Grand Central Station. Literally.

I have been thinking a long time about writing a blog entry on Grand Central and the beast that it is. I just think the human behavior exhibited there (and I loosely call it that) is fascinating. People behave more like animals or cars even, than people. If they weren't standing on two feet, wearing designer shoes and chatting on their cell phones I would think they were something that belonged in a herd.

It first begins when you are waiting for your Metro-North train in the morning on the platform to go to Grand Central. You can tell that the mood is a little pensive as people rush to get their "spot" on the cold outdoor platform, the exact place to stand where one might score a seat. A lot of consideration goes into this because you never can tell where the doors will open. So you try your best to estimate. People begin to glance around, looking at one another as if gauging their competition for a seat. If you get stuck standing, waiting for a train next to someone who is pregnant or who walks with a cane, you're screwed. You know they are getting to sit before you. You adjust accordingly.

Then the train arrives. You chase down that door, while the train is still moving. You pick your entry vantage point. Will you attempt from the left, right or middle? I actually overheard someone advising someone else just last week that "it's much faster to go in from the middle, it confuses people." Hopefully, that's a helpful hint for someone. Maybe you get on from the left, but saw through the windows that there were seats to the right. Now you have to cross the line of people entering from the right and no one will like you, I assure you.

You are on the train. Maybe you squish in and become the third person in the row, which by the way, people hate. Or you score an empty chair with no one across from you taking up your leg room. Maybe you stand. I stand, a lot. You are on your way to Grand Central.

Now somewhere between Harlem 125 and the tunnel into Grand Central, the occupants of the train morph. I can't say for sure what they are. I am sure science could figure it out, but the behavior goes like this:

Two minutes before the train door opens, the most eager of these beasts, crowd the door. They line up facing one of the doors anticipating which side will pull up to the platform. I personally take much joy in them being wrong because the line is now forced to turn around to face the opposite door, leaving the most eager of the bunch at the back of the line. There is no airplane-like courtesy, you know, where you allow the person in the row before you out to exit the plane. Oh no, if that old lady with the cane is not aggressive enough to bust into the line, and quite possibly use that cane, she may sit in the train until it's close to empty.

Now the race begins. The race for what? Your subway? 42nd Street? Newsflash: subways come every three minutes. Must you almost knock me over to get to yours? Apparently, the answer is yes. Or if you are not attempting to knock me over, you are hovering one inch from me while occasionally "accidentally" bumping into the bag that is on my shoulder. Maybe you have enough manners to say "excuse me" as you try to mow me or others down.

As the race down the platform ends, we all enter the main hall of Grand Central. A beautiful land. Full of marble and huge windows with ornate wrought iron designs over them. A ceiling painted in a calming blue with the constellations detailed. Sun streams through, making the room almost glow. But you didn't see any of that did you? Because you are too busy attempting to hurdle yourself over someone. As the beasts criss cross, running into each other, cutting each other off, muttering curse words, I begin to picture them as cars (in L.A.). The lines of people form outlining the appropriate lanes of traffic so to speak and God forbid you need to cross one to get to an exit. It's like a challenge, to cross your lane of people, cross the lane of people in the opposite direction and get to the door. No one likes you. You wasted two seconds of their day. They had to slow down. How dare you.

And there should be laws against texting or talking on one's phone while moving in this traffic. You could easily run someone over or worse, cause a people accident, which could cause a people pileup. I swear. I have almost seen this happen.

They rush down to their subways. At the line for the stairs, they cut in front of as many people as they can at the top of the stairs. They are like bad drivers. They make their way down the stairs and allow a 1 inch distance from the person in front of them. They maintain that distance while the person in front of them runs their metrocard and pushes through the turnstile. The person in front of them has to run their card twice which causes an accident. They have actually run into the back of that person because they were walking too close. They are so annoyed.

Again the criss cross lane change issues happen until they are finally standing at the platform for their subway. The subway arrives. It's stuffed. As people are attempting to exit the train, the beasts are pushing themselves on. They see one inch of space and feel everyone should "push in, there's more room." They press up against you and sigh loudly, as if you are the problem here. If only you took up less space.

And finally, it's over. The subway leaves Grand Central. You are exhausted and you've only started your day.

VEPTRS

We had an appointment with Dr. Campbell yesterday. I went alone with O. We set out on the highway at 8:30 am. It was a fairly uneventful until we got to Philly. I approach our exit thinking that I am going to be about 3 minutes late as it is, and there are the police, blocking the exit. Great. So I tell myself, "Sara, just drive to the next exit, get off, find the highway going the opposite direction and head back towards the hospital." Phew, we have a plan. So I do this successfully. I am headed back to the hospital, I am able to get off the highway and have even used the GPS on my phone to find the way. Except, once I can almost see the hospital, there are more of those damn cops blocking the street again. Now I have to go some other way and I have no idea where I am going. I call the office and the first woman has no idea where I am or where I am going. The second woman says "we know your going to be late, it's fine" and hangs up. The third lady, exclaims "I know where you are!" and proceeds to give me directions and I love her. Truly. I start off on my way and lo and behold, the cops have the end of that street blocked off as well. Fun. I try to ask the cop how to get to the hospital and he says "just follow Market or Spruce". He might as well have said, "make a right on Mars and two loops around Saturn" as I cannot see Market or Spruce. Needless to say, I find them. My instincts tell me that I should follow the traffic, because what are the chances that the whole line of us isn't going towards UPenn or CHOP? And they are. I feel smart. I also have the chance to file all of my nails while I am behind them. Multi-tasking at its best.

Finally we reach the hospital. We see Dr. Campbell. We talk about the various loose end appointments that have to be done prior to surgery. We lay Owen on his side and I draw in a deep breath. Will Owen have the inch (of fat) to be pinched??? Why, yes he does, or he almost does. We can go forward. It strikes me as odd this "pinch and inch" test. For a surgery that requires 7-10 days of hospitalization, expandable titanium rods that will literally lift and expand the bones of his rib cage, anchors that will go in his shoulder blades and quite a hit to his lungs, the test we do to see if he is surgery ready, is pinching the fat on his back. Hmmm. It's the combination of complex medical technology and something it seems like my grandmother would do that is sitting awkwardly within me. Now, of course, I know that's not all that went into it, but that is what we accomplished yesterday.

Surgery will go forward 3/22. We need O to be healthy but other than that, it's happening. It seems so big. Too big for my little baby, even though he is 18lbs! That's big for a child with Escobar. And 7-10 days in the hospital is just bringing me to tears. Not only for O, but for the whole family. Splitting the family up while we are at NYU is hard. Splitting the family between Philly and NY seems sad to me. But we will figure it out and since I turn 33 that weekend, I think everyone will come for the weekend. We will have a party at the Ronald McDonald house or if by then, it's safe for Caleb and G to come for a while, in O's room.

That's all I got for now!

To cast or not to cast...

Prior to O's surgery, they had to take his cast off the clubbed foot. He has never been so full of joy. He spent the last week kicking, rubbing, and moving that foot. Everyone who saw O last week mentioned it. He was happy as a clam.

Yesterday, he had a cast put on. He was so so sad. Just sad. He cried and looked miserable and stared up at me with those big brown eyes. It broke my heart.

So I started to think. His feet will need another tenotomy. This time she will do it under anesthesia. She wants to correct the club foot at the same time she does the surgery for the vertical tallus, which is great because we only get anesthesia once. Why should he have to spend the next 4-5 months in a cast while we wait until after the VEPTRS to fix it? We shouldn't.

However, this means that Nick and I (and the therapists, nurses, friends and family) will all have to stretch that little foot, A LOT. I am talking about, if you touch him, you stretch him.

He is casted now and will have one more cast next Monday. Dr. F will let me know when I can soak that cast off. Thereafter, I will take pictures of his little foot to show all of you our progress over his free time.

Now that his spine is untethered and things are a bit more loose, we really have the opportunity now to correct his foot and maybe casting can be minimal this time around. If you saw how happy he was without a cast, you would know that the work will be worth it. He loves his knees! He loves to rub his feet together. He hates his cast.

I will keep you posted on how our home program goes.

My boys

I have been so busy lately and with everything going on, I have not had time to sit down and think out what I want to write. I had entries about Christmas started, one about a book I recently read and loved and I just haven't had the time to finish and/or write about them. Life is too busy right now. I don't often say I need to slow down, but the more tired I get, the more I realize, I do. I need a break. Needless to say, I wanted to write a quick update on the boys.

Owen had surgery last week on 1/27. It went well. The doctors were happy that all of his anatomy was in the right place, the cord de-tethered and snapped back about an inch. Hopefully this will loosen him up a bit and will allow for his clubbed foot to be corrected for the last time. Fingers crossed. He is happy again and this morning was trying to dance as I was leaving for work. He has been all smiles since we got home. It really is theraputic to be in your own home, healing, with your brothers and parents. These hospital stays, where we are all seperated and apart and basically just pass each other as we trade spots in the hospital or at home are good for no one. During those times, I notice, I need to be with my family. I want my boys home and together. It just seems we are all happier that way.

Caleb is so good and so funny. He makes a funny face and talks a lot. He waves and says "hi". He says "hey" and "what" and "Ga" constantly. I am fairly sure he is calling Gavin. He is a second away from walking. He walks around all the furniture. He thinks about taking a step and then drops to the floor and crawls. He is so fast. The other day he had half of the dogs food thrown all over the kitchen before I even got there. That was fun. He is mommys boy for sure. He follows me everywhere I go and I love it. I can't get enough.

Gavin is great. He loves the 1st grade, his school and his friends. We just finished his African-Amercian Project for Black History Month (and when I say "we", I mean "me".) We have the science fair coming up where I will make a diorama of the planets. No, I am not going to lie to you and say he will do it. The truth of the matter is, he will help and eventually lose interest and I, in the interest of getting it done, will do it. He is 6. There is only so much that can be expected of his attention span. If you don't want parents to do projects, wait 4 more years and then assign them.

The snow has been insane. I am sitting here waiting for the next 5-10 to drop tonight. I am so done with snow. Nick made use of some of the huge piles in the yard, he and Gavin started building a real igloo. I think he was saying something about sleeping in it one night. Ha. Pneumonia is not on the menu this month. Needless to say, if he and Gavin want to bring sleeping bags out there for an hour one afternoon, that would be fine.

And we are good. Mostly tired. Surgery takes a lot out of us. The anxiety, no sleep, worrying, trying to work as much as possible. We are tired. But we are ok. January is over. We have a 7 week break before the next surgery. Nick is on vacation soon. We are looking into a weekend away for the two of us. It will all be fine.

More updates to come.