August 30, 2003


We're HOME!!!! She's doing much much better!

more soon.

thank you for all the kind emails.

August 29, 2003

the rocky ride with jenna

where do I start? where everything starts and ends: with Jenna. This is my third day at the children's hospital with Jenna. We landed here early wednesday--i think it was wednesday--after three trips to the pediatrician's this week. she wasn't getting better, you see, just worse and worse. by tuesday night she wasn't able to turn her neck at all. the lamebrain 20-something-year-old female doctor sent us home tuesday with the second of two antibiotics to try, which I had to beg her for, the script for which she begrudgingly tossed at me on her way out the door. "I think she should have the opportunity to have what everyone else has--it doesn't have to be something out of the ordinary." This after my saying, "She's getting worse not better." This after her asking me, "What is it that you want?" This prior to me saying, "I WANT you to find out what's wrong and get her better. That is your job."

No, not better. worse. SO back to the peds on weds to see the head doctor of the bunch, who finally did work, who finally announced her white cell count was high, who finally said, "there's something going on here. we should admit her. it's the smart thing to do. she'll be comfortable and they can get the right people on the case."

This prior to me launching into a high gear I didn't know I had, after only three hours sleep the night before, zooming home with her in the back, 102 fever still after days of it, me calling George and having him talk to her while I raced up and down three flights of stairs like a maniac trying to remember what to take to the hospital--medicine, some clothes, the care bear family, some toys. Toss some food out the door to the dogs, hurry hurry. I asked the doctor if I could stop home to pick up some things to take. His words echoed: "Yes, but don't wait too long. Best to get her there. They will be waiting."

This he said before me driving like a mad woman down 75, across 285, her throwing up in our pool towel in the back seat. God, just let me get her there, then I can crumble up.

We made it. She was admitted. This facility is perhaps the most amazing healthcare secret in the U.S. More about that in another post.

To get to where we are...

We've been here for three days, her on antibiotics and fluids via IV, me in the couch bed beside her, them running tests, her turning the corner, starting to get better. Thank you. God, thank you.

Our children are, as parents, all that matters. Really all. Nothing else. No. Not even yourself.

It appears--preliminary findings--that she is responding well to treatment for the BITE (not scratch as I originally thought) Hunter the cat inflicted on her neck three weeks ago. I cleaned it with alcohol. I neosporined it. But none of that mattered. Apparently cat bites are serious things, and apparently this one led to a staph infection. She's been fighting it off for some weeks, but not til yesterday, when the Ancef started working and the fever disappeared, did I notice that she has not seemed this lively, this alert, in a very long time.

So we are, I pray, on the road to recovery. She doesn't know yet, but her daddy is also on the road back to see her. What a surprise that will be for her--I'm having fun today thinking about the different ways I can spring it on her. ;-)

She is off to school today at the hospital. They have a school here. Students get credit for attending class and are marked present for days they miss at their real schools if they attend here. More importantly, she loves going. It gives her something to do. Classes are two hours long. Little kids attend with their IV poles, or just their little tape-and-board-wrapped hands. Jenna calls it her "Ivey."

The hospital, as I said, is superb. An anomalie in today's horrid healthcare scene, which is part of the reason we ended up here. But more on that another time, when I can think, and write. I am so tired.

Prayers welcome. I have no idea of my comments are working or not. Dean said they weren't the other day. Anyway, if not, I'll be on the case as soon as we're home. Hopefully by tomorrow. I'm in no rush as long as they get her better.

Thanks friends. As you can imagine I've been blogging in my head the whole time. But my heart has been elsewhere.

August 26, 2003

oh no negro!

Why the hell did they eat in Alpharetta? Don't they still have separate water fountains ova dere?

Okay, we're talking bout bobby & whitney. But still.

sick kid and too much work to do

jenna's still sick--home for the third day since school started, and as coincidence would have it, my business, which was dry for last three weeks, is now in high gear. I mean really high. I mean I'm swamped. I mean tan is gone.

I would love to have something witty to say, but I'm just plodding through the days and nights right now--working, soup making, lying next to, video watching, researching, typing, stepping out on the porch for con calls, back in, patting the back of, downloading, editing, writing some more, editing some more, emailing, deleting sobig.f, writing again, crying with, giving medicicne to, and commiserating with jenna.

there are bigger problems, yes. but not for me this day. these are them. send get well thoughts to the baby blogger.

Oh, I see

Exquisite post from Halley about what it's like to see the world through a new and improved eye--one of two that she is having corrected via cataract surgery. This post is simply Halley.

August 24, 2003

see it.

Antwone Fisher.

A review.

And a poem:

Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?

--Antwone Quentin Fisher

excuse yourself

What a whale fart looks like.

Thanks to Miasma for the post on the story.

Oh, you're Killing Me with this one...

Nathan Newman posts on this study from Northwestern University, which finds, among other things, that, all things being equal (pun intentional), white convicted felons get more job interviews than black non-offenders. That is, corporate America would rather hear from a white rapist than an honest black man or woman.

We've come a long way, baby.