Within a week I've and three migraines, the last of which has left me desperate and emotional. I hope, desperately hope, that I did not pass this on to my two girls. Yesterday, as I tried to apologize for sleeping on the couch and hushing them off to their rooms, I began to cry. They understand I don't feel well, but are both young enough where they hope that when I wake up I'm all better. They still need me a lot, but they try to be as helpful as possible. 

They've seen me with headaches, but not often like Tuedsay's ongoing doozy. They quietly went into Samantha's room to do their homework and draw while I slept on the couch. My parents took Alyssa to ballet, but before that, Samantha was trying to put her hair in a bun. They helped around the house, too--all for me.

Headache patterns like this--one on top of the other--are too much for me to handle. They leave me feeling depressed. I'm treading lightly with everything from the food I eat to how much light comes into the house. And I start treating everything as suspect from the jalapeños to salt to strobe lights on the TV.

This time, I'm going to try to back off and eat only natural, plant based foods, and slowly back off caffeine. I hope it works.

A few weeks ago Samantha and I went to Lucille Packard for her annual endocrine checkup. We already knew her levels were off--TSH was too high. Instead of working out medicine changes ahead of time, we thought we'd wait until we got there to talk it over with her doctor. She's a year or so from puberty so things could begin to change a lot. Knowing her history that is a worrisome prospect for us.

Our visit, however, didn't go as planned. We met a new doctor (which could have been my fault if I didn't specify when I called). He was unfamiliar to us, but marched in with her blood results. He listened to my concerns but dismissed every one. He didn't believe me when I said she wasn't normal (TSH resistant). He simply said that the labs were wrong and that he wouldn't change her dose. He knew nothing of her, her thyroid history, her medical history, none of it.

Samantha didn't say a whole lot. She was probably sensing my disbelief. I was so dumbfounded that I didn't speak up, which was the worst thing I could have done. He examined her said "Thanks for coming" and just walked out the door, addressing none of my concerns.

We left and I didn't know whether to be angry or cry.

When Samantha's levels are off it takes very little time before she becomes ill and she spirals out of control. Our regular endocrinologist would have never dismissed us and Samantha loves/trusts her.

So I called our pediatrician and got us in the next day. I explained what happened at LPCH and he was dumbfounded. I told him that I needed him to help me. We both know my child well and he knows that she can't go without a dose change if she's off. For crying out loud she went from normal to a TSH of 33 in two months when she was younger. It was serious and scary.

The pediatrician asked Samantha how she'd been feeling. She opened up to him and said that she's been sad and very angry. Even she knows what her body feels! My poor girl.

Our pediatrician agreed that it was dangerous to wait and so he changed her meds slightly. We started that day, tested this week, and guess what?! Samantha is now "normal."

Folks, fight for your child and don't let the doctor walk out the door like I did. Demand they address your concerns and make them read the damn chart. Samantha has been a patient there for 8.5 years. There is a decent-sized file on her!

6 Weeks Post-Transplant

My mom is doing well. She's able to venture out to the store in off times. We've been taking 2-mile walks daily. She's getting her hair back slowly, too. Pretty soon the maintenance side of this whole transplant will be in place. She'll have to have the Aredia every three months and then Revlimid, maintenance chemotherapy, sometime after that. I can't recall how often she'll need that.

She hasn't had the sickness like she did after last transplant, but there is a certain amount of sensitivity or taste-shock (I'm not sure what to call it) that comes along with it. Taste is very intense post transplant: mints taste really strong, spicy things are magnified, and sweets are beyond intense.

We're planning our annual girl trips: Arizona and Las Vegas already. I was surprised when my mom asked if me and the girls were still planning to go see my Grandparents for Easter break--she wants to come too! I would have taken the 9-hour drive without her, but I would much rather she come. This has been our tradition for at least 4 years now and I can't imagine missing it. While she won't be able to come join us in the water for the daily visit to the swim center, I'm hoping that she'll be ready to jump in and play when we head to Las Vegas this summer.

My kids and I have been confined to home this week. They brought home some childhood disease and decided to wrap it up for my birthday. Yay! The kids were excited because I had to make a grocery store run yesterday. We made it two blocks before Alyssa started coughing and couldn't breathe. So we turned around and I gathered up the inhalers and administered them. It's that time of year when I have to carry a nebulizer in the car and inhalers in my purse. And here I thought we lucked out this year.

As you might have figured out that means that we can't go anywhere near my mom or dad. She's a bit blah, which is to be expected, but I would love to at least take a walk around the block with her. Not going to happen for a couple of weeks I guess.

For now my girls are playing nicely while I continue to work. It's challenging to have to sick kids home and two-hour conference calls. Boy do I love my mute button. Now that they're older they can handle being alone for two hours; we've raised them well enough that they understand boundaries and how to behave when mom and dad aren't looking.

Home again

Thursday of last week my mom came home from UCSF. Her numbers went up exponentially from Wednesday to Thursday (from 10 to 67 on platelet count, for example). She got the OK to come home. She was so excited.

In the hospital, she was expected to get at least a minimum of 1,000 calories a day, which she was barely hitting. At home, however, she's a champ. I bet she's getting 1,000 calories at breakfast. Now that she can control what she eats and eats what she wants, she's doing much better. She's been getting back in the grind slowly, with lots of breaks in between.

My kids decided to go and get sick this week with some respiratory virus and so it will be a while before I get to see her. I'm bummed, but more that my kids are sick with no end in sight.

Halfway point

This Thursday, the 6th, my mom reached her halfway point or the lowest point, depending on how you look at it.

She is halfway through her stay at UCSF. She'll likely come home by Valentine's Day even though she'll feel lousy. Her numbers will be near normal or better than they were upon her entry, but her body will not feel like it's ready to go.

Her platelets and hematocrit were near zero on Thursday and Friday. On Friday she received two units of blood and one unit of platelets on Saturday. She had been doing well until then, walking one to two miles a day around the halls. Then she was hit with all of the expected side effects. The nausea has been particularly bad as the levels have dropped. On Saturday morning the nurses gave her a different, stronger anti-nausea drug. It made her so groggy that she couldn't stay awake long enough to eat much.

My dad and I drove up on Saturday to visit, but considering the side effects my mom couldn't converse with us. So instead my dad and I teased her a bit, otherwise we read the day-old SF Chronicle and watched some lame program on Animal Planet.

My poor mom kept apologizing to us, which is about all she could do. Although it was a bit of a wash, it was nice to lay eyes on her.

It'll be much easier when she gets home. She won't feel great, but she'll be at home.

And so it begins . . .

And just like that . . . it's time to pack up and go.


My mom has been feeling well and looks great. We've been taking a walk once a day--its a nice way to connect and keep us both active. She's been home, being creative, and out and about, within reason. We even headed to the delicious little bakery in San Juan Bautista on Saturday with the kids in tow.

My mom hasn't had much news from UCSF in the last two weeks so she called to check in. They asked if she could be there tomorrow to get a pick line in and start melphalan. Just like that! One minute you're eating lunch, the next your butt is in high gear to get ready for an extended hospital stay.

BAM!, a smack upside my head--that is pretty much how I feel. It's so easy to forget (or in my case, ignore) what is up ahead. My mom and I have one of those relationships where we talk every day, sometimes several times a day. We do lunch, we walk, we sew . . . together. We'll talk or text, but knowing she's not home is the hard part for me. I'll miss her.

She's really upbeat, however, this is simply my gripe. She wants to get it over with so that she can get through the tough part and be done. I want that too. So I'll take the kids over there tonight to say goodbye for now--they'd be devastated if I didn't.

Sunday, as I was getting ready to do a quick clean in the garage, I thought about how I've come to accept mediocrity. Mind you I'm not referencing anyone here but me, myself, and I. With the onset of my hand injuries I have had to scale back drastically. It is difficult learning how to stand by and watch but the pain was such that I was forced to accept it.

Before my weekends were filled with crafting, sewing, and gardening, at the onset I was reduced to ice packs on the couch a magazine in my lap. No more pushing kids on swings, cartwheels or softball in the backyard. I've become an encouraging observer in my daughters' activities and a director in tree trimming or rose cutting. All those things I love, my hobbies robbed.

A few weeks ago we took out Samantha's half broken bed (shoddy structure) and reconfigured her room. In doing so we had to switch around the bookcases, desk, bed, and pictures. There are holes all over the walls.  The pre-injured me would have had that room patched that night and painted the next day. As it stands, there are still holes everywhere, the bookcases are still brown, and the paint still sits in the unopened gallon, and I'm okay with that somehow. 

For now my big plans, my hobbies, will have to sit in a "to do" file just a bit longer. I'm on the last leg of my hand treatment. Mediocrity is here to stay for a while longer.

Waiting for transplant

My mom was able to harvest 6.5 MILLION stem cells! The body is an amazing thing.

Pre-haircut powwow

My mom finished up on Wednesday, had the catheter out, and made it home in the evening. Now she'll stay at home for a week or two until her counts go up. She didn't need a second transfusion although her platelet count was borderline. She is healing slower than normal for her, but normal post-apheresis. She still has to stay away from people (large crowds); otherwise, use common sense.

On Wednesday night Samantha started crying during dinner. She was having a difficult time just knowing that my mom was at UCSF. I think a lot of it had to do with not being able to see her and touch her. So I texted my mom and asked that she send us a picture. Samantha's spirits perked right up once that picture of my mom came through.

Thursday was the first day in over a week that my parents didn't have to drive up to San Francisco. They slept in! My mom asked if Samantha would be willing to skip ballet that day--her hair was falling out and it wasn't going to wait.

I took the kids to my parents house to give my mom a Mohawk. Then they shaved her head. She thought it might be easier on the kids--she was right.

Samantha's turn

Alyssa's turn (with Papa's help)

Lovingly--my dad cutting my mom's hair

Gel!

Touching Gammy's buzzed head!

My girls and my beautiful mom!

So now we wait until she has to go back to UCSF to receive her stem cells. Then she'll stay for a few weeks. Until then we intend to spend as much time with my mom as we can. 

January 14, Day 13, stem cell collection

Today is stem cell collection day!

Yesterday my mom got the catheter (port/pick line) in her neck. She said it felt like she hurt her neck and couldn't move it real well. I fully expected her to have a restless night's sleep, but she proved me wrong again.

It was a long day yesterday. My parents had to check in at 10 and wait for her scheduled catheter placement at 1, but it was between 2 and 3 when she finally went in. Placement took about an hour and then she had to go back to clinic for her Neupogen shot. All in all it was about 7.5 hours in the hospital/clinic yesterday. That, of course, doesn't include the drive up to and back from SF.

Yesterday I made stew for my family and had plenty to share, for which I was so grateful. I was able to send a pot home with my dad after their long day. I think it was about 7:30 when they finally made it home.

When I am home, working and being a mom, it's hard on me. I'm constantly wondering what is going on with my parents. I wonder how she feels, what she needs, etc. So making sure they had dinner alleviated some of my anxiety, knowing that they had one less thing to worry about.



Today they were off again, extra early, to check in. Unfortunately, the collection area is set up much like an outpatient recover room, so my dad couldn't stay there, but he could come and visit for short periods. Apherisis is only about 3-3.5 hours, so they were done around lunch. Then came the waiting . . . a few hours to determine if they had enough cells.  My mom gave 4.5 MILLION cells today! Unfortunately, it wasn't quite enough and she has to go back and do it again tomorrow. One more day . . .

She had to have a blood transfusion today to help her make the remainder of the stem cell count for tomorrow. She'll have to get the catheter out and then she'll be done for a while. The nurses were so nice--they could tell my dad was exhausted (and he's the one who drives home) so they set up a private room so he could nap.

It's been a very long day and tomorrow will be just as long. I wish I could take away the wait, the worry, the exhaustion . . . But she's almost there.

January 8--day 7 (last day out)

Today is the last day my mom will be able to eat out, go to the store, generally be in public for the next few months. Tomorrow her counts should drop too low to provide much protection.

Today is the second Neupogen shot. She learned last night that she may not need all 6 or 7 shots. It depends on how her blood work looks on Friday. If the counts are unstable, meaning too many white blood cells, then they'd stop because it could be risky to the patient. That doesn't mean she would get the catheter and apheresis earlier. She'd just get to stay home for a couple of days.

If I didn't mention it before, the catheter or pick line, is direct access to her blood. Last time she had one in her chest for several months. They used it for chemotherapy, apheresis, and any other drip/infusion she had to have. This time they'll put the catheter in her neck. Highly uncomfortable, but only required for apheresis this time.

Yesterday she spoke to a man who had had his catheter in only one day. UCSF was able to collect all the stem cells needed for his transplant in one day. Amazing!

The reason UCSF uses the neck is so that they have access to the jugular vein--the big one. This makes it easier to extract the blood. However, the patient cannot shower while the catheter is in. The patient is highly susceptible to infection, unlike with the catheter in the chest. Considering that the neck catheter is only in for a few days this should be manageable.

Sometime this weekend I'll give my dad a break and drive my mom up to UCSF so that I can see where she will be, meet the nurses, etc. I was so much more involved last time, but then again I didn't have two little girls.

* * *

I am so grateful to all the scientists, medical personnel, doctors, and brilliant people who discovered stem cell transplantation and those who work in the field today. My mom would not be alive today had this not been an option. And she would not have met my two beautiful girls who love their Gammy more than words can say. She's taught them so much as I'm sure they've taught her. So . . . THANK YOU!

January 6--Day 5

Maybe my memory is imperfect but my mom seems so much better this time. True, she is much healthier than last time, but I'm still very surprised. I expected her to be exhausted.

This Sunday she wanted me to come over and help with a computer issue. I was very surprised when she was in her sewing room preparing to work on my last curtain panel for the family room. She had been out to the airport for lunch with my dad and to the store a few hours before.

I was thinking about the differences between this time and last time, and this, while very heavy chemotherapy, feels much more like one of her maintenance therapies.

Tomorrow my mom will start the Neupogen shots. She'll get one shot each for 6 days. The Neupogen will increase her blood counts quickly. If all goes well she'll start apheresis (stem cell collection) next week. Then she'll get two weeks off to rest and the transplant begins. Transplant is the riskiest part, of course.

She'll have to stay at USCF for 2-4 weeks, until her counts come up enough for her to come home. Then she'll have to be home with limited human contact--no family gatherings, no grocery store shopping, no visitors, etc.

*  *  *

This weekend my mom had pictures of her hairless head from the last transplant. The girls had a hard time at first. It scared Samantha a bit, but on a second look they were curious and fascinated. They brought the pictures home and hung them in their rooms. So when she does loose her hair it might be easier for them. 

January 3--Day 2 (post-Cytoxan)

My mom and dad got home around 8 last night. Unfortunately, my mom did end up getting sick as soon as they got on the highway. That was disappointing for all of us.

Because this type of chemotherapy drug can cause serious damage to the kidneys my dad kept a timer running all night. Every two hours he woke my mom up so that she could drink water and go to the bathroom. Not a real restful night, but the alternative is less than ideal.

I was surprised this morning when my mom called. She sounded fine. She said that she felt remarkably well, almost normal. And we (girls included) can see her this weekend before the drug starts knocking down her white counts!

* * *

I didn't sleep too well last night--I worried all night. I kept saying to myself They're fine. They're adults and you are an adult. They can handle this--it isn't the first time.  I did get up and check my cell phone a few times--I don't typically leave it on at night.

That got me thinking, however, that we need to come up with a plan. If my dad needs me in the middle of the night I need to know that he'll call me. He needs to know that I'll be there no matter what.

Last transplant they went somewhere without telling me (yes, they're adults), but I panicked the entire time I couldn't not reach them. My dad was also in an accident a few days after her first chemotherapy and I had to help to take care of both of them. He was on crutches and in pain and she was too weak to do much. It was surreal, but we did it with the help of my grandparents.

* * *

My girls were not born last time so the concept of hair loss is foreign to them. Alyssa (5) asked a very logical question of my mom, "Where does the hair go?" The last two days she's asked me if Gammy's hair fell out already. She doesn't understand that my mom will look normal today but in a week or so she'll be bald. My husband suggested that the girls ask Gammy if she had a picture of her without hair. She found one this morning that we'll share with the kids to help answer their questions. I'm curious what their reaction will be like. 

January 2--start chemotherapy

January 2, 2014

My mom and dad headed up to UCSF today for Cytoxan, the chemotherapy drug that will start the transplant process. My parents stayed up there for most of the day while they infused the drug along with saline. This particular chemotherapy drug is tough on the kidneys. My mom will need to drink 2 liters of water a day for the next two days to flush her kidneys. If she cannot then she'll have to go back up to UCSF to be admitted. (She's been practicing--that is a lot of water.)

Unlike the last transplant (10 years ago), we texted throughout the day. If she was sleeping, my dad texted; if my mom was awake then she texted. She ate well and was not nauseated. She said that she felt woozy, but otherwise okay.

Thankfully my mom kept meticulous notes on the treatment last time and notified the nurses that either the anti-nausea drug or the Cytoxan gave her the "worst headache of her life." I took the same anti-nausea drug during both my pregnancies and not once did it give me headaches. We talked and determined it was likely the Cytoxan. So the nurses were prepared. They wanted to keep her comfortable. So my mom had some caffeine via coffee (not a drip). It seemed to help. She is dealing with a reasonable headache. (Yay, for small victories!)

This time my mom received a medication to help with the after-effects of the chemotherapy. She received a drip earlier tonight and will take pills for the next dose--they're to lessen the effects of the drug from bone pain to sickness to anything else.

It's amazing how far stem-cell transplantation has come in the last ten years!

And . . . I must admit that being able to text throughout the day helped me cope while she was 90 miles away in the hospital.

January 1, 2014 . . . I spent this afternoon sewing curtains for my house with my mom. It was nice and bittersweet. Tomorrow she heads off to UCSF to get her first dose of chemotherapy. In a couple of weeks she'll lose her hair and in a month she'll have a stem-cell transplant.

It's rough for all of us. Right now she's fairly healthy, tomorrow she won't be.

My girls spent a few minutes getting in last minute hugs. They know that they won't be able to see her for a while. It's especially difficult because we live around the corner from her--literally four houses away.

Technology, however, will be our saving grace. We'll be trying to FaceTime with her as much as we can from UCSF or from our home to hers.

I'm so thankful for medical advances--she can use her own cells to save herself. But I can't still the worry/anxiety/sadness that I feel. I can see it in my dad's eyes when he looks away or tries to casually clear his throat or looks at me with red eyes.

Cancer sucks.

2013 was a full year for our family: introduction to theatre for Al and Samantha, ballet recital, dancing in The Nutcracker as a family, and the lead role in a dinner theatre performance for Al. Then we have the not so good parts: Al laid off for a bit and my hand issues. Thankfully Al's unemployment was short lived. All in all it was a busy year of firsts.

We have decided to make 2014 a quieter year--a year about family. We'll be skipping The Nutcracker for the first time in three years, and after Harvey finishes there will be no auditions for a while.

So we'll celebrate Al's birthday on the 31st and on January 2nd we'll flip a switch as my mom prepares for another transplant. 

I've mixed emotions about this; we all do. She's not sick now, but healthy, which is why this is a good time to do an autologous stem cell transplant. To be sick when you aren't sick won't be fun. We are also trying to prepare the kids for the realization that they are going to see very little of her over the next few months. 

Ten years ago, after the first transplant, my mom had 5 years without a need for any further treatment. We're hoping for the same this time. And thankfully, the transplant will be much easier this time. My mom will not have to endure four to five rounds of chemotherapy. She'll have a short dose on the 2nd and another right before they re-introduce the stem cells back in her body. The whole process from preparing the cells for extraction (apheresis) through the official transplant will likely take only a month. Amazing! 

I'm so thankful for the hospitals and specialists in our area that specialize in Multiple Myeloma and stem cell transplants. If we didn't live near the Bay Area, I can't fathom what her options would be. 

And my mom . . . she's so strong. I'm so proud of her and so thankful that we are and live so close. 

Here's to a healthy, happy, and family-centered 2014! Cheers.

We made it though Nutcracker in one piece. I got the giggles as I fell asleep last night thinking about how clumsy I am. It's hilarious that I managed to get on stage and that I didn't fall off. I screwed up all four of my dances or tripped on my dress. And twice I had the giggles on stage. Thank goodness for the ridiculous hot pink fan I had to hold! It hid my cheesy smile, laughter, and cooled me down.

Next year, however, we are taking a break. Three years of Nutcracker is a lot. It's crazy and wonderful all at the same time.



This morning Alyssa had to have her adenoids and tonsils out. We made it home after 9 last night and the kids were exhausted and then we had to get up early and head to CHOMP. It was a beautiful morning with the sunrise and the pink clouds and the waves crashing against the shore. That is one thing I loved about living in Monterey.

I asked my mom to come this time because I was worried about Alyssa begin sick in the car. Since she's littler, I was worried that she wouldn't be consolable from the driver's seat either. Man, did she prove me wrong.

First she was not nervous about her surgery. She waved a beautiful princess wave down the hall all the way into surgery. Then she woke up very quickly post-op and was talking. The most distressing thing for her was the IV. And when the nurse was taking off the tape Alyssa just pulled it out. It took only 30 minutes after she woke to get in the car for the drive home.

Now she's refusing her pain meds. She has a high pain tolerance, but I'll still insist that she takes the meds in another hour.

I am thankful for my acupuncturist, Stephen Chen. He's such an amazing man and has helped me so much.

Saturday, in the middle of my migraine, I went to see him. He could tell by my posture, the lines on my face, the dullness of my eyes, just how awful I felt.

I lay on the table, face down, with three needles in my neck. He touched the outside of my heel, but the ankle bone and I nearly screamed--a loud gasp of pain escaped and tears welled in my eyes. He didn't press hard, but apparently my migraine was in my feet too.

I stayed there for an hour and a half. I did feel much better after I left. Not completely cured, but much better.


Years ago, when my migraines were out of control and medicine was no longer effective, I sought out Mr. Chen. I was so desperate by then and I'd heard that acupuncture might help my headaches. I started with weekly sessions and then biweekly, and eventually monthly. My migraines nearly disappeared. I no longer needed my medicine.

Truthfully, I haven't kept up on the acupuncture this year. I got busy with softball and life and I didn't seek out my quarterly visits. And now that work-stress has a hold of me, I need him more than ever. I need to get back to that place where I can set my medication aside for 8 months to year.

There is nothing in my life more debilitating than a migraine. It affects my entire family. Not being able to care for my children is such a horrible feeling. But I'm confident that once I back on track I'll feel better again.

Last month after Samantha had her adenoids out she had a few weeks of bad breath and yuck from the pocket of bacteria behind her adenoids. This month we had our post-op visits with both the pediatric endocrinologist and the ENT.

We met with the ENT and he signed off, pleased that she wasn't experiencing any post-nasal drip. I've noticed that Samantha's allergies don't seem to be active now. I'm hoping that it is because of the removal of the adenoids. It would be nice to relieve one more irritation.

Then we meet with the endo. and got a clean bill of health. The sample taken from her stomach was perfect--no celiac or esophagitis. Samantha has hoping she could stop taking the Prevacid. The endo. agreed that now that the adenoids were out and she wasn't suffering post-nasal drip any longer we could stop.

He ended the appointment by saying that he likely didn't need to see Samantha again. Wished her well and we said good-bye. We were with him for 7 years.

Can I tell you how emotional I was?! Since that first phone call, day 7 after Samantha was born she's struggled with so much more than a child should. That newborn screen test changed everything.

There have been periods in her life, even an entire year, when it was about medicine, doctors, tests, and quarantines (no outings or daycare to stay germ free). There was even a year when monthly medications and doctor's visit costs rivaled our mortgage payments.

Samantha was so happy as we left. I was happy and emotional. It was something we had wished for so long.

So we're down to one pill--the synthroid. That is it. And that is for life and "no big deal."

This last week Samantha had her endoscopy and an adenoidectomy. I was anxious but tried desperately not to show it. And we made it through fine.

Samantha woke at 3:45 a.m. the day of because she was anxious and excited. She was ready to get it over with. We left after 5 and headed to CHOMP before the sun was up.

Samantha was very relaxed pre-op and met all her doctors and nurses. She was excited that she got to take her lovey, Baby Sister, with her in the operating room. And I was so pleased that the nurses and doctors would accommodate that--I'm sure it helped her feel calm.

The endoscopy took only 15 minutes and the pediatric gastroenterologist was pleasantly surprised. Despite all of Samantha's GERD issues, her esophagus and stomach looked perfect. There was a little redness near the opening to the intestines at the bottom of the stomach. He took a biopsy of that part of her stomach to check for gastritis and celiac disease. Anatomically, however, she was perfect.

About 25 minutes later the ENT came out to talk about how the adenoidectomy had gone. He was very surprised by what he found. Behind Samantha's adenoids there was a pocket of bacteria that was not visible when he looked up her nose with a camera previously. The ENT asked if she'd been having a goopy nose, to which my response was "No. Her nose hasn't been running." Typically people don't have pockets like she did, but the adenoidectomy took care of it. He did have to suction out the bacteria and do a saline rinse three times each, so she was a little more banged up than expected.

The recovery was a little rough. The gas and oxygen cause a dry throat along with both procedures, so there is a lot of crying and hacking/coughing. CHOMP nurses were great. They had me get in bed next to Samantha to calm her down and soothe her. I rubbed her back and legs, kept her from pulling out the catheter in her hand, and fed her ice. I don't know exactly how long I was in the bed next to her (not very comfortable), but she slept a bit and ready to get back home.


Both doctors are hoping that these procedures will help eliminate her post-nasal drip problems and thereby not activate the acid receptors in the esophagus/stomach. Samantha wants to know if she can finally stop Prevacid for good--I sure hope so. We meet with both doctors in a month to see how things have improved.

I'm hoping that the good review of the stomach means that we can totally bypass the PH probe, which would require a probe into her lungs for 24-hours to measure the reflux/acid. That wouldn't be fun.

For now she's still recovering. The sore throat has improved and she's starting to come back to her former self. She'll be ready for school come Monday.