Jumping in....

So, here I am, sitting in my recliner at home with nothing much to do as I am currently recovering from having my uterus removed. Yes, my “humongous Uterus!” (In Mike Meyers Scottish voice from So I Married an Axe Murderer) was removed Monday in a partial hysterectomy, that, I might say, has been a long time coming. It strikes me that something that has caused me so much pain over the years is also the organ that has carried and nourished the two best things that I have ever done in my life. I mean my children of course. Even through all the pain and suffering over the years of my life as a woman, I probably would not have changed a thing.

So now, what to do? Not that my uterus defined me, it’s just that I have spent such a long time obsessing about the problems that it has caused me that what am I going to obsess about now? I figured why not try something new while I’m at home and recovering, but how to get started?

I want this newsletter to be about my interests, my family, and my life, but why would anyone else care to read it? Well, I think that I don’t really care if people don’t care to read it. I’m really just doing it for myself, maybe just to try to leave a little piece of me somewhere in the ethernet that may bring someone, somewhere a little hope and happiness. My hope is that I can share some of my experiences and tell some stories and hopefully bring a smile to a few faces. So, if you are so inclined to read some of my stories, I hope that you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy telling them, thank you for listening.

My first story is one that I wrote a long time ago, 2002 to be exact. My son was born with a birth defect called Craniosynostosis and needed surgery when he was 5 months old. I was enrolled in our community college at the time working on earning my associates degree and was working at Home Depot in the kitchen design department. I wrote this story for a creative writing class that I was taking, and the teacher seemed to really like it, but some of my fellow students had a different view. I guess they didn’t really understand how I could be so flippant or find humor in the situation. It’s just my way of dealing with things. This part of my life and my children’s life had a very big impact on me and how I look at life now. Let me know what you think…..

Joey The Head.

First day home from the hospital: I knew something was wrong almost immediately. I can hear my Mother-in-law, the ultimate optimist, in the background saying, “babies heads are always out of shape” as I examine the sharp ridge down the middle of my newborn baby's skull. The absence of the pulsing soft spot, which is actually pretty gross, makes me nervous and I have to wonder how many babies come out with heads like the Neanderthal man wearing a dunce cap.

First Checkup - One week: I point out to the Pediatrician the large prehistoric like ridge running down the middle of his head. “I can’t find his soft spot”, I say to the doctor. I examine the Doctor’s face as he runs his fingers over my child’s head, his expression changes from one of condescendence to mild worry. “It’s there”, he hesitates, “it’s just really small”. After a brief discussion telling me of what if might be he tells me not to worry and we will look at it in 3 months. “Oh, OK, I won’t worry” I say. Right. I just don’t sleep for 3 months.

3 month checkup: Now things get interesting. At this visit, I get to hear the two words that no mother should have to hear uttered in the same sentence: “Pediatric Neurosurgeon”. The next few weeks are a fog of doctors, technicians, nurses, blood tests, labs, CT scans and of course, INSURANCE COMPANIES. “How can you take it?” a co- worker asks me, “the very thought of that little baby having surgery?” I think to myself, I thought you were talking about trying to get another referral number from the insurance “specialist”. The idea of it damn near gives me a rash!

2 Weeks before surgery: “His head doesn’t look too bad”, says a fellow co-worker, “does he have to have the surgery? Will it affect his brain if he doesn’t have it?” I look at the picture of my infant, with his beautiful blue eyes, rosy cheeks, cherub lips and skull that is starting to look more prehistoric by the day. “Well,”, I say, “if we don’t get it done, I’m afraid the only job he will be able to get when he grows up will be professional wrestler. We can call him Joey the Head”. My co-worker fails to see the humor. “Well, I guess it’s not too serious if you can joke about it" she says. I stop and think about my latest visit with the surgeon; no, it’s not really a big deal, I mean it’s just and 8-inch x 1 inch strip of his skull that they have to cut out with the medical equivalent of a Sawzall…. I manage to gargle something out of my mouth like “I guess….” but I have to stop as I feel the panic starting to build up in my chest. I focus on a dust bunny on the floor to anchor myself, so I don’t run screaming from the building.

The Monday after Thanksgiving aka Operation day: We must be at the hospital at 6:00 am sharp. I think they make you show up that early so that you are too groggy to cling onto the nurse’s leg as they carry the baby into the OR. He rolls over today, for the first time. Great, milestones. Talk about guilt? He’s laughing, rolling, gurgling, because he has no idea that in a couple of hours some guy is going to take a Dremel tool to his head. The time comes for him to go in and all I can see for the next 4 hours is his beautiful big blue eyes laughing over the shoulder of the nurse’s scrubs as he is carried through the doors of the OR.

Two weeks later: We are home. Healthy and Happy. Aside from the fact that he can’t lay flat on his back, he’s just like any other 5-month-old. Well, any other 5-month-old that looks like he had a run in with Dr. Frankenstein with a chainsaw. The incision is from ear to ear, in a wavy pattern, like a baseball. The used 82 dissolving stitches, because to quote the doctor, “it would take 4 men and a boy to take the stitches out”. (I guess my insurance doesn’t pay for that)

One week before Christmas: “Let’s go to the Mall!” I say one afternoon. My 8-year-old daughter looks at me as if I’m nuts. “What about Joe’s head?!” she exclaims. “We will take it with us s” I answer. She’s not amused. Walking through the mall is a study in human behavior. Looking at Joe dead on they see a chubby cheeked infant, his smile makes you smile back, but then, like a horror movie, he turns his head, their faces change as if they have witnessed a chainsaw massacre right in front of them. Some turn away, others stare, yet no on asks. One lady on the elevator with us is clutching her kids against the wall as if it were contagious. The elevator ride is taking too long now and I’m beginning to become uncomfortable. Finally, I look her in the eye and whisper…” monkey brain transplant”. She fails to see the humor (as usual), the doors open, and she grabs her kids and bolts. I laugh and look at my 8-year-old “what?” she looks like she wants to disappear. Walking towards the exit, finally, one person approaches and asks me, “did he have Craniosynostosis?”. It rolls off her tongue like a fourth-year med student, “yes” I say, “thank you for asking” as I push the stroller and Joe out the doors of the mall into the beautiful December day.

Christina Kaminski September 25, 2002.

I hope you all liked it. See you soon!