A Top Ten of Ridiculousness

I remember as a kid being able to stay up late on Friday nights to watch Late Night with David Letterman with my father. We would enjoy The Top Ten Letterman presents every night before celebrity interviews. I probably didn't understand most of the current event references, but I like it because my dad liked it. Furthermore, in my mind, a top ten became a very efficient way to convey information. I had one on our Christmas card this year; ironically #9 was that "April's brain is properly functioning." Also, my close group of friends from college send out email Top Tens. It isn't cumbersome to write, but gives just enough information to know how Holly is doing in Albuquerque or if Christy is enjoying Prague?

 

As I began to unravel my crazy medical history on Caring Bridge and now on this blog, I am able to shed a lot of humor about my Cluster of Crap. I truly believe writing has kept my panic at bay in these tremendously vulnerable post surgery weeks. My panic doesn't come in the face of stress. It comes weeks after. So I want to keep writing even though there is not a lot going on in way of treatments or surgeries. I want to write a humorous top ten of the most ridiculous situations I have found myself in due to my thyroid, panic disorder, or IIH. Hopefully sharing will keep the panic from paralyzing me and keep me from living on Xanax.

So here it goes:

#10--Franki Ann and Preschool Share Time

Franki was 4 when I had my shunt placed. She has always been eager to to talk about mature subjects. We can remember in Columbia having to discuss race relations and death with her before one bedtime. That night, Kyle and I walked out of her room breathing deeply and wondering if we handled those subjects with grace and age appropriate vocabulary. Surprise!! There were not board books with cute sketched characters explaining how a person dies and where their body goes (they probably do have those books now). On the other hand Moe is a highly highly sensitive kiddo. If he accidentally bumps you, he would be in tears afraid he possibly hurt you. He also isn't too good about communicating his worries, so we prepare him for possible bothersome incidents.

Out of need to prepare Moe, we started an informative discussion with Moe and Franki the night before the surgery. We explained that Mommy needed the doctors to go into her brain and fix it, so she wouldn't have bad headaches anymore. I was trying to keep it light and vague. I explained that I would have a big boo boo on my head and that my hair would look a lot like daddy's. This was because my hair would get in the doctor's way so they would have to shave it. Big breaths came out of Moe and tears followed, so I hugged him and said it will ultimately help me. Then Franki looks at me and starts belting out questions.

Franki: How will they cut your head?
Me: with a scalpel which is like a razor.

Franki: How will they go through your head bone?
Me: with a very small drill?

Franki: Will you bleed a lot?
Me: Umm....I hope not.

Franki: Can I watch?
Me: ABSOLUTELY NOT! (I was frightened that we were raising a serial killer)

Franki: I will help you if your head hurts when you get home Mommy.
Me: Oh thank you sweetie (relieved that she won't be on Dateline in the future).

The next day Franki's preschool class was having share time and this was a time students share about birthday parties or a special rock they found on their driveway. Apparently, Franki raised her hand to share. When the teacher called on her, Franki dramatically said "Doctors are drilling holes in mommy's brain today." Kinda funny huh? Well apparently as she is proclaiming this, she is making a drill with her hand and making her "hand drill" go into her head while making drill noises. The teacher quickly changes the subject, but what were those poor preschoolers thinking as my sweet daughter exposes them to the image of a doctor drilling into a head?

Franki was very interested about my incision, and I think she was bummed I didn't have daddy's haircut afterward. She also held my hand as I went down any stairs and covered me up every time she passed me in the living room. On the day of my surgery, I guess she just felt the class needed a Reality Atomic Bomb (with hand motions and sound effects) to ruin their light and age appropriate share time. I am sorry if your kids had any bad nightmares last December about a crazing brain driller: Buffey, Marla, Cara, Julie, Cherie, Shelley, Pam, Amber, Beth, Angela, and Kim.