Tooth Faerie Blues
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Wednesday, 07 February 07 - 10:31 AM (GMT -05:00) By Andrea S. Stolz in Autoimmune Issues |
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Actual conversation from this morning:
Husband: James, you're not going to school today. We're going to the dentist; you've got to get a tooth pulled.
James: No school? Yay!
I don't know if that reflects poorly on public education or positively on our pediatric dentist...I was tumbling around on the floor with James yesterday and, at one point, in mid laugh, caught a glint of white where there hadn't been any before. The dentist will give four to six weeks to let a bottom baby tooth shed when the adult tooth pops through--but on the top? That's an immediate action situation. If a secondary tooth comes through on the top jaw and the baby tooth is still there, it can mess up the jaw alignment in such a way that the only fix is to break the jaw later on.
So away to the dentist the boy was taken this morning.
When I talk about James' condition, most people immediately understand lung ailments. Many know that eczema and rheumatism are also autoimmune conditions.
But what most people don't realize is that teeth and bone abnormalities can also be a product of an autoimmune disorder. Hyper IgE can encompass all of these seemingly disparate symptoms. Along with the reactive skin, the inability to fight staph aureas and asperigillus, and the predisposition to lung cysts, there's the tooth and bone issue. IgE is involved in bone development, scoliosis and the body's ability to shed baby teeth.
Fortunately for us, James' bones seem to be okay thus far. He's taken some pretty good falls and remained intact...and thus far his back looks good. Nice and straight. If teeth are the only issue in the bone department--well, that's why we go to the best hands on Long Island.
At $200 per tooth.
We're in the process of hashing out with the insurance company that James' extractions are a medical condition, not a dental one, so that we can get them covered under our insurance. Wish us luck on that one...
For Auld Lang Syne
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Thursday, 11 January 07 - 01:48 AM (GMT -05:00) By Andrea S. Stolz in Autoimmune Issues |
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New Year's has never been my holiday. It requires the kind of social network and high expectations I've just never gotten the hang of constructing. When the husband was in the Navy, we were lucky to get Christmas off...two back-to-back holidays were simply out of the question. Nuclear power plants, after all, don't take care of themselves just because God sent his only begotten son to mankind 2,000 years ago...
After James was born, though, January took on a ridiculous level of grim. The first New Year's after he was born was spent in the hospital with the croup. Most kids don't need to be hospitalized when they get the croup. It's kind of a parenting rite of passage: the terrified parents pull up to the emergency room only to realize that their infant who, just a short while ago, was struggling to take in air is now...
Perfectly fine.
When we pulled into the emergency room, the staff took one look at my baby's heart rate and reserved us a bed upstairs for three days. We also found out then that James was suffering from another double ear infection. His ninth in six months.
The next year I spent New Year's with a shower cap full of Nix on my head. Along with a debilitating virus, my nieces had brought up a virulent case of head lice each from Nashville to share with the extended family. At that point, we were living with my in-laws while saving for a house. James was in full-blown skin disorder mode: even our pediatric dermatologist--one of the best in the country--had a hard time figuring out just where the severe eczema ended and the eosinophilic pustular folliculitis that often covered his face and scalp in pus-filled pockets began. It felt to me at the time that, living under the same roof as my husband's giant family, I couldn't keep my son healthy. What would I do if James caught that lice? How could you put anything on a head so full of open sores?
I had a recurring nightmare during that time: our town was flooded and I was treading water, raising up first one of my children, then the other. We floated together never seeing land, anything to cling to, another person. At some point in the dream, each time, I'd realize that I hadn't been paying attention, that I'd momentarily zoned out. I'd turn and be unable to find one boy or the other. The dream always ended with me diving under the water searching unsuccessfully for the one child.. then flipping over to raise the other sinking boy up above the water's surface...
A week after the head lice, on a Sunday when all doctor's offices are closed, James and I were both battling the Christmas virus. He'd had two particularly horrible nights sleep-wise when the rest of the family went off to a birthday party. Finally, at four in the afternoon, we both conked out together on the couch. When I woke up, his face was gone. That's the best way to put it. His neck had swollen so horribly that he was unrecognizable.
I went into immediate shock. I cried hysterically for about a minute then called the doctor on call at my pediatrician's practice. He practiced in a different office. We'd never met.
"Well," he told me mock-patiently, "It's not unusual for a child to develop swollen glands when they're sick."
"I think this is different, though." Was I seeing right? Was I still dreaming? I wasn't sure.
"Then take him to the emergency room."
Which we did. We stayed in the hospital that time for four weeks. They ran every test imaginable, called in outside specialists. The case was so severe, everyone was reluctant to call it simple lymphadenitis, see. James' condition ultimately improved after a month in intravenous antibiotics but the swelling, though diminished, remained. As did the "fever of unknown origin" that peaked at around 4 every afternoon for the next month and a half.
We began outpatient treatment at a Children's Hospital. Went for blood draws every week for two months in their pediatric cancer ward. Finally, a couple of viral infections later, the swelling worsened dramatically--got so big that he was forced to walk with his head tilted over to one side--and he was brought in for surgery. We stayed in the hospital that time for three weeks. Got out just in time for Easter.
The following New Year's his lung collapsed. And that's when we went on the antibiotics. Slowly, my baby was able to heal, grow, sleep, laugh. The next summer he had his last ambulance ride to date. The croup. Again. But this time all he needed was a nebulizer treatment and a steroid shot. We were home again by morning, laughing spastically and saying to each other: only the croup! Not a collapsed lung! He's fine! He's going to be fine. Right?
The first January that James went without a hospital stay we celebrated with a gigantic chocolate cake and presents. The second one, too. We've gotten comfortable with the idea of being hospital free now, though. Didn't really even remark on it last year when February 1st rolled by.
This year, for New Year's, while we were sharing a couple of bottles of wine with Harry and Bernadette and Harry's dad, Dick Smith, Bern reminded me about our annual church coat drive. "If you've got anything extra, they could use it!"I told her I didn't even have a dress coat for myself. That when I went anywhere nice I just borrowed the father-in-law's hand-me-down cashmere coat. It was way too big but soft as black glass and heavy as an angel on your shoulders...
"I have a cashmere coat you can have," Dick offered immediately. He went slowly and firmly upstairs, came back with a beautiful cashmere coat made in Italy, draped it over my shoulders for me.I'm taking this as a sign. My Januaries are going to just keep getting better. James' too.
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