Moments passing

The one with the flaxen hair, running through the flaxen grass all wet with winter's melt, she tumbles through the false spring and has her first seizure since 2011. I remember another summer, when she seized dozens of times per day, and I thought to myself that I couldn't do this, couldn't sustain this energy level. I was begging at the Throne for strength. Strength that didn't seem to come.

Just like all seasons, it came to a close, as silently as a door closed quiet. It passed so softly into the night of memory that we didn't notice it going until months had passed, and seizures were few and far between. We had to think about it hard to remember the last one. And then she went three months, and then six, and now nine months between seizures. Now it feels like being suddenly bumped off your footing when she walks in and says she's pooped, and there is vomit on her lips, and we turn to each other in bed with knowing eyes and the question, who cleans up this time?

The spring air is clear, the light is a blue-white, and I am chasing shadows across the lawn, trying to catch muddy feet in my camera viewfinder on a 70 degree day in March. Feet, those little feet that make so much noise as they stomp and patter through the hardwood floors of the house. I remember another season, too...one when I slept in a pile of babies and wondered if I'd ever be able to turn onto my stomach in sleep again. Then the babies grew, and got bunkbeds in their own room, and still that constant interruption through the night, the pitter-patter across the dining room and the squeak of the door on the hinges as they plow through to Mama.

It used to be four children who would vie for a spot in the queen bed between us. All night, the constant interchanging, one child carried back to bed snoring so their sibling could claim the valuable real estate on the flannel sheets. I remember the bone-tired mornings, the many times getting up through the night, the begging Jesus for a nap. I didn't think I'd ever sleep through again.

But now I do. The eldest two never come anymore. They stay tucked in their own beds, oblivious to the younger two, who still make the pilgrimage through the dark to our room several times a week. But there are days in between - sometimes a whole week - when we sleep alone in whatever position we desire. And on those long stretches, I am reminded that this season will soon pass quietly like the seizures, and I will always be alone in bed. So I hug them tight when they come, plant myself uncomfortably but close, my heart comforted. Sometimes I even beg my eldest two to come cuddle in the morning since they no longer do at night.

Why does time fly by so, when you get to the meaty center of joy? The season you waited your whole life to experience has fleet little feet, and you can't hold on to the moments fast enough. Remember, young mothers, on those days with the flu, and the sleepless nights, and the constant neediness...it goes quickly. Don't forget to hold them tight and give praise for this momentary pleasure of being the center of someone else's universe.

I-131 recommendations

I have searched long and hard for information regarding safety after taking I-131 when around children. I finally looked hard enough to find some great recommendations, solidly based on science. And some mathematical formulas for calculating the dose of radiation I am emitting at any given moment after I receive my pill. I've received criticism from other cancer patients for choosing to stay away from home so long after my treatment and prior scans. That criticism makes it hard for me to stay away, because, believe me, I would prefer to be at home with my kids if I really believed it to be safe. I also think that criticism stems from the lackadaisical approach to nuclear safety our country has recently taken in order to eliminate in-patient management of patients post-radioactive iodine intake. It is important that someone on this vast Internet speak out about what is truly safe for others. Because going home and holding your children 24 hours after you receive I-131 is most certainly, scientifically, NOT safe.

For a treatment dose of 33 millicuries or greater, the recommendations are:
Try to minimize time spent with young children. Children under 12 must stay in a separate residence for the first 7 days. Maintain a 1 meter distance from children under 12 for 7 days. Eliminate holding children under 12 for 14 days. Minimize holding children under 12 for 21 days.

For scan doses 3-10 millicuries, the recommendations are:
Try to minimize time spent with young children. Children under 12 must stay in a separate residence for the first 3 days. Maintain a 1 meter distance from children under 12 for 5 days. Eliminate holding children under 12 for 5 days. Minimize holding children under 12 for 7-14 days.

These recommendation are culled from the University Health Network and the Health Physics Society. The U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission puts the annual dose limit for minors (under 21 years of age) at 0.5 mrems of total effective dose. Adults in the general population can receive up to 1 mrem annually. Radioisotope sodium iodide 131 emits 2.3 mrem/hr/mCi at 30 cm, meaning my 5 mCi of I-131 is emitting 11.5 mrem/hr at 30 centimeters from my thyroid. In plain English, this means that you hugging me for 1 minute means you receive 0.2 mrem of radiation. That's almost half of the ANNUAL dose limit for a child. That holds true for 2-3 days after I receive a scan dose of 5 mCi (as I did today at 12:30 p.m.). 1/1,000th of my scan dose could mean thyroid cancer for my child. That means my scan dose must be divided in half many, many times by elimination through my urine before it is safe for me to hold my child. As a co-sleeping mother, that alarms me. Enough to keep me away from my children for days. To strictly adhere to the guidelines I've been given - guidelines that are specific to my living situation, my dose, and my known elimination rate of I-131 as calculated by prior uptake scans at specific time lapses from previous doses.

One last note: the half-life (rate at which a substance is eliminated by half by the human body) of I-131 is 8.1 days. Not until two half-lives of I-131 will I be considered "safe" to have frequent, close contact with my children (holding them or sleeping with them). This means 24.3 days. So by mid-January, I can resume normal life. Until then, I do have to worry about exposing my children - and others - to dangerous radiation. The last thing I want to do is cause one of my offspring to suffer in this same way.