You probably don’t know what it took to get us there.
As I stated earlier this week, I was waffling pretty hard about the Botox. I mean, you can call it by that cute name, but we are talking about Botulism Toxin. Do a quick Google search and words like “respitory distress” pop up–not so cute when you think about it like that.
When I’m feeling uncertain about something, my method of dealing with it is to simply act like it isn’t happening. Denial is a girl’s best friend. So I did absolutely nothing to prepare for this event: I wouldn’t put it in my calendar, I had my husband pick up the prescription for the numbing cream and I didn’t even locate the instructions until ten o’clock the night before.
While denial may be an excellent coping mechanism, it will bite you in the butt.
One hour before our appointment is when I was supposed to apply the numbing cream. First thought? Am I even supposed to be touching this stuff? Quick Google search reveals no issues, which was good because I certainly didn’t have a back up plan–I mean, nothing other than crying in frustration.
My second thought was that I was supposed slather the backs of his legs with the cream and then wrap them in saran wrap. Did we have any saran wrap? Why no, no we didn’t. I then had to take a brief moment to panic about the saran wrap situation. The clock is counting down, the kid should be gooped by now, and I’ve got nothing. I considered the crying option, but instead opted to MacGyver the thing–I took the plastic bag that some poster board had come in and cut it into strips.
So, that crisis averted, I started gooping Charlie’s legs with the Lidocaine. There’s an expression out there about wrestling a greased pig and while I have no idea what that’s like, I suspect it is at least similar to greasing down a preschooler with prescription lotion. We talked about it, he seemed to understand, but what he couldn’t grasp was why he couldn’t actively crawl away mid-process–I had focused a bit too much on the whole “stay on your tummy” thing. Seriously, God bless single parents because at that moment all I could think about was how this was SO a two person job.
Once I had one leg lotioned, I ran into a new problem: my “saran wrap” wasn’t all that sticky and was coming off. I located some sticky gauze that an OT had given us and wrapped that over it. Still, the lotion was making everything un-sticky and this too was coming off. I was feeling very Lucille Ball as I kept adding layers and they kept unwrapping themselves. All this, while my wiggle worm was trying valiantly to get to the next fun thing on his agenda with not a care in the world about the cream he was getting everywhere. I got desperate and tried to duct tape the whole mess into place–even that failed and I gave up. I cast about the room looking for some solution when my eyes landed on a stack of clothes ear-marked for the attic. I spied a pair of sweat pants so tight and small that Jane Fonda would be envious and knew I had my answer. I quickly gooped and wrapped the other leg and dressed Charlie in his manpris.
At this point I am practically running out the door to make it to the appointment on time. One little rule about handicap parking that you may not have heard: on a day that you’re counting on it, all the spots will be full. You know, like a day when you’re big as a house with twins and trying to hustle your non-ambulatory kid into the building as fast as possible. That’s the day where every spot is taken and the only available parking is involves crossing a road. Yeehaw!
We arrived and frankly, the procedure itself was so quick that I can’t believe how much time I spent worrying about it. Charlie’s doctor has done thousands of these procedures and works at lightening speed. He had three shots in each leg and started to complain a bit after shot three–he didn’t seem to be in pain–just mad that they were holding him down and messing with him. I brought his iPad, pretended to change the song, and that distracted him long enough to have the second leg done. Just as he remembered that he was aggravated and started to whine again, it was over. Seconds later, he was happily engrossed in his iPad as if nothing had happened.
We proceeded to have a “take it easy” day, which he found highly disappointing and today I packed him up and sent him off to school for his last day His legs are already less tight and he’s in a delightful mood. As someone who has never believed in or sought out “quick fixes,” it’s strange to see how rapidly his legs are loosening up.
Maybe he’ll get a lot out of this and maybe he won’t, but the procedure itself went quite well and for that, I am happy.