Memory Lane has a lot of Potholes

Posted on by tenaciouscee

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My husband has been on a photo kick lately. He has been digging up lots of old pictures and videos from when the kids were much younger. While many of the images have been wonderful to see, they have also stirred up emotions that I had mistakenly thought were buried.

The single recurring theme in every photo?… GFY autism.

The above photo was taken at my daughter’s first and last ballet recital. It was held on a stage at the local community college. We had third row seats. It should have been an incredible experience but thanks to (GFY)autism, what I remember most is the pain.

The pain my little boy felt in his ears from the loud music.

The pain he felt in his eyes from the flashing lights.

The pain he felt in his body from the show lasting nearly two hours beyond his bedtime.

The pain I felt in my heart because I had to abandon my coveted third row seat at my sweet girl’s ballet debut in favor of a seat in the last row of the theater to shield my baby boy from the sensory overload. I sat, rocking in the last row, with his ears squished between my chest and my arm while covering his eyes with my other arm to help him endure the seemingly endless torture.

Yes. I was selfish.
I refused to leave the theater.
And yes, I still have guilt about that but my daughter needed me there.

That was just the beginning of the endless internal mama battle of what’s right for one child is so NOT right for the other….

My daughter was beautiful. She was graceful. She was HILARIOUS! (At one point in another class’ performance, she darted diagonally across the stage to run to us in the audience. The entire audience “awwwwwwed”) It was pretty darn adorable. We had a bouquet of miniature pink roses waiting for her for after her performance. We had hoped to take her out for ice cream afterwards. We hope for a lot of things that just never seem to pan out thanks to (GFY)autism.

We SHOULD have been able to linger afterwards with her friends and join the celebration. We SHOULD have been able to stick around for the socializing and the photos. We didn’t realize at the time we were a group of five, not four. Our little tribe consisted of myself, my husband, my daughter, my son, and that invisible but ever present bastard (GFY)autism.

Some days, I really want to meet that effer in a back alley with a lead pipe.

Not Quite Closure

Posted on by tenaciouscee

Fourteen hours from now, my mother will have been dead for ten years exactly.

As I write this, I’m smack dab in the middle of a full on panic attack. And it sucks.

I had planned, for YEARS, to take her ashes to Atlantic City for a last hurrah and then sprinkle them in the Atlantic.

Why there?

Well, if you’ve read my page “Vicious Cycle” you’d know that my mom and I did not have a good relationship. We barely spoke without fighting, or snarling, or judging the other one very harshly. She was emotionally, mentally, and physically abusive and I hated her for that. Just because SHE had been abused, it doesn’t excuse her from what she did to me just because she claimed she “didn’t know any better”. I didn’t know any better and I’d sooner put myself through a wall before I’d lay a hand on my kids or say anything that would make them feel badly about themselves.

When she had cancer that was ravaging her body, I just wanted an apology. Some form of closure so I could just forgive her and let go.

I needed an apology that just never came.

Whatever.

She’s gone ten years now. I’ve moved on. Through parenting my own children the way I so desperately wanted to be parented, I’ve healed.

I’ve forgiven

I’ve never forgotten.

That’s why tomorrow was such an important day for me. One that I had looked forward to for so long.
You see, while the majority of our time together was rancid and toxic, every now and then we’d have a good moment. One that made us both smile and even laugh together.

We experienced such a day in between her second breast cancer and her lung cancer, the illness that ultimately did her in.

One day we went to Atlantic City together. We took the bus down with the senior citizens and sat in a comfortable silence. We played the slots, blackjack, and had an enormous buffet lunch. We walked the boardwalk arm in arm, slowly, talking like girlfriends, enjoying the warmth of the sun on our faces.

When we embarked on our bus journey home, we giggled that we could tell who won and who lost by the assorted complaints from the other passengers.

It was one of the happiest memories I have of my time as my mother’s daughter so I’m really sad that my plan to scatter her ashes tomorrow just isn’t going to work out. I had several medical procedures this week that left me feeling just too weak and miserable for a trip that long.

It will happen. Eventually. Just not tomorrow.

However… Today I give both of us a gift.

I forgive you, Mom. And I forgive myself for holding on to my bitterness towards you for our challenging relationship.

Today, I free us both from that misery and wish that you are finally at peace.

Below is a photo of another of the best memories I have with my mother. It was taken when she gave me away at my wedding.

Tomorrow I will wake up, blow a kiss towards the sky, and wish her a happy anniversary. Someone who lived such a tragic and painful life deserves that much.

I guess I do love you mom. And I probably always will.

Happy anniversary in Heaven. I hope you are finally proud of me.

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Bounce

Posted on by tenaciouscee

Where oh where do I start with this???
I guess I’ll begin with last week. I had a pretty invasive medical procedure that left me pretty bruised inside and out. Recovering from it wasn’t going as smoothly as I had hoped. I had called my boss to tell her that there was just no way I would make it into work today ( which if you knew how much I LOVE my job, you also know how much I despise missing even one day of it). Anyway, I was feeling so physically rotten that despite my excitement about auditioning for a show called “Listen To Your Mother”, I regretfully had to cancel that too. Amazingly enough, one of the lovely producers emailed me that she had a spot open for the morning that I should have stayed in bed. I opted to go and just try. I mean, if I could give my mother’s eulogy a decade ago all while spouting breast milk down my shirt and maintaining my composure, I could certainly do this, right?!?
Um… As it turns out. No. No. I. Could. Not. Not well, anyway. But more on that in a second.

My husband, my biggest cheerleader, chose to take the later train into the city so that I wouldn’t have to travel alone. As we sat next to one another I realized that the last time we had ridden the train with one another was 9/12. Yes. That year but one day after. I was about 6 months pregnant at the time and I had to go into the city because my mother needed some very expensive cancer medication that was only partly filled at the pharmacy the week before. I had no other choice. She needed her medicine and we had to go and get it. Period. It was a surreal and terrifying experience. One that had seared itself into my memory.

So back to today, we rode the train in together and as the train rocked back and forth, my head was spinning in circles. I was experiencing chills like I had never known but with no fever. I knew I should not be doing this today but I just HAD to…
Hubby and I parted ways, he headed towards work and I headed towards something I had never in a million years imagined I would do. I walked a few blocks north to the building where the auditions were being held. I entered the sixteenth floor where the studio was and realized I was in WAY over my head. There were actors and actresses everywhere, warming up for their own auditions in an adjacent studio. I messaged my dear friend Alysia and rhetorically asked “WTH have I gotten myself into?”!? There were some seasoned public speakers who had auditions just before me. I couldn’t help eavesdropping on their conversations and I knew that I was so inexperienced but yet, still surprisingly not nervous. Until they called me into the studio, that is.
I stood up and my inner clutz took the wheel and steered me into the room. It wasn’t pretty. My purse and my coat refused to cooperate and stay seated on the chair. ( why do they always do that when you’re trying to make a good impression? It’s like….they KNOW and are out to get you, right? C’mon. Agree. You know it’s true).
Anyway, the two lovely producers and I introduced ourselves and when I was asked how I heard about the LTYM show, I mentioned that two of our mutual friends had told me about it and encouraged me to go for it. So I did….
Well, let’s just say that my life philosophy is if you are going to do something, give it your ALL! Be the best you that you can be. I discovered I am EXTRAORDINARY ….at crashing and burning. We’re talking EPIC train wreck here. I ROCKED the awful! I doubt anyone was worse and auditioning than I was in the history of the show! I guess I kept to my philosophy. I was the best WORST I could be! If nothing else, my bad was memorable, I’m fairly sure. I mean when you’re sharing audition space and someone starts singing “In The Arms Of An Angel…” by Sarah McLachlin at the very start of you reading an emotional piece, you just HAVE to crumble into a blubbering mess. I mean, its the background song on every sad ASPCA commercial that is on TV in the late hours every night so losing my stuffing was kind of mandatory. Between the 9/11 memories, feeling horrible, and that insanely sad song playing just as I started speaking, I just knew it was over before it had even started.

But ya know something? It’s really ok. I tried. Granted, I failed with the flair that only a true professional flop could fail, but I still tried. I had a wonderful opportunity to meet two women that I only knew from the blog world and twitter and they were truly kind, compassionate, PATIENT ladies. It was really ok. And I WILL try again. Because I’m a little bit nuts like that.
As I attempted, poorly, to pull myself together and get myself and all of my junk out of the room without dropping anything, I realized that I just needed to get myself back to my doctor’s office immediately.
I called as soon as I exited the studio and scheduled an appointment for early this afternoon. Physically, I have felt worse, but not by much.
As I dropped onto my seat on the train, dizzy and queasy, I just couldn’t help but LAUGH. Seriously, I have never messed anything up so badly before in my life as I did that audition. Oddly, I had a silly pride in the fact that I wasn’t just bad. It was GOD-AWFUL. And knowing it was probably the worst audition in the history of time just make me laugh even more. As I sat there, looking like a crazy person sitting alone and giggling, I happened to take notice of a lady across the row from me. She was unwrapping some really lovely scarves and happened to have dozens of them. I knew at that moment that I just HAD to have a memento of this ridiculous day. I asked her if she was selling them. She looked kind of bewildered and asked if I wanted to buy one. Of COURSE I did. I needed a tangible reminder of one of the oddest days of my life so she let me pick one. It’s bright and cheery and it makes me happy. We had a lovely, all too brief conversation about the arts and jewelry making and before I knew it, I was at my stop. We wished each other well and I headed off to my next adventure.

The doctor’s office.

Not just any doc. He is a gastrointestinal specialist. Which means he tends to poke and prod in regions even my husband has never been granted access to. I ended this bizarro day, with a fiberoptic camera stuffed…. well, I’ll leave that to your imagination. But yes. You’re correct in what you’re thinking. It turns out that I was experiencing complications from that invasive procedure last week. A few medication adjustments and some rest and I’ll probably be feeling better in a few days. At least I hope so.

In the meantime I have to say this day was a huge success. My failure was the pinnacle of disaster (and I’m oddly ok with that), I met several lovely ladies, I have a beautiful new scarf, and a hopefully mending body. I came home to my sweet family, was greeted with hugs, children kisses, dog kisses, and dinner in bed.
All in all, I think I’d have to check this day off as one of the best. As odd as that may sound.
It takes hitting the bottom to really appreciate everything you encounter when you start to bounce back up..
I’m just going to keep on bouncing…

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Skating!

Posted on by tenaciouscee

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Fewer things make me happier than seeing my children overcome their fears. My beautiful girl had her very first figure skating lesson this past Sunday. We had planned to send her for lessons last year but well, the money thing tends to be an ongoing issue in this house and it unfortunately it needed to be placed on hold. It was actually a blessing in disguise though. A year ago I highly doubt she would have ever let go of the wall. This year – THIS! She even convinced me to don my skates and take to the ice after two decades of avoiding it.
There were several stumbles (her) and squeals of fear (me) and lots and lots of laughter (both of us). It was so much fun and seeing my girl face her fears head on was nothing short of magical for me. I’m not a fan of living with phobias. I challenge them head on. It’s important to me to not be afraid of anything so seeing my daughter adopt that philosophy fills me with such enormous pride.
Look at her go! Fearlessly skating right into the center of the rink. That’s MY girl and I couldn’t be prouder!

Speechless

Posted on by tenaciouscee

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Every once in a great while I experience something so overwhelming that it renders me speechless. Today I had the great blessing to have one of those experiences.
Today, thanks to my incredibly generous sister in law, was my son's first day at Lego Robotics Club. While I was truly as excited as my boy was for him to attend this club, I was also extremely conflicted. Not about letting him go, but about whether or not I should tell anyone about him having autism or not. I wanted to give him the chance to just be…him. A kid who loves Legos more than chocolate ice cream. I wanted to give him the opportunity to walk in the door for ONCE and have him be seen first for who he is, not for his diagnosis. I posed this question to my guiding council of pajama mamas and they collectively agreed that I should tell the director of the club just in case. This way, they felt, he would receive that extra help should he need it. I agreed at first but on the ride over this afternoon, I decided to feel the place and his club mates out first. I needn't have worried. He was in a room FULL of little "Nicks". In fact, he was probably middle of the road with his eccentricities. He was not only in his element, with his people, but he was driven, focused, attentive, and absolutely phenomenal for the entire class. Mama was thrilled.

BUT….
(isn't there always a but in autism land?…)

This is the overwhelming part, the part that caused me to break into the ugly cry. This is the part that is always bubbling right below my surface toughness – my intense vulnerability where my son is concerned.
While I was standing in the lobby of the club listening to the director give me and another mom an overview of his (brilliant) vision of what his club has to offer, he was called away for a moment. The other mom turned to me and said "I know you". I wasn't surprised as it happens often because of where I currently work. I shrugged it off and we began talking about how awesome this Lego club promised to be. I mentioned how great it was for fine motor skills and she turned and directly asked me "What do you do?" so I told her I currently work as an early childhood educator at an environmental center. She laughed and said that after I had mentioned 'fine motor skills' that she thought perhaps I was one of the therapists from her job at an early intervention case management office. In fact, she said, her office used to be right here in this very building.

I froze.

She did in fact know me. I did, in fact, know her. She was my son's case manager over six and a half years ago when he first started early intervention. She was there at the very beginning when I didn't even know what occupational or speech therapy was for other than to rehabilitate stroke victims. The office she spoke of that used to be in the building where my son now attends Lego Club was the same exact building. It was the same space I first walked into, with abject fear, so many years ago to request an evaluation for my baby who wasn't talking, or gesturing, or sitting up without slumping. She was the same, lovely woman who came to my house to admit my son to her caseload. She was the woman who first mentioned my son might need OT because while she was sitting in my living room making "casual conversation" with me, she was actually observing him slam his little body into the sofa for sensory input. She watched as he accidentally slammed his little baby head so hard into the tv cabinet without even taking notice as we both flinched, imagining the pain that he should have been feeling. I knew so little back then. I thought my son was just being a boy. I had a foolish motherly pride that he was so tough for his young age. I had no idea that what he was demonstrating was a serious and potentially dangerous sensory processing disorder and he required many hours of OT ( and still does require many hours a week of OT) to help him overcome those deficits. I had blocked so much of it out but that didn't stop it all from flooding back to me like a tidal wave in the form of the uncontrollable ugly cry.
I'm sure I looked like a complete nut job but she was kind and reassuring, just as she was so many years ago. She asked how my boy was doing. I told her that he did indeed turn out to test on the higher end of the autism spectrum but overall, he was doing well. I pointed him out to her in the classroom and we were both impressed with what we saw. My little guy was verbalizing and behaving appropriately, he was working cooperatively with his peers on his project, and he looked atypically typical. It's rare when I'm slapped in the face with how far we have come. We still have a long way to go but we are light years from where we were nearly seven years ago. I never thought it would be possible and yet, I watched my boy blend effortlessly into a group of strangers, in an unfamiliar environment, and THRIVE. It was indeed nothing short of miraculous. It was proof that all of my sleepless nights, anxieties, countless developmental pediatrician visits, IEP battles, and one miserable auto immune disease were not for nothing.

My baby boy is gonna be just fine! I am absolutely sure of it!

Happy Birthday to my Firstborn

Posted on by tenaciouscee

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My first baby reached her double digit birthday yesterday. The reason I did not write about it at that time is because we were exhausted from her first slumber party the night before. My little girl is OFFICIALLY a tween!!

To my angel Nicole,
I had never imagined that I could love someone as completely as I love you. You have taught me far more than I could ever teach you.
You are smart.
You are compassionate. (I love that you and your closest friends cut off your beautiful hair to donate it to Locks of Love. I especially love that it was all YOUR idea.)
You are beautiful inside and out.
You are talented.
You are all of the things I wish I could be.

Every time I visit your school someone there tells me how wonderful you are. I just hope that one day you see what the rest of us see.

I have no doubt that you are the reason that I was created in the first place. I see great things ahead for you, my love. You already make this world a better place just by being in it.

Having you has made my life worth living. Happy Birthday my sweet angel!!!

My Baby Turns Eight Today!

Posted on by tenaciouscee

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Eight years ago today, my sweet baby boy graced our lives. It’s been a crazy, tumultuous ride from the first breaths he took in this world, but I would walk through fire for him again and again. He is the most joyful, sweet, and loving little guy you could ever meet. Everyone he encounters is granted a hug, a kiss, or a big smile and a kind word. To know him is to love him. He’s my little joker, my ray of sunshine, and MY PRECIOUS SON.

To my cherished little man who is growing up far too quick for my preference- I love you. I live and breathe for you. I will slay your dragons until my dying breath.

I am blessed and proud to be your mama. Today and for always. Happy birthday my love. May life always treat you gently.

My Christmas Present

Posted on by tenaciouscee

I am am autism mama. Period.

Except not.

I have two children. My eldest is a beautiful, kind, nearly ten old neurotypical girl. She is often the forgotten child because she can do her homework unsupervised, get herself dressed, even make herself something to eat when she is hungry. I take for granted that she doesn’t need me nearly as much as my son does.

The thing is though ….she DOES.

My baby girl is growing up at warp speed and I’ve been missing it. Until tonight.
Tonight we went to her school for the “Night of Giving”. It’s an event where we stuffed small teddy bears and decorated little shirts for them so they can be delivered to several local hospital NICU’s.
It. Was. Magical.
We walked her school hand in hand listening to the music playing from the local church’s Living Nativity. It’s an event that I went to as a very small child and one that I have brought my own children to. It’s one of my favorite Christmas traditions.
When we arrived, my daughter saw one of her dear friends, a girl who moved onto middle school in September. They ran to hug one another and my daughter brought V over to introduce me. It turns out that she was the reason this event was created in the first place. She had been born premature and spent her first Christmas in the NICU. Her mom, a former PTA leader, was so touched by the ornaments and decorations that the nurses placed with such care alongside her daughter’s isolette that she is now paying it forward. My daughter and I will be joining them on Christmas Eve morning to help deliver these bears to families with delicate, fragile babies in the NICU and remind them that they aren’t forgotten or alone.
I didn’t just watch my daughter carefully stuff her bears, gently tuck the little heart inside that she wished upon for the babies to get well, and illustrate the tiny little t-shirts… I SAW her tonight. I saw how much she wants to make this world a better place. I
saw how much she cares about others more than herself. I really SAW her. A beautiful, kind,
compassionate, loving person who will impact this world in so many positive ways. I didn’t
just hear her voice, but I listened intently to every word she said. It was the first time since icantrememberwhen that we were able to spend some significant time together, just the two of us (MANY thanks to J for looking after my son so I could have this gift of time. Best gift EVER, by the way).
When the last bears were completed and the last cookies eaten, we said our goodbyes to friends and headed towards home. It was a picture perfect December night. Cold enough for warm, cozy clothing but not so cold that we were in any rush to get home. The church music was still playing so we headed towards it to see if we could catch part of the show. Unfortunately, we had missed it tonight (thankfully there is still tomorrow) but we walked slowly and talked. We laughed. We hugged. And we thanked one another for this precious night. My eyes may or may not have leaked a little. I told her that she was without question the best I have EVER done in my life. I have no doubt about that. She is MY own December born Christmas miracle.
As we walked towards home, we had our arms around one another and chatted about how special this night was. We admired Christmas decorations and named our favorite carols. My sweet girl told me then that she had written a letter to Santa (she knows, I told her, but she still chooses to believe) and that she had asked for three things. The first two were expected, things that have already been purchased. It was the third wish however that caused my eyes to leak again. She confided that all she really wanted was for her family to be happy and together for Christmas.

We arrived home but lingered at the front door for a bit, neither of us wanting this magical night to end. I invited her to sit down next to me on the front steps. The church music was still playing and we were enjoying it so much that we sat and listened for a while, hugging one another the entire time. That was when she said it… “we need to spend more time like this”.
Yes. God, yes. Yes we do.
Tucked within those eight little monosyllabic words was the most wonderful gift of all- my daughter wants more time just like this.
With me.
I can not wait to give it to her.

Life is precious and it’s short and none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow. Hug your precious children because they grow up in the blink of an eye. No matter how independent they may seem on the outside, they need you. And trust me, you need them. The greatest gift you can bestow upon your child isn’t money or toys, it’s the gift of your time and undivided attention. Put the cell phone down. Turn the computer off. Just go for a walk and talk. Its in that time together where you will rediscover long lost joy.

Happy Holidays everyone. I wish you all good health, love, and laughter. May the coming new year be a better one for all of us.

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My life with autism.

Posted on by tenaciouscee

I know I owe you a part two. I’ll get there but there just isn’t time right now.

All i have is this…

My life with autism is like sailing on a beautiful sunny day. Life gently rolls along until the tsunami hits you and flips the boat. You twist and spin in the tumultuous waves praying to reach the surface before your lungs run out of oxygen.

Yup. That pretty much sums it up.

Gut Instinct- Part One

Posted on by tenaciouscee

When you work as a registered nurse in a busy NYC emergency department for over a decade, you tend to have pretty well tuned instincts about certain things. When you’re a MOM, those instincts are intensified. When you combine the two… those instincts grow exponentially.

  • My pregnancy with my son was mostly uneventful. My delivery however, was anything but. Being this was my second child, I KNEW something was going very wrong right from the induction. I was a week past my due date and my OB decided to induce me. He discovered meconium in the amniotic fluid when he broke my water. Not a lot…but it was present. Instead of immediately doing a c-section, they hydrated me to the point of nearly TEN liters of IV fluid. (I counted). My son’s heart rate decellerated with each contraction. I again asked why they weren’t doing a c-section. At that point – his head was already crowning. He was sideways. His shoulders were stuck. I had a resident pushing on my stomach with all she had (as in her feet were off the floor and ALL of her weight was on my abdomen AND my baby) to get his shoulder under my pubic bone because not only was he trapped there, but his umbilical cord was wrapped TWICE around his neck. Before this party began, I had to insist that because I was group B strep positive, I demanded to be treated with prophylactic antibiotics to protect my baby. THAT was the moment that I became his advocate. I haven’t looked back since…

From the first time I held my son, my gut instincts started buzzing. I felt it. I knew something was not quite right. Sure, Nick had ten wrinkly fingers and toes and looked perfectly normal on the outside (with the exception of the mottled purplish full head bruise that was present from his neck up thanks to the umbilical cord). I was told by the “experts” that he was fine.

I knew better. My gut told me they were wrong. I felt it.

Fast forward three weeks and the cough and congestion began. As did the daily trips to the pediatrician. Literally. We went daily. For nearly two weeks. Since I was an RN, the pediatrician knew I could be relied upon to administer meds and observe my sick infant so we kept him out of the hospital for that time. In the meanwhile, we saw a pediatric cardiologist to evaluate the new onset of a heart murmur (thankfully it was benign and he has since outgrown it). We saw a pediatric orthopod for the shoulder dystocia thanks to the resident who nearly broke his shoulder so that we could get him out. Did I mention that I also had a two year old in tow for every single visit? Yeah. Good times. Except not.

After two weeks of daily doctor visits, Nick’s condition worsened. At week 5, he developed a fever. I lost it. I knew fever in infants meant spinal tap and hospital admission. It meant needle sticks and pain. It meant exposure to godknowswhat and possibilities of a nosocomial infection. But parenting isn’t about taking the easy way out. It’s about doing whatever you HAVE TO DO to help your child. No matter how hard it is to watch. So…I threw a set of clothes and my toothbrush into a bag and left for the emergency room.

Right one cue…needle sticks, IV access (not fluid), x-ray, blood tests, urinary catheter, and then the dreaded spinal tap. They tried to kick me out for that one but I told them I wasn’t going anywhere. The nurse protested – she literally stomped her foot and scolded me like a child. I laughed in her face. I wasn’t leaving. Needle stick after needle stick after needle stick after needle stick after needle stick (yes FIVE TIMES) they MISSED. I demanded they stop immediately. The attending physician tried to explain how important it was that they get a sample of spinal fluid. Fine. I stuck a deal. ONE more try by a neurologist ONLY and I hold my son during the procedure. Not that idiot nurse who stomped her foot at me. Mission accomplished. Sample obtained. Antibiotics started. As did the diarrhea. Cue dehydration and admission to hospital room.

Intravenous fluid started after I stomped MY foot because my baby with diarrhea was now not nursing either. He was becoming paler and looking sicker and yet NOTHING more was being done. I gave him drop by drop of formula in hopes of getting SOME nutrients into his tiny little body. (Oh yeah – forgot to mention… that diarrhea he had… that took care of the first set of clothes that I had on. I was very happy that I remembered to toss an extra set in a bag). I awoke the next morning just in time to see my child stop breathing and turn grey. I did what any parent would do. I screamed for help. LOUDLY. The floor nurse managed to stimulate him enough to get his breathing started again and his color returned. They tried to give him oxygen but nobody could find the regulator to stick into the wall to even attach the oxygen. Nice. I then insisted on a device called a pulse oxcimeter to be attached to my son for the duration of his hospital stay. A pulse ox takes constant recordings of heart rate and oxygen level in the blood and alarms if the level goes below a certain number. I insisted on a pulmonology consultation. I was a walking, breathing pain in the ass until I felt that my son was receiving the proper care in that hospital and I refused to leave until I was given oxygen and a pulse oxcimiter for my home. We left after a five day admission…

To be continued…