"Mom, look at this, do you think it's ok?"
"Mom, this is how I feel, should I go to the emergency room?"
"Honey I bumped my head (shot a staple gun into my hand, have a red itchy bump etc.) will you look at it?
Somehow, just by looking at things I make them better, I guess. This is not entirely true, because "Will you look at this?" is always followed by "What should I do?" I forgot to become a doctor, sometimes I don't know.
When the boys were little there were three treatment options available for everything besides broken bones:
2. Ice cube in a baggie
3. Vitamin E capsule with a tiny pin-hole in it to apply as you wish to your injury.
That made life so easy. Just the time it takes to choose which remedy best suits the emergency can take a hysterical boy down a few notches. Obviously the vitamin E remedy was the most efficacious, it was certainly the one chosen most frequently.
First I had to get the bottle and separate one of the slightly sticky glowing, golden oblongs of healing. Then came the search for the safety pin to poke that tiny hole. "Here you go, I'm sure that will make it better." and they had a whole squeezy, oily, smells-like-better amount of sticky substance to rub or dab on the trauma. Bandaids are very cool, but many times nothing but an ice cube in a baggie will do, depending on your affliction.
With Molly it was different. I had to hold her, agree and expound on just how horrible the injury was, and then do light. "Doing light" means holding my hands slightly above the affected area, and first shining white light and then green when the time was right to heal her from the
inside out. As a child she would lay hands on me too when something hurt and I could feel them become warm and actually affect the pain. All that is stupid now, a doctor prescribed her some Vicodin for something once, and she would prefer to go straight to that, bypassing the light all together.
Looking at the spot is something that has never changed though, as a first-responder. "Will you look at this for me?" comes before an Xray, or stitches or any other legitimate medical treatment. I suppose I have gained this powerful look from being a person who has babies at home or will pull my own tooth with pliers if necessary. Maybe it's just because I am the Mom.
Lately, my super-powers have been failing me though. People have things going on that just a look or a touch (or even a punctured capsule of vitamin E) won't even begin to address.
Andrew's extended inability to breathe correctly is beyond my motherly powers. LM's nail puncture to the foot needed treatment that I couldn't give. (I don't have any tetanus shots lying around.) I don't really have the medical knowledge to help someone detox from heroine and cocaine addiction on my couch. Michael's 48 week Interferon treatment is another. I feel completely over my head.
Interferon is a bitch, pure and simple. It is the Alexis Carrington of all drug treatments. It's
worst late at night, when the same things aren't real to both of us, and only various ice cream delights will serve to settle his agitation. He talks in a half-sleep, frantically, and requires my participation. He becomes angry or petulant, or sorry and it's my job to remain calm and patient and not snap back. I have a mouth-guard I keep clamped between my jaws made from the words "Stop being a dick to me, I'm on your team!"
I get to see a doctor myself on the 7th, and start all over with my own quest for health, and I'm going to need some immediate answers so I can get back to being Super-Mom and looking at other people's ailments to make them better. If my labs come back with a thyroid problem I may slit my own throat, rip it out myself and then they'll have to stitch me up; they've all taken the Hypocratic oath, haven't they?
I've had babies at home and pulled a broken tooth from my mouth once, I'm sure I can remove my own thyroid if necessary.
Got something wrong? Let me take a look at it and find my vitamin E.