On Friday LC's weight was up to nine lbs, 1 oz. but her energy was in the dumps. No amount of coaxing or physical prodding would get her to wake up or give us her attention. On Saturday it was more of the same, but this time she had large bags under her eyes and her hands were cold and swollen, too. That's how we know it's time for the phone call. If LC won't wake up to Justin's voice to flirt with her dad and her eyes start to look like mine, it's time for medical intervention.
Luckily, we have the single most lovely pediatrician in the world. DR. DEB WINBURN has repeatedly given us and reminded us to use her home and cellular numbers and quickly responded with the directions that flushed out our little blowfish and returned her to her alert and chatty self. She also arranged for LC to go straight to a cardiologist at Children's Mercy this afternoon (an appointment that usually comes with at least a standard week's wait...)
We love her. We adore her. Which is why when we find ourselves in the presence of mediocrity...even if it IS only in the area of social competence...we notice. And it makes it into our blog. And I'm not going to use this cardiologist's name...because i'm working to erase it from my memory...but if you need a cardiologist at Children's Mercy call me first. Because there's one you don't want to see.
Today we were seen by a cardiologist we shall refer to as Dr. Stump. First, she began by criticizing the reasons I gave her for wanting LC to be seen before her next appointment that was two weeks away. She asked me why I continually cancelled appointments with cardiologists. (Well, it's actually because those appointments fell within the time she was HOSPITALIZED IN THE CHILDREN'S MERCY CARDIAC WING and i felt keeping the appointments would be redundant). Then she asked me if my pediatrician knew that LC had a heart defect. (If she didn't know, her referring us here and setting up the appointment was one heckuva shot in the dark, wasn't it?) Please note: all parenthetical sarcasm was thought...not uttered aloud...but in retrospect, should have been.
All of these social blunders I would be willing to forgive her for. After all, I am quick to claim the title of social moron based on an impressive collection of available evidence. It would be a "Hello, Pot....This is Kettle." situation, as my husband would say. I could hardly fault her in areas where I also struggle to keep up with most humans...and well-behaved house pets.
There are times, however, when being socially graceless, and tactless, and prying, and frankly...rude, do achieve a level that even I can comment on. And it happened in our next lines of conversation, recorded for you below:
Dr. Stump asked me if I had come to terms with everything. I wasn't exactly sure what she meant so she continued after my silence and said, "The Down syndrome. Or did you know before she was born."
I explained that we had known and then, begrudgingly, explained that LC was being adopted.
She was surprised and said, "Oh! What a shock! Had you committed to the adoption before you found out about the Down syndrome diagnosis?"
Keep in mind, folks, that most Down syndrome babies are born with perfectly healthy and functioning hearts. And this woman, who had full knowledge that LC was going to need open heart surgery, was giving no attention to the defects she was trained to discuss and, instead, focusing on the horror of LC's Down syndrome.
I explained that, in fact, we would not have pursued LC's adoption had she not had a diagnosis of Down syndrome. To which she poetically replied,
Nor is this an opportunity to comment on how, despite her obvious medical skill and experience, I dismissed the authority of any other thing she said within the duration of our 20 minute appointment.
It's actually a chance to publicly reproach myself for not having an immediate and specific answer ready and available. I have thousands I could have chosen from and didn't attempt a mention of any. But, since the odds are excellent it will not be the last time the question (or some less tactless form of it) is posed, this is my chance to publicly vow that all other opportunities to fully celebrate the exquisite wonders of LC Grace will not be missed as today's so unfortunately was.
And, without further delay, the 1st installment of
Eating Up Life with LC...
The FIVE times I watch LC roll directly from her tummy to her back to get out of enduring blasted tummy time. LC is a mini-voyeur. She gulps in the room around her through her pretty little eyes and is constantly looking back and forth when she's in her bassinet or laying on her back on the floor. The objective of her tummy time is to strengthen her neck muscles...and, in theory, it ought to work. Because she wants nothing more than to be able to see the world around her again. But the kid's not stupid. And she knows the 30 seconds of strain are going to buy her 3 seconds of glimpse time as her head inches up and then crashes back down again. And so, while her neck remains slightly less floppy than an egg noodle, her upper body strength has improved dramatically. And within 10 seconds of putting that kid on her belly you'll hear a grunt, a holler and then...shove...onto her back she goes to bask in the victorious view.