"We're Fine"

We're lucky to have so many good people around us who are checking in on our mental, physical, and emotional stability these days. But, I have to admit something, last week was so jam packed with nuttiness, I'm not sure *what* everyone is inquiring about when they text or call to "check in."

So, here's a timeline of last week and an update on all of the items. I can't keep track of who knows what anymore.

Monday: Matt's "chest cold" takes a turn for the worse and he finally agrees to go to the doctor. She gives him a stern talking-to, breathing treatment, and four medications for a respiratory infection and sinus infection. (I like this lady.)

Tuesday: I get a call at work from Matt to let me know that he is having trouble breathing and headed to the ER. Catch the next train to Evanston and make inappropriate jokes in the ER about steroid use. (I can't help myself.)

Wednesday: Matt still home on bed rest. I call over and over and over to make sure he's breathing.

Thursday: Grandma B takes W to the pediatrician to check on his chest and cough and also the strange rash we noticed. Pediatrician tells her to take W directly to the hospital to get a blood test. Turns out the red bumps are not a rash and are actually pitichaie. It's a sign of tons of issues from the potentially terrible (leukemia) to a virus or from coughing too hard. Of course, googling it only opens up a hornet's nest. Matt (who is finally back at work) picks me up and we once again head for Evanston. Then we wait at home to hear back from our doctor with strict instructions not to let him fall and hit his head. (Not an easy thing with a toddler.) We hear back at 6:30 that the blood tests were fine, so they think it's from coughing really hard. The pediatrician just can't figure out why they're on his legs and arms, which is uncommon. We're watching him.

Friday: I take Howie to the vet to check out a lump we found on his hip on Wednesday. Fully expecting it to be a cyst, I am floored when the vet tells me that the biopsy showed it's a tumor. WHAT? Skin cancer, I guess. I don't know, I was too busy trying to help them hold him down for a blood sample while using every bit of will I had not to cry (was not successful with the crying bit). I scheduled him for surgery to remove the tumor, refused their offer of a financial quote, and tried to bust out of that place, so I could lose my cool in the car where I'd be by myself. Then waited all afternoon (AGAIN!) for the results of Howie's blood test. He's OK for surgery and his white blood cell count isn't too high, so things are looking alright. The official diagnosis is a mast cell tumor. The regular human diagnosis is skin cancer.

Saturday: We go to game night and celebrate babies and engagements with old friends. I get beat really bad at Win, Lose or Draw. Polish off a bottle of wine.

Sunday: Really? Four glasses of wine gives me that bad of a head ache? What a joke! This is the day I'm confronted with the reality of aging.

Monday: Why not pile on? We watched The Hurt Locker last night. JEEZ! My stress level could not be any higher. Not possible.

So, that's it, folks. There's your update. I'm sure my head ache and the aging stuff is what people are most worried about, but I assure you I'm doing OK... Inappropriate, right? See, that's what I do. Poor Matt. Every time he tries to say something about William or Howie to me I immediately ask him to stop talking or make a really bad joke.

But, that's how I deal, I guess. Seriously, though, we're fine. Once this f'in tumor is out of the H-Man and W doesn't look like he has polka dots and Matt can breathe and I can polish off a bottle of wine and feel great the next day, we'll be back on our feet. I promise.

P.S. I feel really insensitive even mentioning these things in the face of all that's going on in the world right now.