Radioactive Day 2:

I am at the point in my Low Iodine Diet where all food, no matter how potentially fresh or innocuous it may seem, makes my stomach churn. Home made bread and avacadoes sustained me for the first eleven days, but somehow my G.I. is revolting. Even apple juice, unsweetened and pure, is iffy. Water is still safe. Rice cakes continue to build up on the radiator. Apples are good and muffins are like Russian Roulette (okay 50% of the time).

I have been instructed to drink 4 Litres of water today. It took me til 2 p.m. to consume my first Litre. And I've been up since 5:50 a.m. Despite logic, my first night away form my baby in a long, long time, finally given the opportunity to sleep straight through, I had the worst rest possible. First the light from the hallway was blaring in the window of my door. So I Maguivered a curtain from a torn garbage bag and some tape scavenged from the paper-towel carpet in the bathroom. My pillow case had a plastic crinkly quality and when I peaked inside the cloth cover, it was indeed sheathed in a plastic cover with a black marker "R" scribbled on its surface; I suppose that stands for "Radioactive".

I was given a red capsule of Colase, which is a stool softener, despite my attempts to convince the nurse that I don't need it because I am "very regular". A little later, my nurse knocked on my window and waved at me and called, "HAVE YOU HAD A BOWEL MOVEMENT TODAY???" I was strangely thrilled to report back to her, "TWO!!!!!!!!!"

I have also perfected my washroom technique. I use the toilet. Then, while thoroughly washing my hands, I balance skillfully on my left foot and flush the toilet two additional times with my right sandal.

I continue to watch my favourite t.v. channel: The Food Network. It is, strangely, both excruciatingly tantalizing and repulsive.

I am going to try Gravol-ing myself again tonight into sleepy oblivion. And, like last night, I'll watch home videos of my little Cole until I'm too tired to sit upright any longer.

Radioactive Day 1:

I have been admitted to this hospital three times in the past six and a half months. Between the labour and delivery of my son, a full thyroidectomy and radioactive iodine treatment, I choose radioactive iodine treatment. This was, by far, the least difficult procedure.

I had a pregnancy test, swallowed a Gravol pre-emptively, and then a woman whom I lovingly call The Nuclear Lady took a lead cup out of a larger lead vat, tipped it upside down into my hands and out fell a small, white capsule. She stepped back, asked me to swallow it, then used a Geiger Counter to measure my radioactive levels from a metre away and two metres away. I said, "Am I radioactive already?" She smiled and said, "Oh yes." Then she said, "See you Thursday," and departed.

There is a lovely make-shift rug made of paper towel rolls taped to the bathroom floor, should any of my radioactive body fluids spill. And there is a sign on my door reading "NO VISITORS. RADIATION AREA." It's very official. My nurses ring me on the phone when their shifts begin and end to ask if I need any more ice water or ginger ale. If I do, I roll the tray to the door and they open it just enough to get their arm through, they slip me the stuff and then wave.

I have four garbages with a different sign for each one. Here are the categories: Food that have been partially eaten (contaminated with my saliva); Foods that are uneaten (LOTS of the hospital foods fell under this category); Objects like cutlery and cups that have come into contact with my saliva; Objects like water jugs and knives that have not come into contact with my saliva.

I watched two seasons of The Office and crocheted for a while. I peered out the window in my door for a bit too. I watched some T.V. (Friends), but I found myself overly aware of people contaminating their cutlery with their saliva.

The foods seemed edible for exactly one meal. All food waste and everything entering the room must stay in the room for the duration of the visit. I began to feel low-grade queasiness and soon attributed that to the hospital food: the shoe-leather like roast beef, the mound of mushy peas, the ever-climbing hill of plain rice cakes (by the end, there were ten), the moldy apple, the brown banana....(which I did eat....I was just hungry enough). After the first meal, I decided that three days is not long enough for a person to starve to death. I pledged to weather the blood sugar valleys in favour of maintaining this visit's vomit-free record. Indeed, this is the only one of the hospital stays in which I have not thrown up yet.

This is Cole in a basket. He is LOVING being in the basket.

This is Cole preparing to go for a walk. He is not loving the idea of going for a walk.

This is Cole once he has warmed up to the idea of going on a walk.

This is Cole convincing me that it's time to lower the mattress on his crib.

Evan, Cole and Ethan

Cole loves to eat Ethan's hand. Ethan seems not to mind.

Cole wants to eat Ethan's ear. THIS, Ethan does mind.

Grandma Kathy and Cole enjoying a sunny spring day.

Cole Locomotes

Cole loves his Dog

Cole Can Pivot

Grass on the Change Table

Today, as with most days, I consider myself a productive person if I can perform even the most simple and mundane tasks while caring for my six-month-old son. My goal today: pick some spinach from my garden.

Cole loves being outdoors. So I took a blanket in one arm and tucked Cole onto my hip and out we went. I carefully put him on his belly on the blanket (he still topples if seated without support) near the laundry line. He lit up and began to methodically rip grass out with his chubby little fingers. I watched for a few seconds, assessing on my imaginary scale his safety and his contentedness before I moved to the opposite side of the garden where I could begin to harvest my spinach. After a minute, I glanced back and saw Cole, watching me with a gummy grin and lifting one slick, wet hand, peppered with grass towards his mouth.

"Cole...." I warned.

He continued to lift his hand.

"Don't eat that!" I ran towards him.
His thumb entered his mouth. Grass peaked out from the corners.
Then he saw me approaching and he took his hand out of his mouth and looked at me innocently.

I stood there for a moment. He looked back at me, balancing on his belly and his two hands. Then he began to tear up grass again and NOT eat it. I stood and watched some more.

Finally, I crept back to the other side of the garden. No sooner had I arrived to the opposite end of the tiny plot when he was moving his grassy, dirty hands to his mouth again, with that same knowing grin on his face.

"Cole!" I called again and he paused. He glanced at me and assessed whether I was going to act on my warning. I took a step towards him. He lowered his hands. I crouched again to pick spinach, and he lifted his hand towards his gummy grin again.

This dance continued for several minutes. Me hopping up and down, running back and forth along the yard, and Cole smiling with grass in his mouth.

Finally, after my tenth warning, I threw my hands in the air, spinach and all, with a sigh of resignation that many mothers before me (I know understand) have breathed and said, "I give up. Eat grass then."

Pictures courtesy of Nana and Papa

Cole sporting a sunhat

Ahead of his time

My sister has a four-year-old nephew named Rhys. One day, Rhys' mom and dad were watching their four cousins, an extra kid their sister-in-law normally babysits, as well as their own three children.

Some time in the evening, Rhys' mom and dad were discussing their game plan. The dad said, "Okay, let's round up the kids and get their pajamas on."
Rhys overheard. He went up to his bedroom and put his pajamas on. When his dad came into the room, he said, "What are you doing, Rhys?"
Rhys said, "I'm anticipating your needs! I heard you say you wanted us to put our pajamas on, so I did!"

Is Cole a Bruins fan?

This post is dedicated to Cole's Papa, who bought him this hat.

Cole monkeys around in his crib

Cole punches a parrot