Life as an Underwear Detective

I hate those blanks on forms that ask for occupation and employer.  I never know what to write.

Homemaker?
Probably can’t use that honestly since I’ve never ever washed my windows or pulled a single weed around my house.

Housewife?
I think you have to wear red lipstick and retrieve darling husband’s slippers to use this one.  Nope.

Stay-at-home-mom?
I don’t know why, SAHM seems too…sweet and gentle for what I do all day.

Actually, I figured out what I’m going to write next time:  Underwear Detective

Here’s a conversation from five minutes ago:

Me:  (to Bea) Are you wearing underwear?  (Maybe that seems rude.  Let me explain.  I ask frequently ever since that one time we arrived at a park and discovered Bea with a very…airy…style option under her dress.  Now that she’s bathroom independent, apparently it’s common for her to go potty and decide putting on underwear afterwards is just too much trouble.)
Bea:  …
Me:  (to Bea) Are you wearing underwear?
Bea:  (Looks around sheepishly in such a way that signals she is wearing precisely zero pairs of underpants.)
Me:  Where is your underwear?
Bea:  In the potty.
Me: (Certain I misheard) Huh?
Bea: (Indiscriminant mumbling and hand gestures, ending with her hands on her hips resolutely. )
Me:  (Starting over)  Where is your underwear?
Bea: In the toilet.
Me:  That’s what I thought you said.

This is how I choose to spend the best years of my life.  As an underwear detective.  If you need pantaloon police, I’m your gal.  I also run investigations as to when the last time underwear has been changed, if there are dirty underthings currently under the bed, and who will put away the clean undies.  Like all good detectives, I can manage several briefs at once.  (Get it?!?!)  And find answers to tough questions like “is toddler underwear flushable?”

If I wasn’t going to call myself an underwear detective, I’d probably most accurately be called a “medical advocate.”  Much of my life is spent juggling (now two kids with) medical needs.

Seems like a good place for a quick update.

Cee continues to ride out the longest stretch of pain-free living she’s had since diagnosis.  Since we haven’t really changed anything, it’s a lesson in just how little control we have in her disease.  Seriously– no new meds, supplements, therapies, nothing.  I guess this year in school she did learn how to do long division, so maybe that’s a thing?  Is long division the silver bullet we’ve been waiting for?!?!

I can joke because a year and a half ago we were in the depths of despair.  Out of options.  Looking into the possibility of moving to Cincinnati.  Heck, I even started doing research into stem cell transplants in Mexico.  Seeking foreign medical treatments isn’t exactly the mark of someone with a lot of hope.  And now that we bought a handicap accessible house, her wheelchair sits in storage.  Cee even started riding a regular bike a couple weeks ago.  The cartilage is gone from her hips, but for now she is functioning without pain.

We are so grateful for this past year of stability in her health.  The “good year” still involves infusions at the hospital every four weeks, blood work every three months, Methotrexate shots every week, and trips to Mayo several times a year.  It’s silly that I feel the need to share that.  Like I want to make sure people realize how much effort goes into even an uneventful year.  Maybe I’m afraid people will forget to pray for us.  Or just forget us altogether.

We’re meeting with Mateo’s pediatric endocrinologist every couple months to stay on top of his condition.  He has three different times every day that he requires medication.  So far that’s been pretty easy since it’s all oral; it’s just a matter of remembering.  If you just saw Mateo out in the wild, you’d never know that there was anything wrong.  He’s a happy baby who loves drooling and rolling.  Of all our babies, he laughs the most.

And we added a new entry to our Doctor Bingo list:  an Ear, Nose, Throat doctor!  (Isn’t it funny that the most normal of all the specialties is being added so late in the game?)  Elle has a lump on her earlobe that might need surgery.  We haven’t decided for sure what to do since we just met with the ENT doc today.

So although I begrudgingly keep track of prescriptions and appointments and lab levels, my heart is really in my work as an underwear detective.

For the record, she was telling the truth.  Her underpants were in the potty.  She said she “thought it was a good idea.”  Case closed.