Stone, Unturned? Never!

In my quest to figure out why Playette isn't wasn't gaining weight, we made an appointment to see our illustrious Pediatric Cardiologist. It actually happened really quickly, thanks to the support of our Pediatrician. We'll also have a GI appointment soon, along with a million other every-six-month things that tend to overwhelm me every June and December.

You'd think I'd attempt to spread these out some, but that's just too much like right.

Anyway.

So, Cardio. This afternoon at LPCH. Two hours each way. (driving incentives)

We're off to get an Echo.

And then follow up with the Doc.

If you read that without the sing-songy voice in your head, you're a much more mature person than I am.

I came back to work today for a grand total of 3.5 hours. And then I'm off tomorrow. Which is good because our Medi-Cal application packet, that I saw and opened on Sunday, is due yesterday and I need to spend some time at the local office confirming that we are, in fact, U.S. citizens. That, honestly, will probably take at least two hours. Just because.

The good thing is that the case worker we've been assigned seems to be a good match. Does she know anything about Institutional Deeming? No, of course not. That's too much to ask. But does she laugh at my jokes, entertain my rants, and return (all 1 of) my phone calls thus far? Yes. So in my mind? She's a keeper.

What else, what else, what else...

Compassion.

Let's talk about that.

Because that's the word that comes to mind when I think of the Cardiologist we're going to see today. Him + aforementioned driving incentives + the hope that I have that my loving husband will do some the majority all of the driving is what makes this whole thing bearable.

Seriously, the doctor rocks. We saw him the first time about a year and a half ago and I remember him being so attentive and patient and completely not treating my child like the specimen that we were crazy to have brought home with us from the hospital. Cause, yeah, those doctors exist.

Anyway, this guy was great and I hope that I wasn't loopy and he's actually like this for real, consistently, and not just in my head.

I knew there was something different about him and then, at the end of the appointment, in a nonchalant sorta way, he said, "My nephew has Down syndrome."

And it all made sense.

More people, doctors even, need to have a "nephew" with Down syndrome. Because then maybe they would get it.

Our kids are not the proverbial lips off of the Michael Jackson 8th birthday cake that I saved and wouldn't let anyone eat and then one day realized that no one would ever be able to eat them because they don't exactly last forever, no matter how much Saran Wrap you use (do I even have to mention this is a true story?).

Annyyway.

They're kids. And we love them. And they should be treated with respect.

OMG, I'm tired. Why am I so tired?

Feel free to ignore the parts that made no sense.