So remember back when Clara had her seizure in October? The one that resulted from slipping while getting in the bath and banging her head, and then resulted in a CT scan with a worrying blob (cyst)?
Today we finally met with the neurologist. He's a Big Name at Johns Hopkins Hospital in which the outpatient neurology waiting room is all asplash with print and visual media informing you that "Johns Hopkins Hospital Neurology is ranked #1 in the United States by [Everyone Who Matters]."
He asked a few questions--apparently to feel us out about whether we were the sort to sue if 20 years from now something happens to Clara--and then said he didn't think we needed to do an MRI. "I'm so unconcerned about this right now" he said, adding "if it were my child, I wouldn't do an MRI." Why such big news? An MRI for a 5 year old means general anaesthtic, itself a risky procedure. I am so damn relieved we don't need to do one.
In other news, I also met with my hematologist today: my low white blood cell count is indicative of neither lupus nor rheumatoid arthritis, and my anemia is treatable with OTC drugs. Will I be constipated and cranky? Yes. Am I sick with something scary? No.
AND, Clara's loose tooth came out today, in the car, in a messy bit of tooth flopping and Mummy pulling over to pull the thing out with my fingers. There was blood. And a BIG hole. And I freaked out (as I was then still on edge about the upcoming hematology and neurology appointments). But it's fine.
It's all just fine.
All four of us went to Petit Louis for an indulgent French Bistro dinner to celebrate. Screw Christmas. I felt very "Happy Everyone is basically OK Day!" Very happy. I had wine (and I never drink so a little wine goes a long way towards inebriation). I had wine, and I had my two small blond-haired offspring snuggled up into my armpits. I was, and am, so damn happy.