stomach, but that it should stretch some on its own.  If it doesn't, they may have to stick a balloon down there to stretch it.  Doesn't sound like fun at all.  I asked him if it was normal for me to have difficulty drawing a deep breath.  He said that since they had been working around my diaphragm, that was normal and that my lungs sounded clear.  We talked about the miscommunication at the hospital and he jotted down some notes to speak to the chief nursing officer himself.  They weighed me and I was down 5 pounds since surgery, 21 pounds total since I started my Weight Watchers diet a couple of months ago.  I was surprised at my weight in the hospital because for the weeks prior to surgery, I ate whatever I wanted to since I knew certain things wouldn't be allowed post-op for a while.

After the doctor's appointment, I picked up McDonald's for the family and ate a cheeseburger over the course of two meals.  I'm eating several small meals throughout the day, as opposed to three large meals.  Since I can't eat a lot of the things that my family is eating, my meals don't seem to disrupt them very much.  For dinner, my husband got Popeye's chicken and I had mashed potatoes and then tried a biscuit.  I got about halfway through it and realized it wasn't going down and thought I was going to regurgitate it again.  I managed to get it down, but I was pretty much done for the night.  I have realized that I not only have to chew things thoroughly, but I also have to eat slowly and pause between bites to give the food a chance to get into the stomach before I go on to the next bite.  This makes eating a lengthy process for me, so I don't eat much even if I am feeling hungry (which I usually am not) because it takes too long and the food is cold before I get done.

In other news, while my incisions are healing, it is causing supreme itching of my abdomen, so I am slathering it with lotion or putting ice packs on it to control the itch.  I have a couple of large blood blisters near my incisions that my mother-in-law called "instrument bites"--my surgeon tried to tell me that it was from the tape causing skin irritation!  My stomach rumbles a lot and every time I move around, I belch over and over and over.  I meant to ask the doctor how long I can expect that to last, but I forgot.  I had thought I might have problems with my bowels since I was taking narcotics which cause constipation, so the day I arrived home, I took a stool softener.  But, the next day I had diarrhea and have had it ever since.  This is not totally uncommon with me since I have IBS, but somehow, though I can't put my finger on it, it's different.  I am hoping that my next report will be full of good news!