Mali was indeed too sick to go to the city. So I cancelled on my stylist/doula via voicemail a scant few minutes before she called to cancel on me because of a client's emergency c-section.
Friday morning I hauled my and the girls' asses to the local stock broker branch to open up a college account for Mali and deposit Xmas checks for the other kids. They must have boot camp unflappability training for their agents, as first of all Iz forgot her own training regarding querying people about reproduction, and pushed a big page covered with sperm cartoons under said agent's nose, demanding, "I love the Sperm Cycle the best, don't you?" Then Mali, still sick, started squalling and since there is no way I was going to be getting back there within the next year, I hooked her up without a word of apology or the slightest flash of skin showing, and kept on with the transaction--seamlessly.
Afterwards I reminded Iz that she was supposed to state a certain phrase before talking to people about reproduction, and she said, "It's more of a sentence, Mommy." Little smartass.
Friday afternoon I finally did what Supervisor M firmly suggested I do months ago, and let one of Leelo's therapists go. That suuuuuucked. But so did she, though not by her own fault, because she really tried--I am starting to realize that you are either born to do ABA or you are not. Training will only take you so far. She was very sweet and gentle with Leelo, and affectionate. He will miss her, I think.
What this means in the immediate future, though, is that Leelo has no aide for school on Wednesdays until a new aide has hired on (one of his other therapists picked up the other newly open shift). I conferred with Teacher P and we agreed that it's best for Leelo to stay home from school until he has an aide again. Sigh.
The other therapist can't take on the Wednesday shift, so I am placing a Craig1ist ad. In that same email in which the shift was declined, said therapist also wrote that I'd mentioned one of Leo's other therapists moving to Austra1ia and did I have any information about working abroad as that was a lifelong goal? A crash-course in Not Freaking Out Already On-Edge Parents of Autistic Children might be appropriate here. (I wrote back that I'd be happy to volunteer absolutely all the knowledge I possess--in August.) I do remind myself that this therapist is simply incredible with Leelo and that's what really matters.
Anyhow, by Friday night Mali was definitely feeling better. While she was still trailing streamers of green snot, she was also chatting and playing again instead of lying on our shoulders and laps like the ragdoll baby of the day before. I was excited to see her better, also excited that Seymour was going to get to go out that night and see some poetry.
Except that by mid-afternoon I started getting flu symptoms. Chills, headache, malaise. I stayed in bed for almost two days wondering if I had the psychosomatic edition of the flu, as there were no respiratory symptoms. But then my bosoms caught on fire and I eventually realized I had mastitis (confirmed by the first Google hit starting with "If you are a nursing mother and think you have the flu, you probably have mastitis").
Nursing lots and drinking hydrating fluids helped, though I am still weak. And I bow to Seymour, who watched all three children single-handedly for the majority of the weekend.
This morning I felt well enough to take on a Monday (having shaken the previous night's incapacitating chills) and so took Leelo to OT. I capped it off with a trip to the pediatrician for Mali (the office is practically next door to Leelo's OT), to follow up on last week's ick and make sure her lungs and ears were clear. Not so the examination room furniture, though--while I was holding Mali for the doctor to examine, Mr. Leelo--who I really do think is starting to get sick of all the attention his baby sister receives--stuck his hands down his pants and wiped a big smear of the unmentionable all over his chair. I have to say, in my weakened state I funneled all my energy into immobilizing and sanitizing his hand, and so only blinked at him for a facial reaction.
After a good wiping down of all befouled Leelo areas, I returned home, changed his clothes, and Leelo hung out with his morning therapist. Mali cooperated while I fielded calls from dear friends TLF and the local MB! And I finally got most of Iz's birthday invites sent out (though Seymour declared the color version too gory for most and we created an alternate B&W version). Good thing they're afield, as the party's in six days.
Then I dragged my sorry butt off to Iron Gate for my work day. Which was surprisingly mellow, but still depressing as all fuck. Leelo is so very dramatically existing in a universe only tangential to that of his classmates, and as his mother it is painful to observe. And even though I made it to circle time for the first time in ages and was excited to get to hold Leelo in my lap, he was not excited for me to do so. He quickly bucked and yelled and reared back, bashing his skull against my cheekbone and sending my poor bosom into new agonies. His aide immediately took him away for a break, but I lost it and had to run for the bathroom to sob in private.
I was still ground down when I picked up Iz from Jo's, who may have wondered why I was so unfriendly and curt. But I couldn't make eye contact without breaking down anew, which I refused to do in front of Iz. She doesn't need to see that shit. I already see her taking on more than a kid should have to where her brother is concerned and I do NOT think she should have to worry about her mother's emotional state as well.
The only rational thing to do was to pay homage to El Rey de las Hamburguesas via his drive-through altar. On the way there, my mother called to chastise me for not letting her know I was sick (TLF told her; they are homies now as TLF has moved to her 'hood). Which was fine, I think it's sweet that she still worries about me so much. She also said that my dad, in addition to his recurring heart problems and leukemia (seemingly in remission) now has a squamous-and-basal cell cancer patch on his nose, and his moron of a physician had put off surgery for six weeks--and then scheduled the wrong kind of procedure. So now he has to wait an additonal three weeks for the correct procedure. Grrr. Please think good "Cancer kiss my ass" thoughts for him.
My mom also referred to a friend by the blog pseudonym I use. Which made me start, but then think that either 1) Honest mistake, it's his real, though less commonly used name, or 2) She reads this blog. In which case she should comment or let me know so I can ban her IP address! Just kidding, Mom. You should let me know, though.
Rough time getting the kids down tonight (rougher for Seymour; he had Leelo duty and Leelo did not want to go to bed at all). I am so hoping things smooth out soon. I am craving lack-of-drama.