The one where she talks of everything, and nothing at all.

Empty promises to return to the blogging front lines have begun to gather dust.

Have you ever been so far into the middle of the storm that you begin to wonder if you've lost your footing, perhaps stumbled into some alternate reality?

I'm there.  I've been there for a while now.  While the landscape is vaguely familiar, I have yet to acquaint myself with it.  It's populated by the people who have always occupied the cast list in my life; to the positive of that, some have been unwittingly blessed, and saved from being typecast as villains, instead taking on the roles of sound reason and closest to heart.  Of them I which I could talk more, but unfortunately there are plot devices still at large that could easily ruin the ending.

The children.  My beautiful Kinder Major and Bug. Snow white, and her excitement to see me when she comes in the door.  Blueberry Night, a character in a new role, so... lost.  The children are also left to the devices of the writers.  They are the ultimate balm for my troubled heart, but the source of the trouble is the trials they're forced to endure.

I know, I know... you're reading this and thinking "Jesus god, could she lay the rhetoric on any thicker?  Mayhap we could call Tammy Fay on over to give her a few tips on the womanly art of slathering."

I won't lie - I'm feeling a little 'mo.  I can't talk about the most important developments in my life right now, because they're intrinsically linked to the most devastating ones.  While not as "bad" as the hardships that friends and family are enduring, they have a profound effect on four small, beautiful souls.  I'm helpless, and stuck in a stalemate with the universe.  Were I in my ancestral home, you'd find me leaving fry bread and beer at the closest rock cairn.  However, I doubt that the Tuatha De have deigned to follow my family this far and this long.   No, if there is cosmic mischief about, it's coming from far newer tricksters.

There I go again, with the rhetoric.

Tonight, this morning, right this second with my fingers on the keyboard, my stomach is churning, my head is pounding, my teeth are aching, and my eyes are burning.  When I tried to sleep, I found myself doing so in tiny snippets that left me more tired than I was when I started out.

In t-5:00 hours, I take Bug to see the pediatric geneticist.  At 19 months, he is 21 lbs and 29".  It was a fight to get him where he is - olive oil in everything savory, coconut oil in everything sweet.  Balancing out proteins and fats to protect his kidneys and gallbladder.  Strictly monitoring the ingredients of everything that goes into his mouth, cutting out all dairy in any incarnation.  Powdered prescription formula derived from amino acids, re-constituted with vanilla rice milk to mask the taste.

He has only just begun walking in the past two weeks, and his verbal accomplishments are definitely behind the standard milestones.

Frightening possibilities have been thrown down on the table.  Possibilities that, should they become realities, will leave me wondering when I will have to bury my son, or possibly worse, how often I will have to sit with him in hospital as he receives painful treatments to create some semblance of a normal existence.

I sit here, typing this while I watch him sleep in his pack and play, with tears running down my cheeks whenever I think too hard about the implications of the fact that we've made it to this clinic to begin with.

As a woman, not a mother, not a fiance, not a step mother to Blueberry Nights, I've doubted my faith.

When Bug was conceived, I was unsure.  His pregnancy was fraught with difficulties, from a placental abruption in the first trimester he never should have lived through, to his rocky induction at 36w5d.  When his other biological contributor showed his dangerous and sadistic true self, I was angry.  I hated myself and I hated Bug for existing.  I hated him because he was a very prominent reminder of the danger I placed Kinder Major in, of my poor ability to judge one's character.  I hated him, because there I was again - single, alone, with no one that wanted any of us.

It's a hard thing, to go through a pregnancy, an entire pregnancy, with the only touch you receive being your OB exams and the occasional hug from family.  To be isolated, and watch the world and friends and family go by, chattering excitedly about what coloring the baby will favor, mama or papa, to watch partners look at their wives and fall in love all over again.  To know that there is no one who feels that way.

No one.

It creates bitterness.  It creates hatred.  It creates a miserable existence.

But in the end, I did love him.  I loved him the instant they placed him on my chest, smelling of the intoxicating scent that is new birth.  He looked into my eyes in that moment, as I rubbed him to stimulate him, doing his APGARS in my head and realizing he was failing them miserably.  In that moment, I knew that he was just as stubborn as me, and that I had misjudged him.

So now, here I sit, trembling at the prospect of walking in there alone, without the man who loves us retroactively, who refuses to acknowledge that he is not Bug's daddy.  He is off working for the security of our future.  He loves us.  It's odd to see it typed out that way.  He loves all of us.  Kinder Major, Blueberry Nights, and Bug, as well as me.  We love him back, fiercely, naturally.  Us as a family is remarkably organic in our mismatched minor dysfunction.  He is my best friend and my, dare I be so cliche, soul mate.  It took six years to realize it, but we did, and together as a family it seems like it will all be okay, that we'll make it some way.  The only comfort about him being there and us being here, is that it reinforces our beliefs (and slight trepidation,) that our love as a family is palpable, even 140 miles away.

Can that love make up for those 36 weeks of anger and pain, though?  Or am I to be punished through his punishment?  That, truly, is Hell on Earth.  To watch helplessly as the merry-go-round spins out of control, and traps the littlest feet in the nightmare.  To watch him struggle, to worry and wonder, and in the end be sentenced harshly.

Suddenly, I'm out of things to say.  Time to shower, to put on a pretty face, and my best, most confident foot forward, for all of us need it today.

Welcome to Florida in the fall!

A lot of people will say that we have no real season changes here - just moving from really hot to less hot - but that's not true.  Most years.

This year brings a very definite turn in seasons, and true to subtropical climates, it's very rapid. 

With it comes the standard round of illnesses - colds, coughs, sinus infections... Autumn Agues.

Oh, woe... what to do with sicky babies and sickie kids?

Well, do what I do - kick 'em outside to play the snot away, and then bring them back in and feed them well.

It is now well-known that it is not the weather itself that causes illness, but rather the effects of the body's adaptation to changes in temperature and atmospheric pressure that wreak havoc on all systems, including our immune system.

One of the best ways to assist the body in fighting back and retaining its strength during these adaptations is to feed it well.  This is particularly important for children, since their immunities are still forming and their metabolisms are lightening fast.

A very simple, tasty, nutritious meal is a thick stew, or pottage.  I like to make pottage with meat, but vegetarians and vegans shouldn't depair, since it's equally as tasty and nutritious without.  Here's a rough recipe... please keep in mind that I'm one of those cooks that doesn't measure, but rather goes on instinct.  If in doubt, always use less.  More can be added, but little can be removed without starting all over.  Additionally, don't be afraid to adapt or stray, or to tailor to the tastes of your family.  If you dislike one of my ingredients, don't despair about it.  Just change it up a bit!  Most importantly, enjoy yourself.  Enjoy prepping and cooking, and savor the meal.  It does equally as much for your spirit as it does for your health.

Beef Pottage ala Accidentally Mommy

• Beef for stew, well marbled***
• Beef broth, consomme, boullion or stock (I love love love "Better than boullion" concentrate.)***
• Root veggies of your choosing - potatoes, turnips, carrots, yams - anything works, really.
• One or two good sized onions
• Garlic.  I like a LOT of garlic - but that's your choice, really.
• Celery
• Butter***
• Flour***
• Seasoning - my usual defaults are sea salt, ground mixed pepper (pink, black, white peppercorns,) ground rosemary, a dash of parsley, a sprinkle of herbs de provence mix, and sometimes a little paprika and turmeric, if I'm using lamb, venison or rabbit, or if I'm making it vegetarian with seitan, TVP or tofu.

Chop your veggies and toss them into the pot, covering them with your liquid of choice. This includes your onions, but not your garlic.

Put a dollop of butter in a pan, and brown the stew meat with your garlic and your seasonings.  I like to get it really brown, so that I can deglaze the pan later with either broth or red wine.  You could use olive oil here, but I feel it imparts a flavor that doesn't mesh so well with the rest of the ingredients. 

Deglaze the pan if you so wish, and add that to the pot, along with the meat and garlic.

Cover and let simmer for as long as you want.  Depending on the thickness of your veggies, it could take as little as 45 minutes or as long as two hours.  You can go even longer, if you'd like.  Just make sure your root veggies are at least fork done before moving on to the next step.

So now that the veggies are done, you're going to make a medium roux.  The trick to a good roux is making sure you're using equal amounts of fat and flour, and that your fat is a high-quality fat.  I use salted butter, full-cream spring butter, if I can.  If not, the best butter you can find/afford will work.  Hell, whatever you have on hand will work, too.  Melt the amount of butter you're using (say, 1/2 cup,) over low heat.  Slowly whisk in 1/2 cup of flour to the melted butter.  Keeping it on low heat, whisk constantly until mixture begins to turn a light tan color.  Then do it some more.  You're looking to get a pretty, rich carmel color and smooth texture.  Whatever you do, DO NOT turn the heat up, and DO NOT stop whisking!  You will burn the roux, and it will smell awful.

Once you achieve that golden carmel color, incorporate it into your pottage/stew.  I use the whisk to whisk it into the top layer of the stew, and then a long-handled wooden spoon to mix it the rest of the way.

Experiment, have fun, and eat up!

*** Better than Boullion makes an awesome veg*n veggie and a mushroom base.  TVP, Seitan, Tofu... use whatever you prefer to sub the beef.  If you're veg*n, use a corn starch slurry to thicken instead of roux.  (To make slurry, add cornstarch to cold water and whisk.  Gently temper in mixture to pottage, taking care to make sure you mix as you incorporate.)

A rant on standards of health care...

You know, I bitch about the standards of healthcare in the state of Florida. I bitch a LOT about maternity and pediatric care.

I had the chance to be very thankful for what we have today.

A bit of back story: Woman I used to know many years ago via IRC had her son last week at 32 weeks gestation, which is 34 weeks pregnant. He was underweight, extremely jaundiced, and had mild respiratory distress syndrome. No ventilator needed, but they kept him in an O2 tent under a bili light for a week.

The woman is a few years older than me, but very... immature. If you didn't know better, you'd think that perhaps there was some developmental deficiency, but there isn't. She's just immature.

Her son was discharged today, at 1 week old. He'd been weaned off the O2 over a course of 12 hours, and his blood oxygen level was stable. His weight? 4 lbs, 14 oz. His jaundice is still extreme. As in, I've never ever seen a newborn (or ANYONE, human or animal,) leave a hospital with that degree of yellowing to their sclera and skin.

She messaged me today, frantic and terrified.

Apparently, the neonatologist explained everything to her - in medical terms. When she asked for further explanation, she was told to write it down so that she could look it up later.

She was allowed to nurse him once, and sent home with instructions to avoid formula and bottles and nurse, but never allowed to consult with a lactation specialist.

He's still extremely jaundiced. Their recommendation was to take him outside as much as possible. In Upper Peninsula Michigan. In October.

After about 45 minutes of explaining in very simple terms how to detect respiratory distress in a newborn to her, as well as citing solutions for breastfeeding issues in preemies from my text books, I got her calmed down quite a bit. I also drilled it into her that with her preemie (and with any infant, really,) there is no such thing as an over-reaction. If she thought there was ANYTHING wrong, she needed to get him to a doctor immediately. I also told her that she needed to get ANGRY with anyone who chastised her for "over reacting" and not allow them to convince her that she shouldn't come back if she saw or felt like something was amiss.

I confess, I was frustrated at first with her level of immaturity. Instead of saying breast milk, it was "Mommy NomNom." "LOL" followed every statement of insecurity.

Once I got past my frustration, though, I realized two things. #1, she was excellent preparation for being patient with my future patients. #2, I was PISSED.

How the FUCK could they send a parent home so unprepared and a child so close to the line between okay and not okay?

She has no family, to speak of. Her husband is equally as unprepared and immature. They live in the middle of fucking nowhere, michigan.

They gave her no list of resources, no personal suggestions, no encouragement.

She knew nothing of La Leche League, prematurity.org, or even any books to read.

ONE nurse suggested kangaroo care to her. The same nurse that let her actually let the baby nurse. Once. Prior to that and after, they were forcing her to pump and bottle feed, despite telling her to nurse and avoid bottles and formula at home.

I did as much nursing trouble-shooting with her as I could - it sounds like he's latching but has a poor suck reflex. The texts I have suggest hand-expressing slowly, directly into his mouth after letting him attempt to suck. I told her to do that until she got ahold of someone in person at LLL, and to keep calling. They have consultants on-call for after-hours issues too, so just be persistent in calling until someone calls her back or answers.

As far as I'm concerned, what she experienced was not just harried hospital staff in a rush to discharge due to policy/insurance issues. What she experienced was a basic failure of human compassion and an absolute failure on the part of the hospital staff to do. their. goddamn. job.

With "Care" like that, there's no wonder at the fucking infant mortality rate. How can parents do their best for their children if they're not being provided with an education on how to do that? It especially boggles me that someone would dismiss a parent who was actively ASKING for further education! HOW CAN YOU IGNORE SOMEONE WHO IS ASKING FOR HELP IN DISPELLING THEIR IGNORANCE???

So angry. Livid, in fact.


Anyway, yeah. Thank you, State of Florida, for at least having the initiative to provide the resources you do, and the dedication you have to the children, if not the parents. Hat tip in particular to Shands Children's Hospital, Arnold Palmer Women's and Children's hospital, Baptist Medical Center in Jax, The Sebastian Ferrero Foundation, and all the others that I'm missing.

ETA: There is apparently ONE pediatrician's office local to her qualified to deal with son. She called them before messaging me, and was told that she was going to have to wait until his appointment on Monday, that they don't offer a nurse line for questions, and they can't squeeze her in before Monday. I told her she needed to try and find the funds to make the hour drive to another office if at all possible.