Just a warning...we are low on car deets this entry. We went to LA to visit good friends this weekend, and to see how the Malibu set live. Not our speed, but some damn fine beaches. Malibu is a strange hybrid of Bolinas and the Hamptons - there is the token wacked out dread-head on the side of the road selling Buddha candles next to a Tory Burch boutique. CJ does not share my celebrity obsession, and barely turned his head when Cindy Crawford walked by. He said he likes "looking at me better", awwwwwww. Wait! Did he say that? Ok, maybe I made that up. Even though this was a quick trip, we don't have much luck traveling as a family. Historically, the kids have waited until the bags are packed, house is cleaned and I am leaving a note for my mom that if the dog dies "don't call us" to say they feel like barfing. Or on the way out, we feel their feverish, sweaty head....or most recently noticed a strange unidentifiable rash surrounding Cian's ankles. Yep, bags packed, jackets on - what's this rash? The "all new Tempa-Cheer" on his socks-yep, that's gotta be it! "Let's go!" At the airport, strange mystery rash is, er, growing. Chicken pox? But he was vaccinated?? He is still pinching his sister, belly laughing uncontrollably when she blows spit bubbles and begging for stuffed animals that say I heart Oakland Airport. Business as usual. CJ and I tell ourselves that maybe he has chicken pox, although vaccinated, and this is how it shows it gnarly head. Sunday morning, we arise feeling as though a small rodent crawled in our mouth and died there, heavy headed and seriously hungover after our little Malibu celebration and trying to sleep through Cian and our friend's kids ramming each other with chairs and shooting one another with nerf darts. The rash seems to have faded, and we have started to forget about it. We get home (finally, it was a lot of "bonding time" with the kids) and I am changing Cian into his jammies and see the rash has grown considerably. And what is that - a bruise? I asked him if he bumped his leg. He said yes, he hung upside down from his bunk bed and a snake fell from the ceiling and he landed on his nightstand trying to escape the snake (a little bit of "living in fantasy land" is going on). I almost vomit in my own mouth to say this, but my favorite show on TV is "Extreme Home Makeover". I urge you not to judge. Sometimes a girl just needs a reason to see how fucked other people are and feel real, real bad for them and have a good, shoulder-shaking cry alone on the couch for an hour. But last week, a boy on the show had leukemia. They realized something was wrong when his mom found a bunch of bruises on his legs (swallow). Then I saw another one, and another one. These were not just bruises, but deep blue/purple bruise-like eruptions, one coming after the other almost before our eyes. I did a freakish spinning in circles crying, hyperventilating thing in the bathroom while CJ surfed the Internet, pale. I threw a jacket on the kid, I could not wait until our pediatrician appointment in the morning. Penguin slippers and all, we hit Marin General at 9:30 at night. He chatted away in the back seat about all the pretty Christmas lights, and I pretended this was just a normal outing with mom. "Yeah, buddy - aren't they pretty?" All the while, in my mind, my guts, my heart silently praying "oh, please god make this be nothing" over and over and over. Once at the E/R, I specifically avoided the spot my mom and I sat while waiting to hear about my dad. It just didn't exist, don't look "over there". I went straight to the fish tank with Cian and waited. Cain? Quinn? A nurse called. I am used to this, so is he. It is "keee-an" I said, wanting to knee this woman in the gut. "Uh, ok" she said - knowing she was instantly throwing me in a "Marin mom" bucket along with every other "Amiee, Brooklynne and Madisinne" in the county. She took one look at the rash and said, "let me see if I can get you a bed." Oh, god. That has never happened. Expedited service at MGH? Not a good sign. Then, we waited. San Rafael Fire came rolling in with a homeless guy and proceeded to set up camp the next curtain over. I couldn't see him, but he kept barking "don't have a house, ya get no respect!" and then started uncontrollably coughing and slurred "I am in payyyyyne!" The nurse said, "Sir, how often do you drink?" He said "Why do you need to know that? Are you the poh-lise?" She said, "sir, I am a nurse, how often do you drink?" He slurred "three beers once a month." Wow, wildly specific for being wasted, delirious and his shoulder flopping off to the side, dis-located. The gal in charge said "street drugs?" and he said "what about em?" she sighed, "sir, do - you - take - street - drugs?" slow n' steady as a nursery school teacher. "No, ma'am I don't." Yeah, and I am the queen of freaking England. They ran off after trying to situate him, and he immediately starts ringing his call bell and slurring "Heeeeelp, I am in payyyyyne! Heeeelp" No one came. I tried to keep Cian amused listening to this guy, he thought he was awesome. Hobo in bed 6 then says, "hello - next door? hello?" I couldn't ignore him, and I came from behind the curtain holding Cian and said "do you want me to get you someone?" Clearly he just wanted someone to talk to. He brightened and said "hi, little fella! Are you gettin operated on today?" I turned away as fast as possible without looking too freaked out, and said nervously "nah, none of that for us." He then started incoherently ranting about how many times he's been "cut open." I went the nurses station and asked if we could possibly be moved, explaining that hearing a homeless dudes blow by blow recount of having his face put back together after a fight was interesting, but I was busy having a nervous breakdown. About 5 doctors later, each of them saying "can you pull your pants down buddy so we can see your legs" and then "hmmmmmm" they said they didn't want to freak me out but had called a "pediatric hospitalizer" to come look at him, and in the meantime would take some of Cian's blood to test. I felt like I was going to pass out. I said to the doc, I was in fact freaking out and then summoned the courage to ask what was whirling over and over in my head as steadlily as I could "do you think he has leukemia?" He said "I doubt it, but we'll do a blood test and leave no stone unturned. Plus, freaking out does no good." Oh, thanks doc. Now I feel much better, asshole. The "pediatric hospitalizer" comes in, and sits right down on a chair across the room and folds his hands. I couldn't decide if he had the bedside manner of a piece of crushed hospital ice, or they had conferred and deduced that Cian had leprosy and they weren't telling us just yet. "So, what's up?" he asks, non-chalant. As if we were just hanging out, nowhere to go, all the time in the world. Then he took one look at Cian (still across the room) and said very matter-of-factly that he has "Henoch Shone-lein purpura" disease. And then just stared at me. I don't know about you, but aside from the common cold, I am no doctor. Was that english or the medical version of turrets? Was I supposed to know what that was? As a rule, multiple unpronounceable words including hyphens in a hospital setting are, well, just no good. He told me it was an immune system disease caused by a viral infection. He told me not to run home and google it (which is exactly what I did) because it can be pretty scary. "well, without googling it, it still sounds scary" I panted, feeling totally out of breath. He said it can cause arthritis, kidney disorder, vomiting, bloody stool and hospitalization. But, just keep an eye on him, keep him hydrated and take him to see his peditatrician in the morning. Ok, I guess if we are working backward from the possibility of leukemia, this somehow seems - manageable? But then he threw in the zinger "of course leukemia is possible given his symptoms, but lets see how his blood work comes out." Oh god, oh god, oh god. I will go to church. I will stop saying I am an atheist. I will believe in you dear lord up above for real, please just do me this one teeny, tiny little favor. Make this child ok. Then cold as a freezing artic eskimos arse Mr. Pediatric Hospitalizer returns and was, thankfully, right. Henoch sch....you know, that condition I wrote about above, was our diagnosis. What does this mean? Much to Cian's delight, he gets to pee in a cup once a month for the next year to monitor his kidneys. (He has been saying "pee in a cup!" and then belly laughing all morning). He gets to stay home for a week. He gets juice after 5pm, or anytime we can get any type of beverage down his gullet. He gets devoted, unequivocal attention from his parents 24/7. From a five year old's perspective, a pretty radical time indeed. For us? We got the single biggest scare of our adult lives. We thought for a short time our child's life was indeed in imminent danger. We cried when the kids weren't looking, hugged each other and stayed up all night, sick with worry until we could hear our pediatrician confirm the diagnosis. We are slowly starting to shake off the horrible feeling in our stomachs and hearts, and are reminded again that we have so much to be thankful for. Even after a year where we lost someone that meant everything to us - we recognize what we have and thank god, the dalai lama - (is Ghandi still alive?) that they are ok.
