Sharing the love...

Ooooh! My co-worker / friend just got his engagement pictures back. They are incredible! He gave me permission to share them with you.

Raj is one of my very favorite people! He is kind and funny and just the right amount of naughty to make the work day pass quickly. Best of all, he has a great work ethic and a profound sense of integrity. Mindy is a very lucky girl.

Oh, to be young and in love again... and looking forward at your life together. There is nothing like that feeling. Color me green.

I beg to differ...

This morning as I was scanning my homepage for all that is newsworthy, I found this little tidbit waiting for me. As someone who has "been there, done that" , had the bad memory and (still have) the battle scars to prove it, I take exception to this.

There were two studies done. The first went a little something like this...

Here are 30 women just diagnosed with breast cancer and also 30 healthy women. Let's give them a "cognitive test." Now let's give them another after each and every round of chemo. In the results, "the breast cancer patients had slight problems in attention and learning skills before chemotherapy even started. After treatments, they showed a minor slowing in thinking speed. Three women, or 10 percent, did develop cognitive problems during chemotherapy."

Are they implying that women who get breast cancer are naturally slower than healthy women - or just shell shocked after diagnosis?

"We also found that the women who reported that they had problems with memory, concentration and other cognitive skills were not actually the ones who developed problems as determined by the tests."

Are they liars or whiners... or perhaps the other women were not bright enough to realize they were suffering conginitively?

The second study was a bit more in depth.

"The second study tested the cognitive abilities of three groups of women -- pre-treatment breast cancer patients, recent post-benign biopsy patients and breast cancer survivors who were one year past completed treatment. They were also evaluated for anxiety, depression, their overall quality of life and the amount of social support they had.

The recently diagnosed women and those who recently had benign biopsies scored about the same on tests of working memory and spatial learning. However, both groups were slower and less accurate than the breast cancer survivors. In addition, memory and learning scores for the breast cancer patients did not dip significantly during the initial stages of treatment, the study found.

The recently diagnosed women who had better overall quality of life also had better scores on the cognitive tests."

I don't mean to doubt the validity of their research, however, have any of them ever gone through chemo? What kind of cognitive test was given? Was it math and reading comprehension? Or was it a "real life" test with questions like "where are your car keys right now?" or "what is your son's first grade teacher's name?"

My favorite part of all, though, is how the article not only takes a very real side effect and makes it imaginary or stress related and then rests the blame squarely on the woman's doorstep by tying it to her quality of life. Chemo Brain? Hmmmm... perhaps you should have thought about that before you let your quality of life deteriorate...

Birthdays, Bumps and Babysitters

Meet the newest three year old in our neighborhood as he is introduced to his new bff Mike the Mower. He is also the proud owner of a new Home Depot blower, a hand vac that I believe may be the younger brother of the floor vacuum we already tolerate on a regular basis and their distant cousin, the talking broom. Tragically, the blower broke approximately 2.2 minutes after changing the batteries in an attempt to fix its lagging motor noises. Poor D. This was by far his favorite toy. He w-a-i-l-e-d when I told him we would have to send it back and get a new one that worked. "I. Don't. Huuup. Want. To. Send. It. Baaaack."

Tragic. He's sleeping with the (blissfully) silent blower now. There was a 30 minute round of negotiations to determine the sleeping arrangements of the handvac and mower, however. All are quietly enjoying a sleepover in the livingroom.

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I had my CT scan last week and saw Dr. V to go over the results. Guess what? I'm gonna live! It, apparently, is really nothing more than an over-developed muscle. Other than that... I am as healthy as a horse and Dr. V says, "you'll be around for a good long time, I think."

Mmmmmm-wwwwwaa! I love her. I love good news.

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However, this next topic puts the fear of God in me. Somehow, we have left our Wonder Sitter feeling taken for granted and taken advantage of. She is very, very upset with us and said the "N" word. Notice.

This woman has become more family to us in the last three years than many of our true relatives. She has been named guardian of our kids should anything happen to us. She is D's aide at preschool. I don't know what we would do without her. Take advantage of her? Absolutely. She offers. We accept. Take her for granted? Not in a million years. Not one second of three years.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

It's been growing clearer lately that D is showing more and more signs of being autistic. He has Norrie's Disease. Autism is known to be fairly prevalent (roughly a third) in Norrie's boys. For the last 6 months or more I've gone back & forth every few weeks or so on his symptoms, first convinced he is clearly autistic then doubting the evidence before me. When we've approached his Vision Instructor about his behaviors and our concerns she always dismisses them by saying how similar blindisms and autisms are...

Well, about a month ago D obtained a new therapist of sorts. There is a graduate student getting her Masters in Behavioral Special Ed (?) who also aides at the county special ed preschool. D is in her Master's study. Through her observations at his mainstream preschool (i.e. he never interacts with his peers) we set some social goals at his first IEP and she did a video taped play date with my girlfriend (who is an OT) and her daughter to discuss with her professor.

I rarely see D with other kids his age. We just don't know any. But at that play date I saw behavior I have never seen before. There was hand flapping. A lot of hand flapping. And I heard a word used many times that I had also never heard before.

Perseverate.

That would be the mower / blower / vacuum / weed eater noises that he joyously makes for sometimes hours on end. Sometimes up to 9 hours. Sometimes so long that I want to put an ice pick in my ear. But it makes him so blasted happy to do it that we let him and we smile because he is adorable doing it too.

D turns 3 on Sunday. On Monday he falls under the School District's jurisdiction for therapy & special education. We will contact them to pursue an evaluation/diagnosis on the autism issue. Nothing like hitting the ground running. I think they are going to hate me. We are hoping to take him to the Autism Diagnostic Center in Fresno. Everyone agrees that he is "very high functioning" even if they won't actually say they think he is autistic. However, the Drs around here have been known to give an autism diagnosis because that is what you want. I would like something a bit more reliable and specific than that, thank you very much.

Our day to day world of laughter and frustration with the Light Of Our Lives won't change one way or another because of an "autistic" label. But an accurate diagnosis will give us access to a few more tools for his life-skills tool belt. Us too. And I'll take all the help I can get.

I do have a question or two for those of you who's kids are also autistic. Once their autism became obvious, was there degeneration or progression of skills and behaviors? Or is this as individual as the children themselves?

Socialization has long been D's weakest area but he seems to be making great strides there. On the other hand, he reverts to the mower/blower noises far more frequently and asks repetitive questions continually and becomes quite upset if he doesn't get the expected/desired answer. I can't help wondering if the pressure of socializing is causing the other "comfort" behaviors...

Meds back on board

I am feeling much better now. I refilled my Effexor for my mood swings... And baseball has begun...








I think B is going to have a good season.

My limits...

Ugh. Sigh. Great. Big. Fat. SIGH.

It's been a rough few weeks and BLOGGER ISN'T HELPING. I keep trying to post but my linking stuff doesn't work - nor do any other things like bold or italics. **sigh**

Between my sciatic nerve being pinched (!) or something (?), and Daddy-O being on the last one (nerve) I have, B complaining of earaches, knees hurting and his most recent "it hurts my heart when I take a deep breath" almost constantly, and D making mower-blower-weedeater-vacuum noises continuously I am ready to scream. Or cry. Take your pick, because I could really go either way right now.

I have officially reached my limit.

Stop #1 on the Roadtrip to MY LIMIT:

Almost 2 weeks ago D decided he didn't want his diaper changed. Of course, he chose to show his rebellion by kicking and twisting and thrusting just as I bent over to pick him off the ground. Good-bye lower back. Hello slow torture and burning that runs from my lower back, around my hip to my groin and also down the back of my leg just for good measure. Fast forward past six (!) trips to the chiropractor, each requiring 2 hours off work, and I don't really feel any better (though much poorer, thank you very much) yet.

Stop #2:

While men can fool around with sciatica if they have an accomidating partner - women CAN NOT. Please tell Daddy-O.

Stop #3:

Wonder Sitter called in sick two days in a row. Bless her for deserving time off to be ill herself when she's a God send for my own ill kids. No begrudging here. Just another stop in the journey.

Stop#4:

D has a videoed playdate yesterday that plainly illustrates that I have NOT been imagining the "is he autistic?, Nah, he isn't." behavior. Concensus from TWO therapists... Perhaps the Autism Diagnostic Center in Fresno might be a good side trip on this little road I'm on. Also, I got to hear a word I'd never heard before used no less than four times in relation to my son. PERSEVERATING. Contrary to popular opinion of therapists who shall remain nameless, this is NOT a blindism.

Stop #5:

B's routine (I thought) appointment for chest pain that I wrote off as growing pains ended in lab work & chest x-rays for anemia, & perhaps Mono & just to "rule out any bone things..." Gah!

Stop #6:

Daddy-O called to ask (none to kindly) why the baseball uniform wasn't washed and I am still at work when B has a ball game.

Screach! Skid! Crash!

Limit reached.