The premise would be so simple. I wasn't going to apologize for not having written. I've done that enough. It was going to be about progress. Emily is doing so well, that I didn't need this anymore. If you'll recall how The Gray Area started, it was because Daddy didn't want to make a bunch of phone calls every time Ems met with a doctor and it slowly morphed into my own personal therapy session. But with Facebook making updates so quick and easy, The Man hitting his groove in West Palm Beach and Emily just seeming to catch almost every break in regards to her PFFD, I was feeling borderline optimistic about life in general. Emily had gained 8 cm of growth this summer with almost no complications. She had her fixator removed and was fully weight-bearing in 24 hours. That just doesn't happen. Sure, the process was a daily grind that pushed our limits both mentally and physically but it was certainly no worse than anyone else's experience. We got through it. And, thanks to her lack of complications, it was most likely smoother than most. With visible progress and a plan in place for the next several years, there's just not a lot to talk about. I was not worried.
Granted, this space has built up a tiny little following and I have been told how helpful this blog can be to those who are going through/about to go through the PFFD experience, and that gives me a sense of purpse in regards to keeping the party going. But, and it's important you remember this, I'm a bit of a selfish prick. With all due respect to my loyal readers, if my own mental well-being didn't depend on me staying up until after the kids were asleep to feebly attempt to dry heave some words on to this page, well then it just wasn't gonna happen.
So that gets us to Friday. I'm finally going to put the kids to bed and make this happen. But then Emily took a little spill. Nothing major. This kid has been running, jumping, diving and falling for months now. She's at the kitchen table practicing her letters, complaining her leg hurts.
No it doesn't. You just don't want to do your letters anymore.
Nope...really hurts. I want to lie down.
Mom goes off to work. Daddy, Paige and Anita Faker hang out around the house.
By 8:30, Phoney Braxton is asking if she can go to bed. She has NEVER asked to go to bed. Certainly not at 8:30. Hmmm...
Home from work the next morning, Mommy checks on her and Ems is not happy. Couldn't sleep. Doesn't want to move her leg. Doesn't want to roll on to her hip. Does NOT want you touching it. To the ER, Robin!
(Brief side note...as we're getting checked in and Emily is going on and on about pretty much any thought that pops into her head, the admitting nurse comments "well, her jaw isn't broken." Indeed.)
God bless 2013 and all its modern technology. While Emily is getting x-rays, I'm in the gamma-ray-proof booth snapping pictures of said x-rays with my iphone as they pop up on the monitor. I'm then forwarding those pictures to Team Paley. By the time we had been returned to the ER bullpen, we'd already gone back and forth about how there's no fracture and an appointment to remove the rod has already been scheduled around our check-up a week from Monday. Piece of cake.
Fast forward to later Saturday evening. Kate, who's gotta be pushing about 28 hours with no sleep, gives her a little kiss goodnight...and JESUS this kid is hot! 103 fever. Uh, Dr. Paley? What do we do?
Well, of COURSE he knows people up here. He sends us off to Connecticut Children's Medical Center in Hartford. The ortho who's on duty is one of his peeps and by 2:30 AM, Ems is in the OR getting her rod removed and a nasy infection flushed out of her femur. Good times!
Since then, she's had a second infection flushing (pardon my lack of a detailed explanation...allow me to do my impression of our meetings with the doctor... blah blah medical jargon blah blah technical terms blah blah...and there's me. So...yeah) and is moments away from getting a picc line placed so she can get an almost constant stream of anti-biotics over the next couple-few weeks.
What have we learned kids? When you don't respect the streak, you end up spending three days in the hospital with your kid going through multiple surgeries while you silently weep and irrationally blame yourself for not respecting the streak. I'm not saying it's a good yearbook quote, but it's certainly worth noting.
In the meantime, here's some pictures and a promise that I may go away for a while, but I'll always come back.
Paige, who looks like Mommy, but relaxes like Daddy.
That World Famous Femur back in December.
Until next time...smooches!