It had to happen sometime. After almost 15 months of blissfully good health, Fiona finally got her first cold. It came on subtly: last Thursday she was just a little off, not too interested in food, kinda crabby. Friday morning when she woke up, she had a thoroughly crusty nose, and my mother-in-law informed me later that day that Fi was officially a sick little puppy. She was in good spirits, though, and played most of the day with her usual vigor.
Of course, when I showed up to pick her up that evening she took one look at me and remembered that she was sick and demanded some love and attention, which I gladly dispensed to my usually independent child. By Saturday evening, she was still congested but apparently feeling better. Not so on Sunday. More congestion, more crabby. Poor little shaver. As of today, she's on the mend again, but I have her humidifier on full blast to do as much as I can to alleviate the snot block going on in her wee noggin.
The dreaded toddler cold couldn't be held at bay forever. Lots of things conspired against poor Fiona. On Halloween morning, we visited a day care just to check it out, and she naturally got her little hands all over all kinds of stuff that lots of other little hands had been on. Then the day after Halloween we had a party that was overrun with other kids, much to Fi's delight; much toy-sharing and drool exchange transpired. The following Tuesday, I took her to the pediatrician fearing she had an ear infection (no ear infection; apparently, she's an ear tugger). Her immune system - no longer benefiting from the antibodies in breastmilk - just couldn't withstand those voracious germs.
Still, we weathered this first cold pretty well, I think. She has continued to sleep like a champ (14 hours a day!) and still finds great comfort in food. Especially apples, which she enjoys gnawing on while walking around the house. All in all, it could have been worse.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Month Nine Stats
Fiona's nine month wellbaby appointment took place right smack in the middle of naptime, so she was pretty much pissed the entire time. That's okay, we've got stats to share anyway!
Weight: 20 pounds, 6.6 ounces (down 3.4 ounces from her 6-month checkup). The South Beach Baby Diet we put Fiona on has clearly worked. We were pretty concerned with her excessive girth, and felt that she was going to be unable to compete in today's cutthroat world of thin and sexy babies. How was she ever going to get ahead in life?
Of course, I'm kidding. We love our super-chub baby. The doctor wasn't particularly concerned with her weight, although we're supposed to keep an eye on it. Considering she was previously in the 97th percentile for weight (and also considering the change in her height) this change is not terribly surprising. In any case, she's now in the range of the 50th to 75th percentile in weight.
Height: 29 1/4 inches, a gain of 2 1/2 inches. So while Fiona was more or less static in terms of weight, she was busy shooting up like a chubby-thighed weed. As a result, she moved from the 55th percentile in height to the 90th, and is now officially too big for her infant carseat. We'd switched over to her convertible seat shortly after her 6-month appointment thinking she was going to surpass the 22 pound weight limit. Obviously, she hasn't done that yet, but given that the height limit is 29 inches, we can now safely pack her first seat away.
The rest of the appointment was relatively standard fare with the exception of the occasional, explosive shrieking my poor nap-deprived baby emitted. I actually had to hold her head steady while the doctor looked in her ears and eyes. No shots this time around, but she did have her finger pricked and milked for a few drops of blood, which will be tested for lead and, I think, iron levels. Naturally, she was not a fan; and just like when she gets her shots, I felt terrible holding her down just so someone else could cause her pain. Necessary, yes. But hard to bear, too.
All in all, she remains a very healthy little girl. And by the time we got to the front desk to pay the co-pay and make our 12-month appointment (12 months!!), Fiona was her usual happy little self, sucking contentedly on the sparkly, kid-bandaid on her poor priced finger. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't hold my treasonous behavior against me.
Weight: 20 pounds, 6.6 ounces (down 3.4 ounces from her 6-month checkup). The South Beach Baby Diet we put Fiona on has clearly worked. We were pretty concerned with her excessive girth, and felt that she was going to be unable to compete in today's cutthroat world of thin and sexy babies. How was she ever going to get ahead in life?
Of course, I'm kidding. We love our super-chub baby. The doctor wasn't particularly concerned with her weight, although we're supposed to keep an eye on it. Considering she was previously in the 97th percentile for weight (and also considering the change in her height) this change is not terribly surprising. In any case, she's now in the range of the 50th to 75th percentile in weight.
Height: 29 1/4 inches, a gain of 2 1/2 inches. So while Fiona was more or less static in terms of weight, she was busy shooting up like a chubby-thighed weed. As a result, she moved from the 55th percentile in height to the 90th, and is now officially too big for her infant carseat. We'd switched over to her convertible seat shortly after her 6-month appointment thinking she was going to surpass the 22 pound weight limit. Obviously, she hasn't done that yet, but given that the height limit is 29 inches, we can now safely pack her first seat away.
The rest of the appointment was relatively standard fare with the exception of the occasional, explosive shrieking my poor nap-deprived baby emitted. I actually had to hold her head steady while the doctor looked in her ears and eyes. No shots this time around, but she did have her finger pricked and milked for a few drops of blood, which will be tested for lead and, I think, iron levels. Naturally, she was not a fan; and just like when she gets her shots, I felt terrible holding her down just so someone else could cause her pain. Necessary, yes. But hard to bear, too.
All in all, she remains a very healthy little girl. And by the time we got to the front desk to pay the co-pay and make our 12-month appointment (12 months!!), Fiona was her usual happy little self, sucking contentedly on the sparkly, kid-bandaid on her poor priced finger. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't hold my treasonous behavior against me.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Mastitis: Enemy of the Boob
I practically should have expected it. There were plenty of reasons for it to happen. There was a bleb, or milk blister, on Lefty's nipple (= susceptible to bacteria) ; I started battling a cold late last week (= depressed immunity); then M and I went out of town for a wedding last weekend, which involved lots of fun, late nights, and partying a little hard (= "run down"). Conditions - according to what I've read and been told since then - were pretty much ripe for what happened Tuesday of this week.
I went to bed feeling fine and normal Monday night, and woke up at 5:00 in the morning with excruciating pain in Lefty (a note to readers who haven't picked up on this before, but Lefty is by far the more successful sister as far as milk production). At first, I thought it was just engorgement, easily fixed by pumping since Fiona wasn't awake yet. Very quickly I realized there was a big problem. It was so painful to pump I was immediately nauseous. But I could feel the wedge-shaped clog on the top of the breast, and knew that not working it out could mean bad things. So I continued, not wanting to chance that things could get worse. Too late: they were already worse. The pain got so intense I started to feel faint, and I started to cry. Really, really hard.
I stopped, and heated up my little flax-pack, which I'd been using for the past several days before nursing to ease the pain of the bleb. It wasn't helping that morning, but I knew I had no choice. So I took it to the next level and got into a hot shower, bringing my trusty little manual pump with me, and kept trying. But it was an exercise in futility. Hardly anything was coming out, and I wanted to die the pain was so awful. Let's put it this way: I didn't cry out in pain while pushing out my nearly-9-pound daughter... but I couldn't stop crying during this.
By now, it was 6:00 and Fiona was awake. Having had a clog once before, I knew that she was the best person for the job of getting me unclogged. I figured it would be uncomfortable for sure. But I was determined to deal with this thing and get on with my day, and figured I was so used to her that maybe it would be better than the pump. I was horribly mistaken. Pain shot through me like a bullet and I wailed like a siren. This, naturally, scared the hell out of Fiona, and she, too, began to cry/nurse/cry/nurse. M says it sounded "like a torture chamber", Fiona and me both screaming and crying. She did work out the bulk of the clog, thankfully. But the pain persisted, and my plans for the day (namely, going to work) were were scrapped. There was no way I would be able to function in normal society like that.
My mother-in-law, who cares for Fiona when I'm at work anyway, was generous enough to come over as usual and allow me to be sick without having to take care of a baby at the same time. By this point, I was pretty sure the issue wasn't just a clog, but likely the more serious - and dreaded - mastitis. On my mother-in-law's (much appreciated) insistence, I called my OB's office to talk to a nurse. I didn't even make it past the receptionist: when she asked why I was calling, I said "extreme breast pain" and she said, "Well! You need to see a doctor. Come in at 1:45." Fastest appointment I ever made.
I pumped again, only because I absolutely had to, and then went to bed in the interim, miserable as hell. MIL woke me at 1:00, gave me some soup, and sent me off to the doctor. Predictably, mastitis was confirmed, and the doctor wrote me a script for antibiotics. My temperature there was only 99.2, but certainly explained why I was feeling woozy. I left the doctor's office, called my mom, and headed straight for the pharmacy to pick up the drugs. I was sitting in the parking lot, just saying goodbye to her when I heard the rushing wind and felt that all-over tingling you get right before you pass out. Before I could do that, though, I got the 15-second warning indicating that barf was imminent. So I did that instead, right out the side of my car door. Good times. I think the pharmacist must have known I was in a bad way because she gave me the briefest, most sympathetic look as she said, "Do you want to wait for it?" And I did.
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of fever, pain, and general misery. I woke up at one point with a temperature of 102 degrees, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed only to be awakened a few hours later sweating myself silly the way you do when a fever breaks. That cycle repeated itself twice more throughout the night and into the next morning.
I still felt pretty banged up by Wednesday morning, but my temperature was mostly back to normal, and I just wanted to start feeling normal again. So I went to work and sort of glazed my way through the day. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling considerably better, in spite of the fact that pumping was still pretty painful (and producing very disappointing amounts of milk). Since then, I've improved leaps and bounds, and was even able to nurse Fiona by Thursday morning. Not comfortably, but I did it. I think she's the only thing that will bring my dwindling supply back to its former glory. Lefty's nipple is still pretty touchy, but it's getting better all the time.
There are women out there who have gone through far worse episodes of mastitis than the bout I just experienced - and who have gone through it many times. I have to bow to these women, because to endure this kind of torture is nothing short of miraculous. I myself hope to never, EVER go through it again, but I know that having had it once makes me more susceptible to having it again. Still, I know what to watch for now, and with luck it won't kick my ass quite so hard if it does ever recur. Yeah, right.
I went to bed feeling fine and normal Monday night, and woke up at 5:00 in the morning with excruciating pain in Lefty (a note to readers who haven't picked up on this before, but Lefty is by far the more successful sister as far as milk production). At first, I thought it was just engorgement, easily fixed by pumping since Fiona wasn't awake yet. Very quickly I realized there was a big problem. It was so painful to pump I was immediately nauseous. But I could feel the wedge-shaped clog on the top of the breast, and knew that not working it out could mean bad things. So I continued, not wanting to chance that things could get worse. Too late: they were already worse. The pain got so intense I started to feel faint, and I started to cry. Really, really hard.
I stopped, and heated up my little flax-pack, which I'd been using for the past several days before nursing to ease the pain of the bleb. It wasn't helping that morning, but I knew I had no choice. So I took it to the next level and got into a hot shower, bringing my trusty little manual pump with me, and kept trying. But it was an exercise in futility. Hardly anything was coming out, and I wanted to die the pain was so awful. Let's put it this way: I didn't cry out in pain while pushing out my nearly-9-pound daughter... but I couldn't stop crying during this.
By now, it was 6:00 and Fiona was awake. Having had a clog once before, I knew that she was the best person for the job of getting me unclogged. I figured it would be uncomfortable for sure. But I was determined to deal with this thing and get on with my day, and figured I was so used to her that maybe it would be better than the pump. I was horribly mistaken. Pain shot through me like a bullet and I wailed like a siren. This, naturally, scared the hell out of Fiona, and she, too, began to cry/nurse/cry/nurse. M says it sounded "like a torture chamber", Fiona and me both screaming and crying. She did work out the bulk of the clog, thankfully. But the pain persisted, and my plans for the day (namely, going to work) were were scrapped. There was no way I would be able to function in normal society like that.
My mother-in-law, who cares for Fiona when I'm at work anyway, was generous enough to come over as usual and allow me to be sick without having to take care of a baby at the same time. By this point, I was pretty sure the issue wasn't just a clog, but likely the more serious - and dreaded - mastitis. On my mother-in-law's (much appreciated) insistence, I called my OB's office to talk to a nurse. I didn't even make it past the receptionist: when she asked why I was calling, I said "extreme breast pain" and she said, "Well! You need to see a doctor. Come in at 1:45." Fastest appointment I ever made.
I pumped again, only because I absolutely had to, and then went to bed in the interim, miserable as hell. MIL woke me at 1:00, gave me some soup, and sent me off to the doctor. Predictably, mastitis was confirmed, and the doctor wrote me a script for antibiotics. My temperature there was only 99.2, but certainly explained why I was feeling woozy. I left the doctor's office, called my mom, and headed straight for the pharmacy to pick up the drugs. I was sitting in the parking lot, just saying goodbye to her when I heard the rushing wind and felt that all-over tingling you get right before you pass out. Before I could do that, though, I got the 15-second warning indicating that barf was imminent. So I did that instead, right out the side of my car door. Good times. I think the pharmacist must have known I was in a bad way because she gave me the briefest, most sympathetic look as she said, "Do you want to wait for it?" And I did.
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of fever, pain, and general misery. I woke up at one point with a temperature of 102 degrees, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed only to be awakened a few hours later sweating myself silly the way you do when a fever breaks. That cycle repeated itself twice more throughout the night and into the next morning.
I still felt pretty banged up by Wednesday morning, but my temperature was mostly back to normal, and I just wanted to start feeling normal again. So I went to work and sort of glazed my way through the day. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling considerably better, in spite of the fact that pumping was still pretty painful (and producing very disappointing amounts of milk). Since then, I've improved leaps and bounds, and was even able to nurse Fiona by Thursday morning. Not comfortably, but I did it. I think she's the only thing that will bring my dwindling supply back to its former glory. Lefty's nipple is still pretty touchy, but it's getting better all the time.
There are women out there who have gone through far worse episodes of mastitis than the bout I just experienced - and who have gone through it many times. I have to bow to these women, because to endure this kind of torture is nothing short of miraculous. I myself hope to never, EVER go through it again, but I know that having had it once makes me more susceptible to having it again. Still, I know what to watch for now, and with luck it won't kick my ass quite so hard if it does ever recur. Yeah, right.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Baby's First Doctor Visit
With the exception of the day after we brought her home from the hospital, Fiona never had any reason to go to the doctor except for her wellbaby visits where she got weighed, measured, poked and stuck with vaccines. Last week, however, I made the first phone call to the doctor's office in over 8 months.
A rash that had been quite minor and small when it appeared on her upper chest under her neck just before she turned 6 months had become much larger and very itchy to my little girl. She could barely keep her hands off it. Whenever we would take her top off, her hands would immediately latch on to her chest in a scratching frenzy. And let me tell you - this kid is strong. I don't know how she does it, being so small, but it took both my hands to pry her clenched fingers off her rash. It reminds me of trying to cut the cat's nails: Xena weighs all of 8 pounds, but she'll manage to wiggle her way out of M's super-strong-and-manly grip just to release a powerful stream of cat whiz on both of us before scampering under the bed (this actually happened just the other day).
Anyway, I digress. Fiona's rash was looking more irritated every day, and she was clearly getting itchier. So off to the doctor's office she went with her Nana late last week.
The verdict: Eczema. Nothing terribly serious, and not at all uncommon in babies. We got some recommendations - lukewarm, infrequent baths; Eucerin and Aquafor; 2.5% hydrocortisone cream for really itchy times; and starting from square one with solids. Boooooo. So much for slow weaning with the help of solids. I was really hoping to eliminate my worktime pumping sessions because good GOD am I done with the pumping. Besides that, Fiona really likes food. So it's a bummer to have to start her back at the beginning and move with the pace of a glacier again. Sorry, kid, no more sweet potatoes for you for a while.
We managed to get the rash under control very quickly. Within less than two days, it was nearly gone. She didn't have solids again until yesterday when we gave her some oatmeal (so much less disgusting than rice cereal). Bad news: that may have been the culprit. As of this morning, the rash was back and in multiple spots. Sigh. I don't know what this means other than that oatmeal is off the list for now. Maybe we really do have to resort to rice cereal. Sadly, she just doesn't really like rice cereal that much (I tried it - I don't like it either).
One interesting factoid that came out of the doctor visit... Fi got weighed and came in at 2 ounces LESS than she was at her 6 month appointment. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - she's been moving around like a maniac, standing all the time and more trouble than a monkey in a banana shop (what?). Sweet - that buys us some more time to use all her "good to 25 pounds" baby gear!
A rash that had been quite minor and small when it appeared on her upper chest under her neck just before she turned 6 months had become much larger and very itchy to my little girl. She could barely keep her hands off it. Whenever we would take her top off, her hands would immediately latch on to her chest in a scratching frenzy. And let me tell you - this kid is strong. I don't know how she does it, being so small, but it took both my hands to pry her clenched fingers off her rash. It reminds me of trying to cut the cat's nails: Xena weighs all of 8 pounds, but she'll manage to wiggle her way out of M's super-strong-and-manly grip just to release a powerful stream of cat whiz on both of us before scampering under the bed (this actually happened just the other day).
Anyway, I digress. Fiona's rash was looking more irritated every day, and she was clearly getting itchier. So off to the doctor's office she went with her Nana late last week.
The verdict: Eczema. Nothing terribly serious, and not at all uncommon in babies. We got some recommendations - lukewarm, infrequent baths; Eucerin and Aquafor; 2.5% hydrocortisone cream for really itchy times; and starting from square one with solids. Boooooo. So much for slow weaning with the help of solids. I was really hoping to eliminate my worktime pumping sessions because good GOD am I done with the pumping. Besides that, Fiona really likes food. So it's a bummer to have to start her back at the beginning and move with the pace of a glacier again. Sorry, kid, no more sweet potatoes for you for a while.
We managed to get the rash under control very quickly. Within less than two days, it was nearly gone. She didn't have solids again until yesterday when we gave her some oatmeal (so much less disgusting than rice cereal). Bad news: that may have been the culprit. As of this morning, the rash was back and in multiple spots. Sigh. I don't know what this means other than that oatmeal is off the list for now. Maybe we really do have to resort to rice cereal. Sadly, she just doesn't really like rice cereal that much (I tried it - I don't like it either).
One interesting factoid that came out of the doctor visit... Fi got weighed and came in at 2 ounces LESS than she was at her 6 month appointment. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - she's been moving around like a maniac, standing all the time and more trouble than a monkey in a banana shop (what?). Sweet - that buys us some more time to use all her "good to 25 pounds" baby gear!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Month Two Stats
Fiona had her two-month appointment last week. She was amazingly good-natured through nearly the entire visit. This was likely because I smartened up from her one-month appointment and made sure the last thing I did before we left for the doctor's office was feed her so at least she wouldn't be screaming herself silly due to hunger.
As with the previous visit to the pediatrician, Fiona checks out to be very healthy. The doctor says she's right on track with everything and looks great. She was even impressed with Fiona's strength and figures she'll be early to roll over. Not two seconds after she said this Fiona rolled over on the exam table. Little show-off. I was so proud. Granted, she was probably helped out a bit by the incline at the head of the table. But still: for one, her timing couldn't have been better, and two, she really is that strong.
On to the rundown of her stats:
Weight: 13 pounds, 8.2 ounces. That's right. She gained nearly three pounds in the last month. She bumped herself into the 97th percentile for weight. This really came as no surprise to us since M and I both are having more back pain every day. Holding Fiona is fast becoming a weight-training regimen.
Length: 23.5 inches, a gain of an inch and-a-half since her one-month appointment, and reaching the 75th percentile for weight. Our little basketball player could very well outpace both her parents in stature. After all, her height at two months of age is an adequate indicator, right?
The appointment could not end without some trauma, of course. We also had to face the horror of her first round of vaccinations. This experience was nearly as bad for me as it was for Fiona - maybe worse. For her it was momentary pain from three shots. For me, it was having my heart ripped out knowing there wasn't much I could do to prevent the pain. The nurse started with the rotavirus drink, which Fiona accepted like a champ. Then she got one shot in her left thigh and two in her right. These nurses nurses really know what they're doing. She positioned herself just so that I couldn't see the actual injections taking place. All I could see was poor little Fiona's face as that first injection registered.
Thinking about it now, a full week later, and I still want to cry. A surprising amount of emotion was clear on that tiny little face of hers: confusion ("What did I do to deserve this??"), anger ("Goddammit, you bastard, that hurts!", pain ("OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!") and overall upset ("Mommy!!! Make it better!") All I could do was comfort her afterwards, and that was no small feat. Thankfully, I have with me at all times Fiona's two favorite things in all the world: Left Boob and Right Boob. Once she'd had a visit with each of them, she was in much better spirits.
The remainder of the day was so peaceful as Fiona slept for most of it. I wasn't surprised. I remember my last round of vaccination shots back when I was 18 and getting ready to leave for college. I slept the entire day afterwards, too. Still, I kept an eagle eye on her all day, watching for bad reactions. But she's such a trooper. She had three tiny bruises at the injection sites, but no fever, no apparent discomfort, and no illness.
Already, I dread her four-month appointment during which she'll have her second round of shots. I'll be back to work by then, but based on how traumatic the first round of shots was I think I'll have to take the day off so I can recover emotionally.
As with the previous visit to the pediatrician, Fiona checks out to be very healthy. The doctor says she's right on track with everything and looks great. She was even impressed with Fiona's strength and figures she'll be early to roll over. Not two seconds after she said this Fiona rolled over on the exam table. Little show-off. I was so proud. Granted, she was probably helped out a bit by the incline at the head of the table. But still: for one, her timing couldn't have been better, and two, she really is that strong.
On to the rundown of her stats:
Weight: 13 pounds, 8.2 ounces. That's right. She gained nearly three pounds in the last month. She bumped herself into the 97th percentile for weight. This really came as no surprise to us since M and I both are having more back pain every day. Holding Fiona is fast becoming a weight-training regimen.
Length: 23.5 inches, a gain of an inch and-a-half since her one-month appointment, and reaching the 75th percentile for weight. Our little basketball player could very well outpace both her parents in stature. After all, her height at two months of age is an adequate indicator, right?
The appointment could not end without some trauma, of course. We also had to face the horror of her first round of vaccinations. This experience was nearly as bad for me as it was for Fiona - maybe worse. For her it was momentary pain from three shots. For me, it was having my heart ripped out knowing there wasn't much I could do to prevent the pain. The nurse started with the rotavirus drink, which Fiona accepted like a champ. Then she got one shot in her left thigh and two in her right. These nurses nurses really know what they're doing. She positioned herself just so that I couldn't see the actual injections taking place. All I could see was poor little Fiona's face as that first injection registered.
Thinking about it now, a full week later, and I still want to cry. A surprising amount of emotion was clear on that tiny little face of hers: confusion ("What did I do to deserve this??"), anger ("Goddammit, you bastard, that hurts!", pain ("OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!") and overall upset ("Mommy!!! Make it better!") All I could do was comfort her afterwards, and that was no small feat. Thankfully, I have with me at all times Fiona's two favorite things in all the world: Left Boob and Right Boob. Once she'd had a visit with each of them, she was in much better spirits.
The remainder of the day was so peaceful as Fiona slept for most of it. I wasn't surprised. I remember my last round of vaccination shots back when I was 18 and getting ready to leave for college. I slept the entire day afterwards, too. Still, I kept an eagle eye on her all day, watching for bad reactions. But she's such a trooper. She had three tiny bruises at the injection sites, but no fever, no apparent discomfort, and no illness.
Already, I dread her four-month appointment during which she'll have her second round of shots. I'll be back to work by then, but based on how traumatic the first round of shots was I think I'll have to take the day off so I can recover emotionally.
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