A few years ago, I worked in an elementary school under the direction of Dr. Cretia Basham. I very much respected Cretia’s vision and her passion for kids. One day, she was getting on to a couple of kids and I overheard her say to them, “Now, you listen to me. I’m the boss of this school.” Later, in passing, I teased her about being the boss and she said, “For kids, they need to know without a shadow of a doubt that I am the boss. It’s concrete and leaves no room for questions.” That made sense to me.
Fast forward a few yeas. I began working for a new school and new principal, Dr. Somer Yocom. In an opening assembly, as though it was part of her normal spill, Dr. Yocom reminds the kids that she is the boss- just like moms and dads are the boss at home. Crazy! There’s that word. I’m a words person. Words mean things to me. Boss. She’s the boss. Dr. Basham was the boss. Hmmm…
A few weeks ago, my daughter hurt her back. This story will be in another post, but just follow along, you’ll get the idea. She hurt her back and we did everything the doctors told us- with fidelity. I tried so hard to make sure she had friends involved, stayed up with school work, and even timed her medicine around family time. I mean, damn near killed myself accommodating the directives from the medical professionals.
Where did that get us? Nowhere. Things got worse. In fact, up until 7 days ago, she had been told to try complete bed rest. This was a horrible decision, but we went along with the recommendation because it was from the doctors. Two weeks of bed rest. For my 16 year old. Athlete. Cheerleader. Social Butterfly. Two weeks. The first week was somewhat okay, but then blood began to pool in her legs/ hips from laying around and taking too much ibprophen- well, still within the daily limits, but too much for her body for too long- which is what we were supposed to be doing instead of using Hydrocodone.
Next came the uncontrolled pain and ER visits to get relief. Again, muscle atrophy mixed with anxiety over the pain was leading to more pain and 7 weeks of nerve blockers, muscle relaxers and opiods had left the medicine virtually useless to match the type of pain my daughter was experiencing. The moment I started getting really pissed (there were several), was when the doctor at the ER asked, “Have you tried using a heating pad?”
NO SHIT. Weeks on weeks of pain. Heating pad, ice, essential oils, CBD oil, massage, physical therapy, spinal injections, pain management, hospitalization, steroids, opiods, nerve block, muscle relaxers, walkers, wheel chairs, bed rest, meditation, cognitive training (psychotherapy), distraction…. you name it, we tried it. I was pissed. But, he wasn’t her doctor and really didn’t know her story- he was just making rounds over Thanksgiving weekend. Fine.
What happened next is almost unbelievable. We had our follow up appointment at Scottish Rite. Clearly in the instructions from 2 weeks ago, it was stated that unless there was improvement through giving her body 2 full weeks of bed rest, she would be scheduled for surgery. We went into the appointment fully expecting to be scheduled for surgery. Instead, the Chief of Staff (her doctor) came in and explained that they really don’t think she would benefit from surgery- but rather an intensive inpatient therapy/ rehab program that uses and multi-disciplinary approach to pain management. What? Say that again. They said it again.
Fine. We talked and cried and cussed God for a little while. We prayed. We sought clarity and as a family, stayed up all night weighing the pros and cons. We were told that the next day, Tuesday, we would receive a call with admitting instructions from our local children’s hospital. So, Tuesday morning, I called to accept our sentence. The family services coordinator said that they had sent to the referral and to be patient. So, I went to the grocery story to stock up on food for when we were gone, did all the laundry, laid out clothes, notes and instructions for Dad concerning field trips, club meetings and after school activities for the other kids. No call.
I started to feel like I was out of control. Then I remembered “I’m the boss.” I only heard that voice quietly whispering, but it was there. Instead of waiting around for the call, I insisted on going to lunch. Screw the doctors, let’s just go to lunch. Take your pain medicines and let’s get out of the house. Done. At lunch, I remembered a crazy, loony, weird thing a friend posted about a foot detox. So, I looked it up. I’m the boss. I can try something while we wait. So, after the foot detox, we stopped and bought some equally crazy special filtered water that supposedly had healing power. Great. I’m the boss. I CAN do something.
By 3:30 that day, I spoke to the admitting hospital’s coordinator for the pain management clinic. She assured me that they had gotten the paperwork, but that they were not scheduling out until February or March. WHAT? MIC DROP. You mean, my daughter is not being admitted today? She’ll have to wait 3 months to get help? OH HELL NO. I couldn’t believe my ears.
We hung up and I sat there. I went and took a bath. Then, I called her doctor and left an insane message about how they promised to help and now it was going to be months before she’d get help. I cannot even explain the type of out of body experience I was having. I looked for other places. I was clearly irrational, but I could hear the “I’m the boss” in the back of my head.
Wednesday morning, my daughter already had a myofascial massage scheduled. Great. I was still pouring over how to help her and my sweet friend, Kim, was helping me research other places and ideas on how to help. We looked at the pain management program and the “multi-disciplinary” approach. Okay. So, if we aren’t going inpatient, what CAN we do outpatient? I’m smart. I’m capable. I can design a program for my daughter- right? I’m the boss.
Meanwhile, while getting the massage, my phone rang. It was Scottish Rite. They said that they had no luck speeding things along, but really their job was to send the referral and then it’s up to the parent to be the advocate. Duly noted. I’m the boss.
After Holly’s massage, we went to the children’s hospital. I sat in the waiting room until I was able to speak personally to the scheduler, office manager and subsequently the pain management nurse. Fine. She saw Holly. She saw me. She promised to try and get us an appointment earlier and would call if there was a cancellation. She also described the program and how things would actually go. They were completely different than what her doctor described, but not necessarily bad- just different. So, we left a little hopeful, but no better than we went. When we got to the parking lot, I told my daughter out loud, “From this moment, I’m the boss. You’re the boss. We are bosses. Nobody can tell us that we are on their terms anymore. We’re going to have to do this together. Me and you. We’re the bosses.”
On the way home, my daughter got her first round of acupuncture. The next day, we went to the Spa Castle using a Groupon. We spent significant time in the healing saunas and whirlpools. We ate a healthy lunch and utilized the napping room. We rested. I kept my phone turned off for nearly 5 hours. On the way home, I noticed there was a voicemail. Guess who? The hospital. They were able to secure my daughter an appointment on Monday afternoon. Good. Being the onery mom, I said to myself, “Good. I’ll decide whether to show up or not because I’m the boss.” Of course we’ll show up. We’ll listen to their ideas. We’ll decide if that is what we want to do. Monday.
Meanwhile, I had Friday to think about. I had already secured a 2nd acupuncture visit and decided that I should post an update on my Facebook page for the enormous amount of people who had called, texted or messaged me for an update. I just couldn’t talk about things for a few days- 1- because I didn’t know what was next -2- because the reality is daunting -3- because Holly was still in pain with no hope of finding her way out… So, I posted the update and a friend, Angie, recommended Cryotherapy. Cool. I called. It was cheap enough and so we went there before acupuncture. We also stopped and got tumeric since so many people were saying that herb helped. Cool. I’m the boss.
Now, we still have to get to Monday’s appointment and now we’re heading into the weekend. I decide that Saturday will be more than laying around. The best medicine is to distract and the thing best for your heart is to not think of yourself. So, I told everyone in my house to get up. Put on make up. Dress cute. I declared the day to be fun. Lunch, buying toys, attending the “Toys for Tots” fundraiser put on by Turn Key, pictures with Santa and a car show. So that’s what we did. We were literally out of the house for about 3 hours, but it was a good 3 hours. I heard laughter. We felt sunshine. We took cute selfies with filters. Good. I’m the boss.
Today, my parents are coming over. Today’s therapy is family time and school work. We’re going to have a huge breakfast and watch football later. We’re going to work on school work and open windows and maybe even wrap a few presents. Tomorrow is Monday, but I am the boss. I make the decisions concerning my daughter’s care, health and well being. There is something theraputic about taking your life back and declaring that you are the boss. When there seemed to be nothing we could do to help my daughter, I refused to believe it.
Moms- we are the boss. You may not be waiting for medical answers. You may be struggling with how to help your kid in school or how to discipline with love and logic. You may not feel like you are the boss, but you are. Give yourself permission to be the boss. It’s time that we act like we are the ones in control- especially when things feel so out of control. You are the boss this holiday season. You decide how many gifts your kids get, how much sugar they eat, how late they stay up. You are the boss. If they have too much sugar or are over scheduled or spoiled, handle it. You are the boss.
I don’t know who needs to do this, but repeat after me… I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. I am the boss. Say it again: I am the boss.
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