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Dec 2, 2009

This Will Have To Pass For A Post Today

December 2, 2009 By

Things have been a little busy for me the past few days, no thanks to a crippling round of nausea and vomiting that struck yesterday. But there’s been more going on than just that, only I’m too tired to write it all up. So, in summary form:

– Cordy lost two more teeth on Sunday, making it a grand total of three now. Actually, she lost one, leaving one tooth on the bottom with a gap on either side, which then made her reach into her mouth and yank out that middle tooth. If she loses any more teeth on the bottom, she’s going to have trouble biting into anything. She’s thrilled, though.

– Ever since Cordy’s birthday in September, Mira has had two beds in her room – the crib and Cordy’s old toddler bed. And each night we offer her the choice of “the big girl bed” or “the baby bed” for bedtime. She always chooses the crib. Until last week, when she decided she’s had enough of the baby bed:


I thought we were in a for a long night of her getting out of bed and waking us up, but she slept the entire night. And since then she’s not gone back to the crib even once. She also does better than I expected at staying in her room once it’s bedtime. Is it possible for this transition to be this easy? Or is she lulling me into a false sense of security?

– And then there’s this:


At first I saw this and worried that Mira was starting to develop Cordy’s old quirks, like lining up toys in a row for no reason. But this is apparently “putting the trains to bed” according to Mira. Whew – at least she has a story for it.

Filed Under: Cordy, daily life, growing up, Mira


Nov 25, 2009

I’m Going to War Against Artificial Food

November 25, 2009 By

I was recently asked to take a survey about a new fruit snack. Normally I’m willing to be pretty open to new ideas for kids foods, trying to find the positive in them and give constructive feedback. But this time something in me changed.

The description of the product was “fruit-flavored snacks for kids” and I immediately stopped reading. Fruit-flavored. Meaning not real fruit, or probably not enough to meet FDA standards to call them fruit snacks.

I’m finished with fruit-flavored.

I’m finished with high-fructose corn syrup serving in the place of other sugars that weren’t created in a lab.

I’m finished with artificial flavors made from ingredients like petroleum (artificial vanilla, anyone?). Yes, there’s oil in your food.

I’m finished with artificial colors used to make foods look more “appealing” which in reality only make food look more unnatural. These same FD&C colors also make my five year old hyperactive, foggy-headed, and cause skin and gastrointestinal irritation that can last for several days until these chemicals work their way out of her system.

I’m finished with substituting a cheaper, less nutritious ingredient in place of a primary ingredient that makes the food what it is. (I’m looking at you, Hershey. Why the need to switch to vegetable oil in place of real cocoa butter?)

I’m finished with eating meat from animals that have been shot up with antibiotics and growth hormones so they can barely survive in miserable, crowded feed lots until they’re turned into food.

The truth is, I’m not completely finished with all of those things. Unfortunately, I can’t simply declare that my family is going all-natural and will be shopping only at Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods from now on: our paycheck doesn’t stretch that far. I like eating out sometimes, too, and I know I can’t always ask for a full ingredient list for any items we order.

But I can take baby steps in moving toward that goal. So many products marketed to children are little more than nutritionally void junk, including fruit-flavored snacks. Sure, they may put a little fruit juice in it, touting 10% of a child’s RDA of Vitamin C or whatever, but does that 10% really make up for the HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup) and artificial colors my child would also be eating?

Mira doesn’t show the same sensitivity, but Cordy is extremely sensitive to artificial colors, especially FD&C Blue #1. (Made from tasty, tasty coal tar – YUM!) Give her a stick of rock candy (100% sugar) without any colors, and she’s fine. Give her the same rock candy, only one that is dyed blue, and within the hour she’ll become more hyperactive, less focused, more irritable, and generally unpleasant to be around for the next few days. I won’t even begin to tell you the long trial and error it took to figure that out. Now Cordy has to avoid anything with FD&C Blue #1, which can be hard when her favorite color is blue.

It would take little effort for food manufacturers to rethink their policies towards additives in food marketed to children. When I spoke to PepsiCo at BlogHer this summer, I was invited to share my opinions of their products on a video that would be presented to the executives of the company. I told them that I do like many of their products, but would like them more and be far more willing to purchase them if they would work towards removing artificial additives from their foods. Even if it raised the cost of their products slightly, I think they would see a positive response from the consumer.

Since becoming a parent, I’ve become more concerned with nutrition and label reading, and as a result, I’ve decided against many of their products for my family. Should PepsiCo decide that their Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips or Cheetos don’t need to be artificially vibrant orange to still be delicious, we’ll eat them again.

I’d also like to see companies like Disney get more involved in removing artificial additives from foods with their licensed characters. We pass by the Disney Princesses fruit snacks in the grocery each week, and I’ve had to tell Cordy more than once that she couldn’t buy those because the artificial ingredients would make her sick. Thankfully, she’s a happy convert to Annie’s bunny fruit snacks, which are completely safe for her to eat.

Sure, not all kids will have as dramatic a reaction to artificial ingredients like Cordy does. But I consider Cordy’s sensitivity to be a barometer of things to come if we as a society don’t start taking a closer look at what we’re eating. I ate boxes and boxes of Fla-vor-Ice popsicles as a kid, and now I have a child who can’t tolerate them without a reaction – did I somehow poison her system from years of abusing every cell in my body with junk food? While I’m not a scientist or a psychic, isn’t it possible that our bodies will eventually hit a point where they can no longer tolerate this junk? Who’s to say that many of the health problems we see today – diabetes, cancer, etc – aren’t showing up more because of all the chemicals in our bodies?

I never intended to be a crusader, a hippie, or a “crunchy granola”-type person, and I’m in no way claiming that my family’s nutrition is excellent. (It’s not. Proof: I just had McDonald’s for a quick lunch.) But I’m more aware now, and I’m standing up to say I’m sick of just how much junk is out there. I’m tired of reading every single label in the grocery, searching for hidden ingredients and deciding if a food is good enough or not for my cart. I feel like I can’t trust anything on the grocery shelves.

I want better products to choose from. I want to buy deli meat without wondering if it has gluten or some other filler in it. I want cherries that haven’t had a color makeover to bright red. I want more natural sources of food coloring used in products aimed at children.

And dammit, I want real buttercream icing. You know, made with real butter and powdered sugar. And chocolate with cocoa butter. If I’m going to have junk food, I want it to at least be real food.

Vote with your wallets, people. If you can’t afford all natural, pick the worst offenders on your grocery list and start there. Making your grocery list healthier by one or two items is still one or two items for the better.

Filed Under: big issues, rant


Nov 17, 2009

Fight For Preemies & Cherish The Babies We Have

November 17, 2009 By

I remember sitting in my OB’s office during my third trimester, hearing the confirmation of news I already knew: Cordy was breech. The stubborn child’s head had been in my ribs for weeks, and at my urging the doctor performed an ultrasound to confirm that what was directly on the other side of my cervix wasn’t a skull with a large brain, but instead little girl parts with the occasional foot kicking me in the cervix.

Disappointment washed over me. My choices were slim: attempt a breech birth, although at that time her positioning made it extremely unlikely, try an external version (where they try to turn the baby) and risk a cord accident, or have a c-section, which carries risks we all know. I asked my doctor which option was the least risky for Cordy, and c-section seemed the best option at the time. The risks of major surgery were obviously higher for me, but it was an easy decision to make.

In the end, I got what I wanted: a healthy, full-term (nearly 39 week) baby. And I know that my struggles with facing a c-section were minor compared to some of the harder choices other parents have faced. Or those who had any possibility of choice taken away from them. I never had to face a pre-term delivery, wondering if my child would survive outside of my uterus, praying I could keep her in for just a few days longer to improve her chances. It makes fretting about a c-section minor in comparison.

My mother still keeps an image etched in her soul of a 32-week infant daughter, head full of dark hair, half of her face bruised from the traumatic delivery, too little to breathe on her own. There were no photos taken of her, but my mom can still remember her features clearly. She had only enough time to give her a quick kiss before the baby girl was transported to the NICU, where she died just days later.

My mom is an incredibly strong woman, but I know she still mourns the daughter she lost. The details she can recall of those heartbreaking moments are vivid, moments that happened 34 years ago. I’ve asked her before if she’s angry with what happened, upset that she was forced to go through so much pain only to bury a child she barely had the chance to meet. She responded with a reminder that if Krista didn’t die, I wouldn’t have been born, and in the end she’s glad she has me. (Krista was born at the end of July. I was born in mid-June the next year. Roughly 11 months.) I don’t know if that answer fully explains her feelings, but then again I think a lot of her feelings about those days are buried deep.

Today is Prematurity Awareness Day, sponsored by the March of Dimes. The March of Dimes recently released their report card for the nation, and I’m sad to say that the United States received a D. What’s worse, Ohio (along with several other states) received an F, with a preterm birth rate of 13.2%.

While there will always be some elements out of our control, it is possible to bring down this number: better health care (and insurance) so all women have equal access to prenatal care, education about risk factors for premature birth, and a push for doctors to deny elective inductions before 39 weeks would be a great start.

In an ideal world, NICUs would be smaller and needed far less often, and nearly every child would be born without any need for life support. Until then, we can only raise awareness of our country’s high rate of prematurity and support research efforts to improve prematurity outcomes and reduce the number of babies born too early.

Today I honor the memory of a baby born too soon, and I celebrate the lives of two healthy little girls who have made me the mother I am. Hundreds of bloggers are writing about a baby dear to them today, too. Will you?

Filed Under: big issues


Nov 16, 2009

Firsts – The Tooth Fairy

November 16, 2009 By

I remember when I lost my first tooth. I was five years old, and I didn’t even know it was loose. I went to my babysitter’s house after kindergarten that day, just like any other day, and was greeted with a typical peanut butter and sugar sandwich. (Seriously, she sprinkled sugar on it. She was an old woman – let’s not question her grasp of nutrition, OK?)

The sandwich was quickly devoured and my kool-aid was gulped down so I could watch afternoon cartoons. I must have laughed at something on TV, because my babysitter gave me a strange look and said, “Honey, open your mouth.”

I had no idea why she was asking me to do something so odd, but I complied. “Did you lose a tooth yesterday?” she asked.

“No. They were all there when I brushed my teeth this morning,” I replied.

“Go look in the mirror, sweetie,” she instructed me, grinning. I’m sure I huffed as I got off the floor to go to the bathroom, irritated at leaving my beloved cartoons behind. I’m sure I thought she was nuts, since I had no dramatic moment of feeling a tooth fall out. Shouldn’t I feel a tooth dislodge?

Standing on my tip-toes, I peered across the sink into the old, cracked mirror and slowly opened my mouth. There, in the center of my bottom row of perfectly aligned teeth, was a dark gap where a little pearly white tooth should be.

I was stunned, and my heart started to pound hard. Where was my tooth? When did it disappear? And most importantly, WHAT WAS I GOING TO TELL THE TOOTH FAIRY?

I don’t remember what exactly happened after that. We figured out that I must have swallowed my tooth when I ate my after-school snack. I vaguely remember a mix of glee and horror, happy to have hurdled across another milestone in the journey of growing up, but worried that swallowing a tooth could somehow hurt me, and frantic that I was going to miss out on a payday from the tooth fairy.

It wasn’t the ideal First Lost Tooth experience, although I believe the tooth fairy was understanding of my situation. (And for the record, my mom was NOT sympathetic enough to look for when the tooth came out the other end. My first lost tooth was never recovered, and I can’t say I blame her for that.)

But I’m happy to say that Cordy did not share my first lost tooth experience. When she had dental surgery this summer the dentist warned us that, based on the x-rays, she was likely to lose a few baby teeth in the next year. The roots were shortening and her permanent teeth were beginning to form underneath.

About two weeks ago I noticed one of her teeth on the bottom looked out of line with the rest. When I wiggled it, I discovered that it was completely free in the back and just hanging by a tiny piece in the front. I expected a tooth fairy visit in the next day or two, but that tooth kept holding on.

Then the other night, while eating a chip, Cordy paused with a confused look on her face, reached into her mouth, and then handed me her tooth, shouting, “Mommy, I lost my tooth!” Apparently my child chews her food better that I did at five years old.

She put the tooth into a pouch, placed it under her pillow, and the tooth fairy replaced the tooth in the pouch with several coins for her piggy bank, along with two activity books. Cordy was thrilled.

Of course, further examination of her mouth reveals that the tooth fairy better not go too far away. Her permanent tooth is already coming in to that spot, and it’s larger than the space available, now pushing out the tooth next to it.

What is the going rate for a tooth now, anyway? I’m hoping she doesn’t ask at school. And if her permanent teeth are anything like mine were, we’ll need to start saving for orthodontia now.

Filed Under: Cordy, growing up, memories


Nov 14, 2009

Guinea Pig for Hope

November 14, 2009 By

Wow, I’ve been away for a week, eh? That was unintentional. This past week I completed my orientation at work and began my time on night shift, working 7pm-7am. So far? I’m in a fog. My brain and biorhythms can’t tell if I should be awake or not at the moment, leaving me staring at the wall wondering if I’m really awake or just dreaming I am. I’m told it gets easier, so we’ll all cross our fingers and hope that’s true.

Even my days off haven’t been very restful. Something I haven’t shared with everyone yet is that back in September we enrolled Cordy in a clinical drug trial at OSU’s Nisonger Center (University Center for Excellence in Developmental Disabilities). The Nisonger Center is an incredible resource for parents of children with autism, and I’ve been watching their research studies for a couple of years now.

I’ve considered clinical research studies for Cordy in the past, but never requested more information because either 1. Cordy was too young for the study, or 2. I didn’t feel comfortable putting her in anything I considered risky. Unless the risks are slight, I’m not willing to let Cordy be a guinea pig, even if that research could be the key to unlocking new treatment options for autism spectrum disorders.

However, this particular clinical trial caught my eye. It’s a study of an ADD medication for children with autism who also have ADD symptoms of hyperactivity and/or inattentiveness. The drug is already in use for children with ADD, the amount given in the study does not exceed recommended dosing guidelines already in place, and this drug has a very small list of rare, severe reactions, all of which are completely reversible by stopping the medication. Feeling like it was a relatively safe trial, I called and signed her up.

The first few meetings involved several screenings. Even though she already has a diagnosis, they had to determine for themselves that she really is on the spectrum with ADD-symptoms. By the end of those tests, the doctor in charge determined she was a perfect fit for the study. Then came all of the medical tests to be certain she has no underlying health problems. A blood draw was required for that, and I won’t even go into the horrific details of how that went. Let’s just say that they got to see Cordy’s full meltdown, and again I’d like to apologize to the nurse who took the flying shoe to her head.

One of the more pleasant parts of the screening.

Now we go in once a week for a check-up. These meetings take about two hours, where I spend most of my time filling out paperwork and answering questions about her behavior for the past week. Cordy, on the other hand, spends about 15 minutes getting a quick exam by the staff (height, weight, B/P, etc.) and the remainder of her time charming everyone into letting her do whatever she wants. They let her watch videos, give her snacks (they keep a snack drawer stocked with organic snacks!), surround her with toys and paper and markers, and the student workers are thrilled to play with her. One in particular has said he wants to be there on the days when she’s there, because he likes hanging out with her. All together now: awwwwww!

At the end of the meeting, I get another week’s worth of medication for Cordy (they’re slowly increasing her dosage) and Cordy, already stuffed from Annie’s bunny fruit snacks, gets to choose a prize from the prize box. As you can guess, she now loves going to Nisonger, calling it her “office” and saying she “has to go to work.”

We’re only on week four of the ten week study, and we don’t know if we have the actual medication or the placebo. The medication also takes 4-6 weeks to build up in the system. The good news is that we’ve yet to see any of the possible side effects listed for the medication. So we could have the placebo. However, in the past week we’ve also noticed that Cordy’s repetitive motions (running “laps”, flapping, awkward limb movements, etc.) have dropped off dramatically. So we could have the actual medication. Of course, it’s supposed to help with ADD symptoms, not repetitive motions and flapping. So we could have the placebo. And at this point my head starts to spin as I think: And you must have suspected I would have known the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me…

So whether we have the real medication or not, we’re not seeing a lot of results yet. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come. And at the end of the ten week study, we have the option of entering an open study where we can try the actual medication if we had the placebo.

I never thought I’d be a parent who would medicate her child. But with kindergarten looming in the distance, Cordy’s lack of attention and focus is a concern. This is her last year of being in a special-needs classroom. Next year it’s the real deal – mainstreamed in a class of typical kids. I worry she’ll be eaten alive by kids who will pick up on her differences. I worry she’ll have trouble sitting still. And most of all, I worry she will be left behind academically, as the quiet girl who doesn’t cause any trouble, but also doesn’t have the focus or drive to apply herself to her lessons.

She’s generally not disruptive in the classroom, but her quiet zoning out could easily result in her being lost in the crowd. I can see her being the sweet child in the back of the class, distracted by her own mind and all of the sensory onslaught around her and then struggling when it’s time to prove she learned anything at all.

Right now she gets personalized attention in her special needs pre-K, but next year she’ll be lucky to share an aide in a classroom of 20+ kids. At this point we can’t even guarantee a shared aide. While I plan to work with her at home as much as possible, I can’t be in the classroom with her, meaning I’ll exhaust every option to give her the best chance of success at school.

I have no idea if this trial will work or not. And if it doesn’t, I’m back to searching for more options. But right now it’s buying me just a bit of hope that we’re moving in the right direction a little faster.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, school