It has been an eventful couple of days, so excuse my grammar and spelling mistakes. Just need to get this down while my brain is still firing.
Yesterday morning, before I could get them loaded up for school, the BabyQueen fell and dislocated her right kneecap. Cringeworthy as this is, it's not uncommon. It's so common that a year ago I learned how to reduce the dislocation. By myself. So she got reduced and convinced me she needed the day off. Right.
Today was the 6-month check up with their autism specialist and pediatrician. I love the Habersangs. Dr. H is the pedi, and his wife, Pia, is the PA autism specialist. Both amazingly brilliant and sweet people, and the chicklets love them. So we have our little meeting with Pia, discuss the girls' weight gain and reset their diets, all vitals are good, and everybody is happy. She talks to me about the custody hearing coming up and asks me how I'm coping. Then she hands me a manila folder with a sheath of papers thicker than wirecutter's FBI profile. This is her thing; she loves to give me homework because I'm "one of those parents", you know the one's who thrive on autism research. This one looks pretty promising, started by a high-functioning Autistic from Dallas who's an engineer. The focus is more brain physiology and chemistry than psychology and behavioral therapy, and there's a chance at getting the girls into the research group. Yeah, parents of autistic kids kind of turn into science geeks and mad scientists; anything that might help, we're willing to explore.
And then we're done. On the way to reception, Pia asks about BQ's knee brace, we chuckle that it's more of an ankle bracelet, she keeps pushing it down. NEVER laugh about a knee brace, or any other brace. So we get checked out, co-pay x two, appointments x two, school excuse notes x two, and we head out the door. Two steps into the hallway, and I watch in slow-motion as the BQ goes down and I KNOW. She's up against the wall on her side, fetal position, both hands on her knee, keening. I'm on my knees in seconds, don't remember what I do with the purse and papers, and I'm trying to get her positioned on her back so I can straighten her leg and get the kneecap that's bulging on the outside of her leg back in place.
A keening child tends to draw attention, did you know that? Within minutes, I have a hysterical Spanish-speaking mom with stair step kids wailing in harmony with BQ. Then the office door opens and Fainting Vegan mom takes one look at BQ's knee and goes down. Dead faint, I heard her head bounce; sorry, not my problem. The elevator door chimes and out comes "Oh God, Oh Sweet Jesus" black mom dragging an older boy in her wake. She keeps calling God and trying to touch BQ. Anyone who knows an Autistic child knows this is a no-no. BQ is tensing up more from all the commotion and I'm about to deck "Oh God" mom when Teen Queen gently takes her hand and says, "She doesn't like being touched, let my mom work." Bless you TQ, she positions herself as guard between chaos and her baby sister. Nurses come out and I lose track of who's where for a while.
Focused on BQ, I get her rolled over on her back and hand her aTootsie Pop to get her hands off her knee. Perfect distraction, I take her leg in my right hand with my left thumb on her errant kneecap. Straighten, push, PLOOP. Done. Really, if you've ever put a kneecap back, it feels like it goes "ploop". And anyone who's ever dislocated anything, you know the dislocation hurts, the reduction hurts worse, and then the pain subsides. So, finished with the hard part, I realize it's very quiet and we're alone in the hallway. The nurses must have tended Fainting Vegan mom, Hysterical Hispanic mom, and "Oh Sweet Jesus" mom and herded them and their kids into the office. BQ is recovering, TQ is still standing guard, and I'm trying to breathe when I feel Dr. H's hand on my head. Gentle tug on my hair, "Good girl," and he goes back in the office.
TQ and I help our BQ up and we walk down the hall to the elevator, TQ says, "I think she's okay, but she really needs some McDonald's." Yeah, I think we could all use some MickeyD's right now. Riding the elevator down, I'm still shocked that I can do that. I've done it several times now, different places, different circumstances, but I do it. Must be WarriorAngel.
And then I look at my cute chicks and realize, I've managed to raise two more WarriorAngels.