Jack's Surgery

I may as well state the obvious. I've been away from the blogosphere for a long time. What happened, you ask? Well, Facebook for one. I got sucked in and it's easy, immediate and permits you to post not much more than quick sound bites. Perfect, in other words, for a working mom with two busy boys. Which brings me to the second thing that happened. T-ball! I'll post about that another day (go ahead and snicker, it's Ok!), but Michael and I had the pleasure of being a T-ball coach and T-ball Team Mom respectively for Jack's team this past Spring. And man oh man...were we BUSY! It was a lot of fun and a lot of work. But as I said, more on that later.

As many of you know, our little Bubbers got quite sick this past month and had his first (and pray to God last!) surgery. He got sick at Papa Floyd's and Grandma Diane's during a Friday night sleep over, but not sick enough to want to come home (after all, he was at Papa and Grandma's!). By the next morning, Grandma thought he had a fever and he was still throwing up, so we drove to Auburn to pick him up. We all thought he had a nasty little flu bug that was hitting some of his cousins. He threw up for a solid day and had a low-grade fever. By Sunday, he had stopped throwing up but he said his tummy hurt. You can see in the picture that our little guy just didn't feel very good.


So, we took him to the doctor first thing Monday morning, and Dr. Dresser thought the virus might have settled in his intestines and caused an infection, but didn't think it was appendicitis because Jack didn't have the "standard" symptoms (which, as an aside, I no longer believe exist). So, we took him home with orders to watch for a high fever and the vomiting to resume, which never happened. The doctor also said we should see his appetite improve and his activity level start to get better, which did happen...but mostly, I think in hindsight, because of Jack's sheer determination.

By the following Thursday, Jack was walking like an old man and said his back hurt, so Friday morning we were back in Dr. Dresser's office. He barely palpated Jack's tummy and Jack started to cry and scream. So we were ordered to the emergency room post haste. We went to Mercy Hospital in Folsom, where they took his blood and did an ultrasound within two hours. The ultrasound showed that his appendix had perforated (a fancy way of saying burst) and formed an abscess, but interestingly he had no fever and his white blood cell count was completely normal. They called the surgeon in and it took a couple of hours for him to arrive, but when he got there he got Jack into surgery within an hour.


Jack did great during surgery. It turns out, the lining in his abdominal cavity had created a protective little pocket around the appendix and contained the infection. It was pretty bad, but clearly God was taking good care of our baby.


Friday night and Saturday were kind of rough. By Sunday, Jack was starting to play a little with his Star Wars characters.




By Monday, he was walking around....




And chatting with his big brother...



And asking for a hamburger and french fries...(which he only ate a bite or two of, but hey! That was huge!)



And ready to go home!

We were so happy to bring Jack home. My birthday was two days later and having him home and on his way to recovery was the best birthday present *ever!*

He's still healing, but thanks to God's love and care, he's doing a lot better. We'll keep you all posted!

Keeping the memories, not the clutter...

I have a hard time letting things go. Things are memories, after all. How fun is it to go through an old box stuffed in the corner of the garage (attic or cellar) and rediscover people and places from times gone by? Pretty fun, at least to me.

Ironically, as much as I love things and the sweet memories they bring, I cannot stand clutter. I don't have a lot of knick knacks in my house. I get antsy and irritable when piles of things spring up here, there and everywhere. I'm not the most "organized" of lasses, mind you. I don't have a quaint little spot for every little thing, but I must keep the clutter at bay or my mind gets hazy and I begin to short-circuit.

Add my love of things and my intolerance of clutter together with a small house and you can see that I have a bit of a conundrum on my hands. So, I have learned how to purge, as painful as it may be. The hardest things to part with are the toys, clothes and other things that remind me of when my boys were little and the milestones they enjoyed. And then...it dawned on me. Why not just snap a picture and save the memory electronically instead of stuffed away in my garage!

Which brings me to the pictures below. Both Jack and Wyatt enjoyed romping around in their black cowboy boots. These were Jack's. He spent many hours pretending to be Captain Ahab, Jack Sparrow and assorted other heros in these boots. So darn cute. And Wyatt just loved his Converse sneakers. He felt (and looked) so cool riding his bike, playing football, and riding his scooter up and down in these big boy shoes. Two pairs of shoes, alot of memories, and feet that got too big. What to do? I wanted to stuff them in a box so I'd never forget. Instead, I took a picture and passed them along.

Digital memories; almost as good as the dusty box in the corner. Almost.

Wyatt's Buds...

Wyatt, Maka, Nick, Levi and Ethan

Boys. I'm surrounded by them and I wouldn't have it any other way.  Wyatt turned 9 in October and this is what he wanted: his best buds over for a game of football, a big pile of beef ribs for dinner, and a sleep-over, complete with sleeping bags and the movie Jaws.  Yup, Jaws.  That gave me pause (hehehe, rhyme intended), but all the moms gave the movie the thumbs up so Wyatt was set.

The boys lined up in their jerseys (not wanting to be the odd men out, Nick eventually gave up his Giants jersey for a Cowboys one and Levi was willing to risk his Redskins loving Dad seeing him sporting one, too) and then played a rousing game of football.  Two hours later they polished off a huge plate of ribs.

 

Good food, good friends, fun times. What more could a nine-year-old boy need?