Accidental Dental

   I realize that I don't write much about school in here, and there is a reason for that.  Well due to the sheer fact that students spend nearly 9 physical hours during the day in that building plus an additional 2-5 hours at home just learning dentistry and medicine, I hardly doubt anyone wants to be writing about the subject in their free time.  But mainly, these past few months in clinic have been the most challenging times for me and the overwhelming frustrations that have manifested inside would probably be spewed out in a highly inappropriate and irrational manner if I tried to write about it as they happened. 
   
   I've always known that I'm a bit clumsy and tend to drop a lot of things (understatement).  I've faced lots of disappointment in my past when I caused more work for myself....especially that first summer at West Point when I would drop my rifle during (every) road march and had to pay for it by doing push-ups with a ruck on my back (lots of pushups for me that summer).  For my H.S. senior art project I spilled ink all over a piece I'd been working on for 2 weeks, and then just last year I dropped a provisional crown and rolled over it with my chair 20 minutes before the practical exam was over (I failed). 
   But really, when things really counted, I always thought I could rely on myself to pull through.  After all, I never dropped my babies on their heads or anything, although they managed to do that themselves by rolling off my bed once or twice (wonder if it's a heritable trait?)
   Anyway, all the times that I've fallen, gotten hurt, or dropped something, has really just affected me.  Now that I am in clinic as a 3rd year student, all my mistakes and errors suddenly began having grave implications for other people, too...and had I known just how bad it would be, I am not sure I still would have thought this profession would be good for me.

   Let me introduce you to Patient A: Mrs. K.  Mrs. K. has been waiting for her partial dentures (both upper and lower) for over 2 years as she was passed on from student to student before coming to me.  She was so embarrassed of her teeth that she quit working entirely, and she pleaded with me to try to get them to her by Thanksgiving so she could get a job to start right after Christmas.  I filled her cavities and got her free of infection within 2 appointments, and now I was ready to start denturing.  This was in June, she was my first real patient, and I thought I was awesome.  So of course I told her "Oh yes, maybe by October!"  It is now late September.
   
   Now onto Patient B: Mrs. J.  Mrs. J came to a fourth year student who already fulfilled his dentures requirement and asked me to do the case with him.  Therefore, I got to jump right in as a co-therapist to work on her case without all the prior paperwork that typically takes weeks to get through.  She needed a complete upper denture and a lower partial.  That was in later June, she was my second real patient, and I still thought I was awesome.  So of course I told her "Oh yes, maybe by October!"  Guess what?  It's still late September since I wrote that last paragraph.

   For you readers (that would be Andy, and my mom) that don't know dentistry, let's just say that the first appointment, all you do is make a mold of the patient's mouth.  With that mold, you make a custom tray to make an even more accurate of the patient's mouth.  Then you have a second appointment, where you get a final impression of the teeth, make a final mold, and that is what you work with to make the dentures or to send it out to the lab.  In total, a complete dentures can ideally be delivered to the patient in 5 appointments from start to finish.  
   Between Mrs. K. and Mrs. J, I've had over 11 appointments, and technically only got to the "second" appointment each time.  I had uneventful first appointments for both, but I repeated the second appointment 5 times with Mrs. K and 3 times with Mrs. J.  It has been a long road.
   For Mrs. K., the final cast mold came out with a broken tooth.  Obviously, no good.  

Yep, there was a tooth in that big space!

   But I wasn't entirely upset because these things happen.  So I brought her back for another appointment.  This time, the cast came out great, then when I went to trim it, I dropped it onto the counter top and a tooth went flying away (zing!)  I held back some tears as I called to explain what had happened.

The premolar had broken off....here it is sitting on top of the cast.

   Somewhere in between these appointments, I saw Mrs. J.  It was at her appointment when I was doing a final impression when the custom tray slipped from my hand and I watched it agree with gravity (in slow motion, of course) as it flew gracefully through the air and cracked in half on the hard floor surface.  Since this was my first screw-up with this patient, I wasn't all too upset at this event and managed to keep it together.

My custom tray.  Bye-bye, 2 hours.

   Back to Mrs. K....by the third appointment, I had some help.  My dear friend, Andrey, is totally a lab-rat and he assisted taking the cast out of the mold.  I was ever so grateful, that I completed the design and was walking up the stairs to get it checked by the lab tech guy and wham!  Faceplant up the stairs.  A different tooth fell off.  I cried a single tear.  I went to the lab tech guy and asked him if he could use the different casts I had, each with a different tooth that had fallen off.  He said no, and I shed another tear.  I figured I may push graduation back a few months.

   For Mrs. K.'s next visit, things went well during the appointment but up in the lab, disaster struck when my knife I was using to peel away the mold slipped and cut off a lower incisor.  I tried to glue it back on, but it was a little obvious and was easily called out when I went to the lab tech guy.  I'm pretty sure I cried in the bathroom.  I decided I'd make it up to Mrs. K. somehow, even if it meant baking her some cookies as a consolation prize.  And then I realized she had no teeth to eat them with....and that was all my fault!

See that crack on the front middle tooth?  Yeah, so do I.

   I will spare the rest of the details of how each appointment went.  You can clearly see a pattern forming.  My faculty forbade me to come to an appointment without an assistant.  My other lab-rat friend Wes helped me that last day with Mrs. Kim, and I flew through that appointment.  By then I had gone through that same appointment 8 times between 2 different people, so I felt pretty confident I could at least go through the motions.

   The last appointments I had for both patients was just this past week.  And finally, FINALLY, today I can say that I'm making progress.  After pouring up and separating the cast molds, I probably put in a good 3 hours combined readjusting the designs, doing the paperwork, working with the faculty and getting the approvals I needed to get things moving and sent to the lab.  And ever so carefully, I tucked these casts in bubble wrap that I brought my house, stuffed them in my lab coat pocket, and slowly made my way to the elevators upstairs to print out my lab form.

Lab order on the computer.

 Then I took this bucket and placed the casts in there, and ever so carefully walked to the lab office to turn it in.

My two casts for upper and lower with design approved.

 I was greeted by Mr. B., who saw what I had and said, "OH!! Wow!! You're getting somewhere now!!" Apparently I'm well known in the prosthodontics department as someone to NOT accept to their post grad program.

The awesome lab tech guy who was wondering why I was taking his picture.

Mr. B let me take a photo of the final lab order printout.

    I couldn't believe when I headed back to get my bags that I had DONE it.  I had FINALLY done it.  Something was finally getting done.  I was so overwhelmed (and hungry), that I decided to celebrate my achievement by treating myself to an overpriced cheese and tomato sandwich from the Student Center.

Seriously, 7 bucks for this??

   I know that this is only a small victory.  For the month and a half that I'd been working on the same appointments over and over again, I'd brought in zero dollars to the school in terms of production because they were all no-cost visits for obvious reasons.  So in that sense, I've accomplished nothing.  Also, there is MUCH work ahead once the lab sends me back the framework...since after all, it's just a piece of metal with no teeth on them.  But to me, I've just climbed a dental school mountain.  There sure is another valley with a larger hill up ahead, and many more after that, but I really don't care right now.  It's these small blessings I need to start counting and celebrate these little "hooray" moments with myself.  
   

Learning to Fly

From: Charles Belo <charles.belo@verizon.net>
Date: Thu, Aug 9, 2012 at 9:41 PM
Subject: RE: Swim Team information
To: Grace Chung gracechung04@gmail.com

Good evening Ms. Chung—

Thanks for your note and your interest in getting your daughter involved with swimming.

It sounds as if your daughter won’t have any trouble with our coaches’ swim assessment. As long as a swimmer can demonstrate that she can swim the length of the pool performing one of the competitive strokes (freestyle (or front crawl), back stroke, breast stroke, or butterfly) then she is ready for competitive swimming.

 

Again, thanks for your interest and for reaching out to us. We look forward to having your swim become part of the Ft. Meade swim team! Stay tuned to your email for detail information coming soon.

Regards,

Charles

Charles Belo, Board President

Ft. Meade Youth Swimming Organization:

Meade Patriots Swim Club & Ft. Meade Dolphins

301-412-9108

 

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   About a month ago, I wrote an email to the Head Coach of the FT Meade swim team to inquire about the possibility of Kaylee trying-out this year.  After receiving this reply back and checking out the team's website, I was thrilled to finally find what seemed to be a good match for our child.  I saw that Kaylee would be joining the beginning Red Group, where "Technique is stressed most highly. At the same time, this is a low stress group, gives swimmers a taste of what they need to want/work for but is not overwhelming for the bulk of the children. Endurance sets for this group rarely go past sets of 200 meters."  I was particularly excited to find a program that was competitive and fun without pressure or being too overwhelming like other teams I researched.  The website and consequent emails told me try-outs were to be held on Sept 10th, so we set that date on our calendar and Kaylee knew well in advance what she was expected to do.

 

   ...Or did she?? 

 

   I met Andy at the pool, gave Kaylee a high five and a hug and wished her luck, and took Megan with me down the street to her first day of dance class.  Although I had really, REALLY wanted to be there for Kaylee's tryouts, I decided to have Andy there instead because a) I also really wanted to be present for Meg's first day as well, and b) I knew I'd be a nervous wreck watching my daughter "try-out" for anything knowing she would be extremely disappointed if she didn't make it.  When I got to the pool, I saw about 20 other kids there, all bigger than Kaylee who suddenly looked really small, and hoped she wouldn't notice and let herself be intimidated.

   As I pulled up to the dance center, I realized I was just ridden with anxiety.  I worried for Megan that she would get shy all of a sudden and not want to participate, and of course I was (and had been) nervous for Kaylee all day.  Luckily, Megan put on her new ballet shoes and pranced right into the class!  Whew!

 

 

   With one kid good to go, I was left alone to be with my thoughts about Kaylee.  Just prior to leaving for our evening activities, Kaylee had experienced a major meltdown that made me doubt whether this swim team thing was a good idea at all.  She had started uncharacteristically crying, and once prompted told me about all her worries and anxieties.  None were related to swimming (except for her scraped knees that might sting in the water), and for the next half hour she cried to me about her guilt over leaving her homework folder at school and her latest fear of being alone when "Mommy and Daddy die and go to heaven."  She told me she thought I hated her because I scolded her for losing her homework and that Megan thought she was a bad sister.  Through her tears, her sad eyes showed a vulnerability I hadn't seen in years since Kaylee was just a toddler, and I suddenly realized that the weight she was bearing on her tiny shoulders had grown to be unsurmountable.  Kaylee was a big sister, a big Kindergartener, Mommy's big helper - and her sudden admission of all her insecurities suddenly revealed a fact that was now glaring in my face:  My big girl was still a little kid, whose world was growing at a rate exponentially faster than her little mind could process, and it was scaring her.  

   I had told Kaylee that swimming could wait - we didn't have to do it today.  We could go back on Thursday, or even wait until next season.  I desperately wanted her to trust me when I said that I am proud of her no matter what and she doesn't need to be on the team to obtain my love and support.  She seemed to mull over her options, and upon realizing she would have to sit and watch her little sister dance for a half hour, she dried her face with her forearm, gave me a hug, and told me she still wanted to swim.

 

   So that's the scene that kept re-playing in my mind as I waited outside Megan's dance room, a million questions of doubt running through my mind.  Maybe Kaylee is too young for this.  Maybe I should just have her stay with lessons.  What if the big kids run over her?  What if she stops swimming and needs help, will the coach go get her?  Will he even see her? 

   I knew that Kaylee would be fine on her front crawl, but I had yet to see her back stroke the entire length of the pool without stopping and I kind of expected they would ask her to do it.  I figured, though, that they would see she could make it across with 1 stroke and be forgiving if she wasn't proficient in the others.  Nevertheless, I started texting Andy to check in, half-expecting a "Good to go! Coming home now!" reply back.

 

   Instead, the conversation went something like this:

 

 

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I was sure a blood vessel was pulsating by my temples.  Oh no...I thought.  150 meters??  What was happening?  Why were they making her swim so far?  No, no.  I told myself that the coach forgot that this was the assessment day, and surely Andy just needed to go remind him that the kids were only supposed to swim 25 meters....or maybe they are testing the bigger kids for the higher levels and somehow Kaylee got mixed up with the wrong group?

 





 

 

   As I furiously typed Andy back, I glanced in at Megan and watched her joyously dance and shake her body in front of the mirror.  Her grin and pure enjoyment lifted me up a little and I thought I should share with Andy that at least, one of daughters would make it out alive today. 

   But however happy I was with Megan's class, my mind kept drifting back to Kaylee.  I pictured her flipping from her back to her tummy, kicking and crying while swallowing and gulping in water, desperately doggy-paddling to the wall.  I felt a huge lump in my throat when I thought of how I had told her she only had to swim 1 length front crawl, and how awful it must have felt for her when she realized that Mommy had told her a terrible lie.  She was somewhere away from where I was - I couldn't even explain myself to her or even help, and she was forced to swim longer, farther, and harder than she ever had in her life.  

 

    In the meantime, Megan finished her class with all smiles and my tears were put on hold as I watched her wait patiently in line with her hands on her head that were soon receiving a sticker.  Her face lit up when she saw me and ran into my arms, proudly showing me the little happy face sticker on the back of her left hand. 

I was momentarily overjoyed with Megan's fantastic participation and cooperation in her class.  Megan came out of her class exploding with pride, and I celebrated in her success with a promise for treats when we got home.  Then we put on her Crocs, said goodbye to her teacher, and headed to the car to go back to the pool, where my older daughter had been still swimming for the past 30 minutes straight.

 

   Before we left dance I received these last few texts from Andy.  Relief washed over me when I read them, and of course my first reaction was to find a way to bribe my daughter with a donut to earn her trust back.  Though relieved, I was most certainly not yet at ease.  I planned what I would say to the coach, about how misleading the website and email were, and how much harm it did to my child because she most certainly now hated swimming.  In fact, I planned to bash him as best as I could in non-violent manners for ruining whatever dreams my daughter once had and for crushing her love of the water.  My concern for having a very upset child who justifiably now hated her parents was overtaken by my own hatred of whatever organization was running this show.  My blood was boiling still when I got to the pool.

 

   What I found at the pool was a much different scene than I had imagined.  Instead of a bunch of crying kids, wrapped in the arms of their parents reassuring them after their near-death experiences, I found my own standing there with her hands on her hips putting on her Crocs.  I looked at her face in disbelief as her eyes met mine - she was smiling at me!

   It turned out Kaylee had not only done great - she actually enjoyed it!  I couldn't believe my ears as she rattled on and on about her swim, how she thought it was really long but how she kept imagining she was at the beach, leisurely floating on her back.  She told me she wasn't tired, and that she bonked heads with someone who was "getting in her way."

   Andy took the girls home while I made my way to Dunkin' Donuts.  As I drove, the tears just started flowing uncontrollably.  I realized that while I was really upset at the coaches, I was more upset with myself for not planning out the worst case scenario.  I couldn't believe I had thrown my kid out there to the wolves, only to just sit back and watch her fight them off.  If she had freaked out or gotten tired, her confidence would have been crushed and the thought of how bad the situation could have gone just made me overwhelmed with guilt.  I was so, so sorry for not being there to protect her, but moreso for putting her in the situation that could have gone oh-so-very wrong.

   But it didn't.  It didn't go wrong at all.  Somehow, miraculously, everything had gone surprisingly well.  Andy had mistakened her glare at him as her being upset with us, when really we realized later was just the game-face of determination.  Kaylee had been thrown to the wolves, and she had to fight against them - but she won.  She destroyed them.   

   In the end, I still don't know what I learned from this as a parent.  Had I really discovered early on that the swim tryouts were going to go like this, there is no way I ever would have let my 5 year old go and participate.  After all, the chance of failure is so high and at this age, there is a fine line between failing by trying and failing with fear.  While the former could potentially have benefits to build character, the latter is absolutely detrimental (in my opinion) to a child's confidence and I would not have risked that for the world.  But - the way it turned out, I didn't know it would be like this - and Kaylee didn't know it would be like this - and her reaction to this curveball ended up landing her a homerun.  So what was I supposed to do?  Was I supposed to know?  Was I supposed to not and let her try?  Was it right that we accidentally took this risk, or did it just happen to work out? 

   As I watched my girls devour their chocolate frosted sprinkled donuts - goofing off and cracking jokes with each other, I realized I would never know that answer.  Today, it turned out well.  Next time, it may not.  I might be wrong when I tell Megan to be nice to everyone even if it means that she will continue to be picked on by the class bully.  Or when one of them goes off and tells some boy she likes them after I tell her to go for it.  Or when they apply to college and don't get into their first choice after Andy and I already bought the sweatshirt. 

 

 

   I realized that I just need to be thankful - and I am - that my kids are sitting there with chocolate smudged all over their mouths and hands, enjoying their donut.  I think I generally need to play things safe - like I did with signing Megan up for dance because I knew there was a 75% chance that she would enjoy it and sure enough, she did.  But I learned today that living on the edge - and taking a risk - can really reveal the true character of my children in ways I never would see if they don't take that chance.  I told Kaylee she would have to swim 25 meters, possibly 50.  The girl relentlessly followed the coach and ended up swimming 550 meters.  I had no idea she was capable to push herself to that degree, and I learned that letting her go is the only way she can fly.  I'm still more likely to hold my kids in tight, but at least now I know that sometimes, I have to let them try.  I figure it's better to be there to catch them should they fall than to never let them use their wings. 

   I ended up not writing the coach as I had planned to do.  Turns out the guy did me a favor. Though it was a pure accident and nearly scared me to death, I got to watch my kid soar tonight.  

 



Second Child Syndrome

   One of my huge challenges as a mom continues to be that ever-elusive ideal of being "fair" - or at least being perceived to be fair - in how I treat, discipline, and raise my kids.  I know there are tons of books out there on child-rearing based on each child's "place" in line.  I've read and heard all too much about the pressures of the first-born, the middle-child identity problem, and the baby of the family always getting baby-ed.  I've researched (and by research, I mean read other people's blogs) about raising girls, what it's like to be a sister, and ask nearly every adult female I know who has a good relationship with her sister if their mother played a major role in that good fortune.
   I've lived my own version of "2nd child syndrome" - and by my own definition, that simply means: getting shafted.  My earliest memories of this is when I was 3: my parents had promised me a birthday party for my 4th birthday, specifically at Chucky Cheese.  My brother, Tim, had his birthday at Chucky Cheese so of course that's just what I wanted too.  Well my birthday rolled around and guess what?  No Chucky Cheese.  My grandmother had gotten hit by a car (right in front of my eyes), broke her leg and was in a full-legged cast.  The fact that I can remember that day 27 years ago leads me to believe I was traumatized by that incident.  I remember telling the police "No" when they asked if I spoke English and then rattling off my parent's phone numbers perfectly when they asked me if I knew it.  I remember my grandfather's worried face, my grandmother telling me it wasn't my fault (but it was - I dropped a toy in the street and went back to get it), and I remember the automatic doors at the hospital and wondering how they knew to open to let me in.
   The thing I don't remember is how I felt about it.  I remember being scared for a little bit when it happened but my grandma was so hardcore that she didn't even seem like she was in pain, so I stopped feeling scared.  I don't remember feeling bad, really, even though it was a pretty big event in the life of a preschooler.  What I do remember though, clear as yesterday, is how I felt when my parents told me that Chucky Cheese wasn't happening.  I remember where I was sitting and I distinctly remember feeling sad about it.  They promised I'd get the party the following year (which I never did get)....and it really took a good 10 years before I decided to drop it and move onto the fact that my brother always got ice cream cakes at the store for his birthday while I got homemade box cake for mine.
   Did it scar me for life?  No, not really.  Did I always feel like 2nd best after that and start noticing other ways I was getting shafted?  Yeah, for sure.  And that is my fear with my Megan - not because I worry she'll feel like she's behind her sister, but because I didn't try harder to prevent her from feeling that way if she ever does.  Obviously I realize some things just are the way they are - she obviously couldn't do soccer and dance when she was younger and had to watch her sister, while Kaylee never had an older sibling to look up to so she never knew what she was missing.  I know she'll watch Kaylee go through the "firsts" of many milestones before she does as I did with my brother, and I know she's going to need her parents to validate that her milestones and achievements are just as great in her life.
   Which is why I literally flipped out on my poor husband on the Saturday night before the Sunday "party" we were going to have for Megan.  Because our family was in town and her actual birthday was on a Tuesday, we chose Sunday as her celebration day.  I had planned a nice cake for her, some gifts, and just a day of making her feel special.  However, Saturday came and we spent the day at the park followed by 2 hours of trying to find a place to eat without reservations, and when I mentioned getting gifts for her after dinner at home, he responded with "Oh I figured we can go take her somewhere to pick something out."
   I should say, in Andy's defense, that he always, ALWAYS means well.  He never means to flick that switch in me from "sane" to "crazy".  But at that moment, I admittedly freaked out.  I was already mad at myself for not planning ahead and getting her a gift prior to that weekend when I had all summer to do so, not to mention I hadn't even started on her cake yet.  I imagined my daughter having nothing to open on her birthday, and thinking that somewhere in her little mind, she would remember her sister's birthday and how many gifts she got to open just 2 months ago. Memories of Chucky Cheese swept into my mind, my heart felt so heavy I could pick it up off the floor.
   No.  Megan is NOT going to have a Chucky Cheese moment.  Not now.  Not ever if I could help it.
   So I stormed out, went to Toys R' Us, Safeway, and Walmart.  I picked up a few odds and ends, and finally made my way back home 2.5 hours later.  I started the cake at 10pm, and it was completed by 4:30am.  When the sun came up, I drank some coffee and we started the day.

   Megan's celebration was indeed, a good celebration.  We started off by taking her to the mall where she got to pick out a Build-a-Bear as a gift from Andy's folks.  We had to remind Kaylee several times to not influence Meg's selection of what bear she wanted.  Apparently Megan was not used to this freedom because she spent 80% of our visit trying to pick out a bear on her own!

Megan's forced smile outside the factory

Lookin for a bear shell....

The most indecisive bear-picker I've ever seen.  

10 min later - we got a winner!

Meg steps on the pedal to stuff her bear...

....picks out a heart....

....warms it up...

...and stuffs it in.

Kaylee helps her give the bear a bath.

Registers the bear as "Fluffy Chung"

Waits patiently for Grandpa and Grandma to pay... 

...and gives them a big thank-you hug!

....and off we go!

   The party didn't end there!  We came home and I had the rare opportunity to nap with Megan on my bed, which I haven't done since she was a very young 2 year old.  It was especially nice because a) I felt so bittersweet cuddling up with my little girl who was, in my mind, a baby for so long...and b) I was so freaking tired.  Double win!
   On the way back we had stopped by a seafood market and got some crabs and mussels which we fixed up for an awesome dinner.

Megan imitating a crab

Ready to dig in!

Megan loved the cake!

   After dinner we presented the doll house my mom had brought for her and Kaylee, but at the time it wasn't set up yet so I don't think it registered with her just how great a gift that was.  Then she opened up another gift (Crocodile Dentist), and I sat there watching her face, wondering what she was feeling.

 

Look at that face!

   I saw the light in her eyes when she ripped the present open and held up the giant box.  Even earlier in the day when she opened her other 2 presents, she seemed happy but not really understanding of why she was getting any presents in the first place.  But I felt like - and it may be my imagination - that as the day went on and we did more and more things for her, she began to realize something like, "Hey, today is something special for me!"  

   It was only for a flash of a moment, but I definitely saw it.  Her face lit up staring at the box, and then she looked up at us and shouted, "Happy Birthday, Megan!!!"  At that moment my heart melted as I knew that I - that WE, her loving family and grandparents - had done it.  We had made her feel like a special girl, and while she may not have gotten it earlier that morning, I knew she would go to bed feeling like she was on top of a mountain. 
   That feeling literally only lasted for 30 seconds because as soon as we opened the box and saw the crocodile, she panicked and never touched it....and then I was hating myself again for picking the wrong present.  But, while it lingered for a moment, I loved every second of seeing that face of hers.
   I know that there is no way around getting past the challenges of making each of your kids feel like everything is fair.  I most certainly know it's an impossible task for parents to achieve and that the existence of a family hierarchy is very important in how kids develop as mature adults.  I know there will be times that Megan thinks her sister gets everything first and when Kaylee thinks Megan has life way too easy.  I hate that the rivalry will exist and that I may not recognize how or when to step in. 
   But I also am aware of this - Megan is so very loved by everyone who meets her.  She is adored by her grandparents and her sister can't live without her.  When she was born, she made our family complete.  She never complains about not getting something and is always so gracious by sharing what she has with her sister.  Megan has a heart of gold and a spirit so pure that makes me so sensitive to her feelings because I just know she will give more than she will take in her grown life.  She is a tough nugget on the outside but tender and delicate on the inside, and I have made it my duty to ensure nothing harmful can enter to harden that heart.
   As she starts preschool this fall, it is inevitable she will begin feeling those emotions that develop in the early life of a child that unfortunately, no one can stop.  I've seen it happening in Kaylee as she experiences new feelings like shame, resentment, anxiety, jealousy - all the negative things that kids will ultimately learn to understand as they spend more time with their little social circle of peers.  I am sad for Megan because I know in just a few short months she will start growing up and feeling those things too, just like I did when I was her age, and I know I can't stop her from growing up.  I just have to accept it.
   But at least, just for this birthday - I know I did my best and can be happy with that.  She's only going to turn 3 once, and for her birthday I just wanted to do something special before she loses more of her innocence.  I may not have given her the best gifts...but by the look of her face and her smile as I kissed her goodnight, I know I succeeded in giving her my Chucky Cheese.

Incognito Mosquito

   Poor Megan.  That's what we always say when we see her get bit by a mosquito.  Poor Megan.  Poor her.  Take what the average person experiences with a simple bite - a little redness, some itchiness, probably annoyance - and multiply that reaction by 5,000 and you've got yourself a Megan-reaction: a few hours of redness, then swelling, then more swelling, then some crusting over, then swelling in areas of your body that were no where near the original bite, then, even more swelling.  Not to mention the itchiness and general discomfort that comes along with losing function of a limb, some digits, or maybe even an eye.
   Yes, poor Megan.  Since she was just about a year old, my sweet little girl has been plagued with an unknown immunodeficiency that we just can't put a finger on.  It started as some strange outbreaks of hives on random parts of her body, and then it would slowly spread - and each time this would happen, I would take her in to the doctor's office.  She endured many visits to the clinic, many many throat swabs, and countless rounds of antibiotics.  The first time they told us she had Strep, so they prescribed amoxicillin and her symptoms vanished.  But sure enough, the hives would start again....either on her arm, forehead, or her body, and each time, the treatment was antibiotics.

   Then one day, she exploded into the worst anaphylactic reaction I'd ever seen - my little girl was unrecognizable as her whole body filled like a giant puff ball, both eyes swollen shut and her limbs barely fitting in her clothes.  I prayed and prayed as she wheezed the whole way to the ER and Andy even rushed home from Syracuse that evening to care for her the next day.  We were told by one physician that they suspected Kawasaki disease, a rare auto-immune disorder more common in Asian children, but the ER doctor apparently ruled that out and told us she had a penicillin allergy and treated her with steroids and Clindamycin.  
   It never got that bad again, but Megan made routine emergency trips to the clinic at least once a month after that incident.  At one point the doctor told me she had MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staph aureus), at another, mastocytosis (mast cell dysfunction).  At Walter Reed her case became the excitement of the infectious disease and allergy clinics, where doctors studied her like a monkey with 6 arms, referring back to their books and bringing in new people to consult with.  Last June, she had some weird lesions in her mouth that prevented her from drinking or eating anything for 2.5 days...not quite sure if it was Hand-Foot-Mouth disease or if the hives just invaded her oral cavity, but I just never could quite figure all this out.  She had me - and all the docs - stumped.  Nothing could be confirmed, and thus began my long and frustrating journey to discovering what it was exactly that was harming my child.

Just hours before her full-body swelling reaction

1 day post-steroids to reduce the inflammation

   We made several visits to Walter Reed, and the allergist there was skeptical about testing a child so young.  He nodded like he really cared and listened to us, and even gave long, drawn-out explanations for things I felt were irrelevant to why we were there in the first place.  He told us to take a log of what foods she was eating, but I knew in my heart that this was not the problem because I'd been doing that for months by then and no common triggers could be found.
   It became a regular thing for Megan to develop some weird rash at school, and her teacher would often text me pictures of it before I would text back, "Yes, please, 2.5ml of Benedryl, thank you."  I just hated having to medicate the kid like that.  But bless her school teachers for understanding that she wasn't infectious towards other kids....otherwise Megan would be well on her way to earning herself a DDS for how many times she would have had to accompany me to class.

Random hives at school

More random hives at school

   This year we discovered that Megan has some serious bad reactions to bug bites - mosquitos namely.  Just recently she got bit near her eyebrow, and her entire left face swelled to where she could not even open her eye any longer.  Andy nicknamed her QuasiMegan.

 
   Supposedly it's called "Skeeter Syndrome" - bad allergy to mosquito bites - and although I don't believe that was the original cause for all those outbreaks in her past, I definitely agree that she exhibits signs and symptoms of having this disease.  As if we needed confirmation, just two days ago she was bit again by a mosquito (yes, we definitely covered her in mosquito repellent and it still happened) - in exactly the same location, and sure enough her face began swelling with no signs it was going to go down on its own.  So we headed to the urgent care clinic yesterday and got her treated with a steroid shot - again - and today, she is doing much better.

Megan checking out her pulse ox

   Sometimes I feel like I'm peddling backwards trying to figure things out - I have researched hours and hours on the internet, in my textbooks, in my classroom lectures - and it's nearly impossible to piece everything together.  I even reviewed the inflammatory cascade pathways of all the mediators and factors that play a role in bringing about the reactions, as if that would magically bring a diagnosis into my mind.  I'm not sure if it's one specific disorder, or if it's multiple things acting together to make it present the way it does, or if this is the type of inflammation that studies have shown previews before signs of autism.  I'm not sure how serious her immune system is failing her, or if she just has super-freakishly hyperactive mast cells that she'll one day outgrow.
  BUT - and this is a big "but" - I do know one thing.  And that is - hands down, my Megan is one brave little champ.  She has endured so many needle sticks, pokes, prods - and has reacted well to various problems ranging the entire spectrum of the "happy / sad face" pain chart.  Just yesterday when she received her shot, we were told by nurse Lauren that Megan was her "best patient ever. Seriously." Meg just sat there, took her shot, barely glancing down at her leg where the injection was - then sat up and happily accepted her popsicle reward.  Lauren was super impressed, as was I.  Despite her random flare-ups - and some are really, REALLY bad - Megan has been surprisingly herself most of the time.
   Cheerful, carefree, and totally untroubled by these slight nuisances that have disturbed her early life.

QuasiMegan enjoying a bike ride

Enjoying her Pedia-sure popsicle

   Hopefully one day we'll get down to the bottom of this - it may be a while, but in the meantime, may we just say how very proud we are of our sweet little Meggie!  Hang tough, Champ!

Fitting In.

   On Wednesday night, I packed up all my triathlon gear, bike, and camping stuff and loaded it into the back of Andy's car and took off for the 2 day drive up to Burlington, VT (overnight stop @ Mom's).  I had made a last minute decision to sign up for the USA Triathlon National Championships after realizing that this may be my only chance (who knows if I'll ever qualify again?), so with the hubby's unfailing support to take a little "me" time, I paid the $150 registration fee in early June and officially made it my "A" race for the season.
   The trip up was fairly uneventful and I made it up to the quaint little town by 1pm on Thursday.  Earlier that day when I rolled up at my first rest stop in VT, I could feel all eyes on me as I pulled up Andy's shiny BMW in between two tractors parked in the service area.  I knew I (being Asian) and the car (being non-tractor) looked a bit out of place and I initially shrugged it off despite my general distaste of feeling like the oddball in any setting.  I had made reservations at the North Beach Campground (for $26/night to avoid the ridiculous $300 per night stay at the host hotel Sheraton), but when I arrived there to set up my tent, I got the same feeling that I was just going to have to endure a bit more glares from the RV dwellers and other campers nearby.  As I pitched my tent (perfectly, by the way) I whistled to Kelly Clarkson's "Stronger" while pretending I wasn't paying any attention to my neighbor who apparently was struggling with his tent as he flipped it upside down, inside out, and finally got another dude to help him out.  I could feel the eyes on my back as I unpacked my gear - I could only assume they were wondering what business an Asian gal had driving a Beemer to come rough it out in the woods.

It doesn't look that out of place, does it?

   I should have realized then that this was just the start to a big testing session of my willpower to control the manifestations of my minor social anxiety problem.  There, I said it.  Yeah, I have a bit of a problem when it comes to social (or in this case, non-social) settings where I feel like balling into a corner of the room (or forest) and recoil from all human kind when I feel the slightest bit discomfort and suddenly feel like I don't belong.  Sound a little dramatic?  Probably a little exaggerated, but still, I've always been like that and over the years I've learned how to fake the funk and just go with it. 

  As soon as I walked into the race expo at the Sheraton, I realized I made a major triathlete faux pas when I looked down and saw I was still wearing what I traveled in (yellow T-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops).  My hand instinctively reached for my head where, to my disappointment, I found my Old Navy sunglasses perched up on top instead of my racing glasses that would have at least slightly legitimized my attendance.  Yes, as I glanced around, the familiar scene set in to mind of all the other major expo's I'd attended - left and right, athletes whizzed by me, making it very clear that they were athletes and not just regular hotel meeting attendees, or tourists, or staff.  As if the gorgeous interior design of the Sheraton wasn't intimidating enough, the entrance to the expo ballroom was lined with tables of freshly squeezed lemonade drinks and a buffet of finger foods.  Of course I helped myself to some, but not before doing a quick 360 to make sure no one was watching.  Which later, I told myself was a ridiculous paranoia on my part.  What were they going to say? Hey, YOU! Snacks ONLY for people who spent $300 to stay here tonight. You dirty camper find your food elsewhere!"

Rooms at the Sheraton overlooking the indoor pool/spa.

This is where MY party's at. 

   So anyway, needless to say my stay was very short - I checked out my number, picked up my race packet and shirt, did one walk around the vendors, and shot out of the hotel (of course after helping myself to seconds).  I wanted to stay and utilize their free wi-fi and plug-in my phone to charge it up, but I decided I'd save that for the next day.

   After driving the bike course and admiring the mansions in Southeast Burlington, I settled in for run and admired the scenery.  This place was absolutely stunning.  I had started running around 7:15pm, and by then the sun was starting to go down.  I stopped by the transition area by the waterfront and was in awe.  New England was truly a beautiful place, I got caught up just sitting there watching the sun go down.  I felt completely at peace and forgot about how awkward I had been feeling before, that is, until a little kid passed me with his Grandma and asked her, "Hey look, Grandma! I saw a Chinese person!"

View of transition area from the top of the hill (that we have to run up!)

Start point for the swim 

Lake Champlain in all its beauty

   I met two guys that were camping next to me that evening - Paul and Josh.  We had some friendly chit-chat over the race, and since they both had competed the year before, I had a lot to ask about the course.  They had some good advice to give me, and I really appreciated it, and they even offered to join me for a bike ride the next day when I told them I was thinking about riding parts of it to get familiar with it.  Then the conversation went something like this:

   Josh: "Hey, so if you want some company, let us know, we know the route."
   Me: "Yeah sure.  So you guys fast?  What are your goals for this race anyway?"
   Paul: "Oh, well, I'd like to break 2 hours. I came in 3rd last year so maybe I'll win this year."
   Josh: "I just came back from that week long cruise so really, as long as I qualify again for Worlds this time, I'll be happy.  What about you?"
   Me:  Gulp.  "Oh, wow...WOW...alright.  Yeah, wahoo! Goals.  Awesome thing....awesome.  Yeah um.  Dang you know what?  I'm really tired so I'm gonna hit the hay...and I may be really tired tomorrow so that ride might not happen....ya' know....cuz I'm gonna kill it on race day...gotta save up...for...that...." Exit to Site #128 and zipper myself away.

   The next day, Friday, I set out with an early morning drive (in a vehicle) of the bike course while listening to my book-on-tape and munching on my Dunkin Donuts Meal #6 (Veggie flatbread).  Then I headed back to the campsite where coincidentally, they were holding the practice swim at North Beach.  It was supposed to start at 11, but by the time I got there at 11:05, parking was already quite limited and there were already 100+ people there suited up and in the water.  Once again, as I grabbed my stuff and started towards the beach, I suddenly felt the butterflies in my stomach again.  Now that everyone was in their bathing suits, I started feeling the self-consciousness set in as I looked around to see all the women with their rock solid bodies in 2-piece work out bathing suits, sporting their "TEAM USA" bottoms obviously to show the rest of the world that they were better than its other substandard inhabitants (and they were, so that's cool).  Others wore swim caps from their most prized triathlon experience....I saw a bunch of "IRONMAN", "Escape from Alcatraz", and other big name race swim caps, so of course I searched my bag and found my "Iron Girl" cap.  No one has to know it's actually a sprint...

Practice Swim

   As I showered after my short swim, I decided to head back to the expo because I really didn't get to see some of the things I wanted to see.  And this time, I was going to face my fear head on and spend as much time as I wanted there, dangit.  So I pulled my hair in a tight pony, found myself one of my old tri shirts (Philly at that...I cursed myself for leaving my 70.3 at home), donned my bike shorts (even though I was not biking), put on some sneakers and headed back to the expo.  And just in case there was still a question about it, I brought my race goody bag I'd received the day prior to sling around my shoulder.
   After walking around the expo and realizing I didn't have the money to buy a new bike or sign up for Ironman Miami, I decided to charge my phone and sit there, and do what I truly enjoy doing: people-watching.  And it was there that I realized that this feeling that I had harvested inside - of feeling completely insecure - was absolutely, 100%, down-right hilarious.  I watched as I saw a team of old 70+ year old ladies wheel their $4000 TT bikes in through the doors....the disc wheels rhythmically clicking, alternating with the tap-taps of their cleats bearing feet that were dressed in neon compression socks.  Each had on those ridiculous megaman helmets with the face shield attached to it, reminding me of the traditional Army pilot helmets and making me wonder if wearing them made them feel like they were so badass that they didn't realize they were 70.  I saw a couple come through the automatic doors with duffle bags and giant bike cases, of course covered with stickers "26.2", "13.1", "70.3", "140.6", "I TRI", "Swim, Bike Run."  They clearly came straight from the airport yet they were both wearing cooling arm sleeves, tri visors and spandex shorts.  I wanted to tell them they were "TRI-ing" too hard to let people know they were here for a race, and maybe they should put a sticker with their names on those cases because surely "Threesome?", while funny, would not give me a clue as to who to contact if I found this case on the side of the road.  I listened to small sideline conversations about the challenging bike ride at the Lake Placid Ironman, and other random people jumping in with "Oh the course was much tougher when I did it 4 years ago...."and I desperately wanted to interrupt with "Hey did you guys go bobsledding?  I missed it when I went because it closes at 6."  I saw proud parents, grandparents, and probably some second-cousins with custom T-shirts with "GO JOHN GO! SWIM, BIKE, RUN!! WE LOVE YOU!!"  And it made me wonder how much they saved if they bought wholesale instead of just individual shirts, and if it was one size fits all.  I noticed the older guys liked to wear sleeveless shirts to show off their Ironman logo tattoos, while the ladies often selected old race shirts from many, many years ago (my guess to show how long they've been in the sport).  I saw Garmin watches on wrists, people chompin' on GU Energy tablets, numerous jerseys with emblems indicating sponsorships, compression socks, fancy transition bags with buttons, stickers, and hanging stick figures swimming, biking, and running.  The list went on and on and on, and at the end of it all, I just sat there and laughed to myself.
   Why I had felt like such an idiot before was just beyond me.  Was I jealous?  Maybe.  I wish I could eat Hammer Gel for lunch and be satisfied with that.  I wish I was built like an Olympian and yes, I wish I could wear butt-padded spandex shorts to the grocery store and not feel the slightest bit self-aware of it.  Yeah, I could use another pair of compression socks and maybe I'll go with green this time, and I could use another battery in my dying Garmin.  But really, as I racked my bike later that day, and just looked at it staring right back at me, I realized something kind of funny.

  There was my bike, all by itself on a rack that would, in just minutes, be filled with thousands more surrounding it.  It is, at the bare bones, the basic model with no fancy upgrades or components, carried by the stock manufactured wheels.  As I looked back at this picture, it made me laugh because I knew I would come back the next day and struggle to find it amongst the sea of other fantastic bikes.  As a matter of fact, there are ton of the same bikes out there, just with different components and more expensive accessories.  But it doesn't take away the fact that this is still a bike - MY bike - one that I love just the way it is with nothing else added to it, one that supposedly my husband thought I earned when he bought it for me to replace my Trek roadbike.  I could care less what kind of wheels are on it, or what pedals are on there.  Even with my Trek, knowing that it was simpler than the others around it, I always knew that it is my hard work and effort that went into making it go faster, and I took pride in that whenever I passed anyone on a tri bike.
   I know it sounds cheesy, but before I left it there for the night, I patted it on its aerobar head and told it to not worry.  It may be alone for a little while, but not to get lonely.  Because when all the other bikes show up and it feels maybe not good enough just because it doesn't have fancy wheels, it's perfect enough for me.  And as I walked away and snapped this picture, I realized that I don't have to have anything fancy either...and as long as I do my part to do my very best, I'm perfect enough for me too.