Happy 11 Month Milestone, Toby!!!

I'm writing this post in honour of my little guy who made it through the 10th and worst month of his life and is now officially 11 months old!!!  Yes, we are ALL glad to have month #10 behind us and move on to bigger and better things.

So here's the official 11 month update on our Toby Bear....

11 things that Toby likes...

1.  Mum mums and bananas

2.  Helium Get well balloons.  Brightly coloured and with a mind of their own -- you hit them and they bounce back!

3.  Food.  Any food.  ESPECIALLY food that someone ELSE is eating.  This includes ; brie, thai food, goat cheese, pickles and toast with jam...he'll pretend to like ANYTHING if we're willing to share...

4.  His cell phone bath toy.  By some miraculous feat of technology this cell phone ONLY rings when its submerged in bath water.

5.  Our stereo system, the dirt in the plant in our bedroom, my ear plugs, any magazine or book that is easily torn and electrical plugs...

6.  Photos of himself

7.  Grandparents- - and he's got a LOT of them

8.  Music - -especially Shania, Rob's guitar playing and his dance baby dance CD

10.  Cars, trucks and Thomas the Tank Engine

11.  Touch and feel books

11 Things that Toby Hates

1.  Bed time

2.  Helium Get Well Balloons.  They're REALLY cool for the first 30 seconds...but they really DO have a mind of their own - you hit them and they BOUNCE BACK!!! Creepy...

3.  HIs snowsuit

4.  Wearing hats or shoes

5.  Having to lie still while we (God forbid) change his diaper

6.   Blueberries

7.   Not being allowed to touch items in #5 of the first list

8.  Anything that requires patience 

9.  Nap time

10.  NOt being able to play with the drain or the hot water dial during bath time

11.  HIs sleep sack

11 Things that Toby can do that we think are pretty cool...

1.  Climb UP the stairs

2.  Climb DOWN the stairs (he learned today how to do this WIHTOUTH going head first!)

3.  Dance, dance and dance

4.  SHake things on command

5.  Wave good bye

6.   Give kisses.  LIke as in wide mouthed slobbery ones aimed for your mouth.

7.  Squat down to pick things up

8.  Cruise around while casually dragging only a few fingers on the wall for balance

9. Empty ANY drawer in the house (including the dishwasher at Grandma's house)

10.  Take a few steps

11.  Imitate the noise machines make ie : the magic bullet, the hairdryer, Rob's electric razor, the humidifyer in his bedroom...he's got the throaty growl down pat...

He's changing day to day and learning new things all of the time.  Yesterday I had him to myself for the entire afternoon....and I almost lost my MIND by the end of it.  He didn't nap the entire time and spent his awake time trying to eat dirt or electrocute himeslf.  This kid has his energy, his mischeviousness and the sparkle in his eyes back.  And we appreciate every second of it.

Happy 11 months, Toby bear.  We are so looking forward to the next 11...and the next...and the next....

 We love you,

XOXO

Mommy and Daddy

The Frozen Lasgne

I think its all starting to hit me...just when everyone has stopped asking if I'm "OK" I'm finding my answer not to be as clear cut as before.  Not to worry -- I'm still "OK", I think I'm just past the "survival" and the "Denial" and the "glad to be home"  phase and am into a bit more of the "now I'm back to work - -holy shit I feel tired" phase.

That's basically my biggest complaint - - I'm tired.  I wake up in the morning and I'm tired. I lie there for 30 minutes...and I'm still tired.  Yesterday was my first day back at work - -and usually after I've been away for a while I come back to work with a whole new sense of energy.  I walked into the room to see my first patient yesterday and I felt this wave of fatigue hit me.  And every patient I saw after that just made me more and more tired.

 Its an interesting thing, how the body manifests sadness as fatigue.  I didn't realize at first that this is what it was, but last night, for the first time since this all began, I had dream after dream about TOby being in the hospital and in the ICU.  The dreams weren't scary or anything -- there were balloons and friends and lots of medical jargon.  But its a sign to me that this whole ordeal has been integrated into my subconscious and maybe its finally "taking its toll".

Don't worry -- I'm fine.   If I wasn't fine I wouldn't be writing this.   I expected this.  Its part of the healing process.  I"ll get through it and I'm still doing well.  And as with everything in life, its giving me insight into what patients go through . SO often we see people come in complaining of "fatigue" and its OBVIOUS to us that they're depressed, or anxious or smoking too much marijuana (that's the HARDEST thing to enlighten them on).  And now I'm experiencing, probably in a much milder form, that feeling of being completely drained all of the time, despite my best efforts to sleep, eat and exercise.  I get it.  The mind and the body are connected.  And hopefully a good dose of normalcy will help both to recuperate.

Its been interesting how this whole experience has affected my work.  Last week, one of my palliative patients started the end stage of her dying process.  I was glad that I was back.  The family and I have been through a lot together-  its been a long process and we've had to work through  the denial and anger and luckily were given the time to make it through to the acceptance phase before this lovely lady died.  I could tell the family was relieved to hear that Toby was OK (which meant a lot considering what they were going through...) and that I was around.  So I drove over to do a home visit last week.  As I pulled out of my driveway I thought, "I should really be taking them one of the frozen casseroles that we have in our freezer"  - -people were so generous to us when Toby was sick.  And I realize now more than ever how so VERY Important a home cooked meal is.  We wouldn't have eaten ANYTHING if ti hadn't been for the baked goods and casseroles given to us by such kind friends.

So I left my house thinking that a home cooked meal was probably just what these people need as they sit vigil over their dying loved one.  And then I remembered the frozen lasagne in our freezer and felt guilty for not having brought it wiht me.  Which is odd- - I don't USUALLY bring meals to my patients.  But the further I got from my home, the more I wished I had brought the frozen lasagne with me.  SO much so that by the time I got to Wasaga beach I turned into the Superstore and parked my car.  Its at this point that I had rationalized that even a non-home-cooked-frozen-lasagne would do.  Its at this point that I  "checked myself" --   The conversation went something like this,

me : "I really want to buy this lovely family a frozen lasagne - - what's so wrong with that"

devils-advocate-brain :  "That's not appropriate"

me : "WHY isn't that appropriate?"

devils advocate : "Because doctors don't DO that"

And so I thought about it and concluded that the reason our medical insurance providers advise against bringing things to patients is because it may make them feel "awkward" and, according to them - -its a slippery slope.  And if I thought about it, I suspect if my mother was dying, I wouldn't want my doctor getting all "chummy" on me - -I'd want her to use sound clinical judgement and tell me her clinical assessment of my mother and then leave me to my grief.  But human beings aren't compartmentalized like that.  And our roles aren't  black and white. My new founded compulsion to buy this family a frozen lasagne stemmed from the "human" aspect of me. Not as their doctor. Not as their friend. But as someone who has been through something horrible and knows first hand HOW practical and useful frozen food can be.  

So I rationalized to myself that I would take them dinner on THREE conditions :

1.  I brought them frozen lasagne and a salad.  No garlic bread. That took it one step too far.

2.  That I would be VERY casual about it when I got to the house and give it to them in the grocery store bag and very quickly say, "I brought you some dinner for when you're hungry" and encourage them to put it in the freezer ASAP and not look at it or dwell on it so I could get on to my purpose of being there -- as a doctor.

3.  If it seemed at ALL awkward that I had just brought them dinner I would simply say, "Not to worry- -its not home made or anything!"  which would hopefully minimize the whole weirdness and brush it off.

So I got to the superstore and bought a frozen lasagne  and a small thing of cesaar salad.  I handed it to the husband when I got there and he was very grateful for dinner but didn't make a big deal of it.  I only had to use the line about it being "not homemade" once when he mentioned to his daughter how kind it was of me to bring them dinner.  So I left feeling good about my new quirky compulsion.

I actually FORGOT about the whole lasagne incident for a few days....until the patient passed away and I went to the visitation.  Those are always awkward when you're the doctor.  And being fond of palliative care, its not an uncommon occurance.  I always feel like there's SOME family member who would like to take me outside and tear a strip off of me for "not doing more" for their loved one.  So far it hasn't happened.  But this visitation wasn't without its awkwardness because the damn FROZEN LASAGNE came back to haunt me.

After having rehearsed my standard "visitation lines" in the parking lot (I swear, I do all my best thinking in parking lots these days...) I entered the funeral home and walked straight into the son of the deceased who immediately BURST into tears and said, "Dr Boyd! Thank you SO much for the LASAGNE!!!"

I have to admit. That's not one of the standards.  My brain quickly ran through my prepared lines - -"I'm sorry for your loss"..."Our thoughts are with you"..."If there's anyhting I can do - -please just ask"....

Before I could think of any more my mouth opened and out came..."Well, it wasn't home made or anything!"

The son smiled (slgihtly)  and then ushered me inside and introduced me to more family members.  It wasn't long before the husband was by my side, thanking me for all of the care I'd provided to his wife etc...he concluded by introducing me to a group of people and saying, "This is our doctor. She brought us a lasagne for dinner"  This was met by silence. (OH my God -- it WAS Inappropriate).  Again, before my brain had run through the USUAL visitation lines out popped, "Oh, don't worry, it wasn't Home made or anything!"  

A few chuckles.

At which point the uncle pulled me aside.

"That was very nice of you to bring the lasange. You mentioned it wasn't home made. Where did you buy it?"

(OH, good gracious -- Did the Superstore sound tacky?  Would it be more personal if I just said I found it in my freezer?  Or was that creepy?)

Not to worry- the uncle interrupted himself, "you know, we usually just do our own lasagne's in the microwave.   I believe YOURS required the OVEN"

No, I hadn't read the instructions on the frozen lasagne.  I was so worried that it was the wrong thing to do that I had just picked up the first one I'd seen. Was reheating a frozen lasagne REALLY that complicated? I stuttered a somewhat inappropriate, "Well...all lasagne's are different..." remark before being whisked away to meet the 3rd son who I had yet to met.

 "Ah yes," he said, "You're the doctor! Mom was so fond of you. ANd thank you SO much for the lasagne"

I paused.

I waited.

And finally (after glancing around to make sure no one overheard) said to him, in a pitiful whisper, "Oh it was nothing.  Its not like it was homemade..."

I left the funeral parlor CURSING the devils advocate of my brain.  ALthough there was no RATIONAL reason why taking a meal over to a family who obviously needed it was a bad idea, the OUTCOME of my new founded awkwardness left me with once DECISIVE decision : Next time I think I'll make a home made one.

The Comic Relief

Its time i introduce my story-telling's best character : My father.  My father provides much of the eye rolling, exasperated sighs and comic relief in my family and most of my stories.  He's a lovely, mildly demented, loving 80 year old man who ADORES his grandson and would be up here every day if we let him.

So this weekend he came up with my mom for a visit so Rob and I could go out for dinner and for a ski and they could spend some quality time with Toby.  We had a great time with them and on the Friday night we decided to play some cards.  Which is EXTREMELY good for my dad's brain...when he remembers what game we're playing and how to play it.

We decided to play "Crazy bridge" which is also known as "Oh shit". It differs from bridge in that its always no trump and you have to declare how many tricks you're going to take and get that many exactly or you don't get any points.  My dad would do well at betting on how many tricks he'd get, but halfway through the hand, without fail, he'd FORGET that he only wanted so many tricks and just start trying to get as many as he could.  When we'd point this out to him he'd either say, "WHAT?!?!? This is a CRAZY game..." or occasionally, "Oh, SHIT!!!"  The card game sure lived up to its name.

By the end of the night we realized that we didn't have to keep score for dad - -at the end of each hand when the rest of us figured out if we'd gotten the number of tricks we'd predicted, we just announced to dad (in excited voices), "You got 5 tricks!!!" to which he'd say, "Did I?  Oh, GOOD!"  He had a good time.  We know that, because (as usual) he asked us if we'd like to move back home with them.  Not this year, dad.  But thanks for the offer.

Rob and I had a fantastic day skiing with Care and Pete yesterday.  Care's parents generously gave us guest passes to Georgian Peaks.  Its really neat to be able to go skiing in Collingwood on a WEEKEND and not wait for hours and hours in line.  It was cold, but nothing that those crazy handwarmers and a beer at lunch couldn't fix.  

Speaking of the magical hand warmers- -those things are incredible.  I kept those magical hand warmers in my gloves all the way home and marvelled at their ability to keep heat.  What is IN them that makes them juts the PERFECT temperature for 10 whole hours!?!??! WOW!!!  I wanted to make a blanket out of them for night time...or put them in my coffee mug to keep my coffee warm for 10 hours...as i was fantasizing about all of the magical things I could make out of the mysteriously-warm substance that was in them, my daydream was rudely cut short as Rob-my-environmentally-friendly-to-a-fault-husband pointed out that it was PROBALBY just some sort of chemical reaction.  And probably a really SIMPLE one, too.  AND LIKELY those two 4x4cm little bundles of joy were EXTREMELY toxic for the environment because when we threw them in the landfill the magical chemicals would seep into the ground and poison fish and then baby bears would eat the fish and then DIE from the crazy chemicals.  All because I wanted to have warm hands while skiing.

I have a feeling my days of skiing with warm hands are over....  Although I may keep a secret  stash of mitten warmers in a secret location...along with REAL light bulbs and wrapping paper and those crazy candys that EXPLODE in your mouth.  And one day Toby can find it and it'll be like a TIME capsule of environmental NIGHTMARES of the past.

You may be wondering how beer at lunch kept us warm.  And if you are, you're probably not a very good beer drinker.  So maybe you're reading the wrong blog... But I GUESS I can see your point.  There's nothing really quite as nice as a beer after a hard morning of skiing.  But for some reason, (maybe it was the altitude?  We WERE skiing on a mountain...) we all got a little tipsy after our 1 beer at lunch.  And that made us feel warm.  But more importantly, it added a little "je ne sais quoi" to our skiing...which was fun for the first few runs.  I knew it was time to call it quits when I was going down the hill thinking, "Wow-  -I seem to be going fast...maybe its because I'm not turning... its so much easier just to go straight down and not waste energy on turning....speedy speedy...."  So we called it a day.   A great day.

Beer Store Shinanigans

Today was the day. That dreaded day that we have been putting off since....October. The garage is so full that I can't get to my car without knocking over a case or two of wine or beer bottles. That and the fact that we're out of beer coming into Superbowl Sunday means only one thing ; its time to take a trip in to the beer store and take back our empties.

This is no small feat considering we have had a collection mounting since before Christmas AND had 20 people at our house for NYE, all of whom started drinking at 1pm in the afternoon. And apparently, according to Rob, "Its my turn". So I loaded the car up- - we filled the entire trunk AND backseat and I drove into town praying that a) I wouldn't get stopped by a cop and b) that there wouldn't be anyone else in the beer store today.

I have to admit, taking back an excessive number of empties to the beer store is an efficient person's worst nightmare. And I'm efficient to a fault. I'm one of those people who walks BRISKLY from my car to the store whenever there are other people around because I can't stand waiting in line behind someone who walked in with me or the whole time I think, "if only I'd gotten here 2 seconds earlier or walked a LITTLE bit faster I would be NEXT in line and not BEHIND this person" Because INEVITABLY, that person, who just barely got in line before me is ALWAYS the person who wants to file a complaint, or use an expired mastercard, or pay with pennies or something extremely time consuming-ly obnoxious like that. Its Murphy's law.

So today it was AGONY because as fast as I was, it still took me 10 trips from the car to the store and back again to get all of my bottles in. So everytime I got in there I had to let people go ahead of me and watch as the line got longer. And longer. And longer.

And THEN because I'm not only efficient, but am plagued by a guilty conscience, by the time I got to the front of the line I felt BADLY that I had 1 Million bottles that needed to be counted and sorted, so I let everyone who was in line behind me go ahead until the store was empty. And even then, the poor cashier heaved a big sigh of annoyance when I pushed my load forward.

But don't worry! My trip into town didn't ruin EVERYONE's day -- as I meekly ducked out of the beer store, 30 minutes later and $25 richer with a replenished supply of beer under my arms, the homeless man on the corner popped up from behind the snowbank. And waving his giant bottle of "something" in the brown bag around he gave me a HUGE toothless grin and TWO THUMBS UP!!!

The Case of the Missing Mum-Mum

We are slowly introducing Toby to his usual foods.  Its harder to do the second time around because a part of me will always believe that the Right middle lobe pneumonia was due to aspiration pneumonia.  For now its just my irrational medical brain speaking - -I'm hoping Toby's wellness will prove me wrong.  And I'm hoping that by me writing it in my blog it won't come true.  But  every time he coughs or sounds congested, that little voice resurfaces and tells me that he's still got something stuck in his lungs.

Its like when you're watching a movie and you see a random scene or flashback and you think, "Subtle foreshadowing..."  Well, if anyone (for some odd reason) made a movie of my life, the one and ONLY exam question that I would remember from medical school would be the Unit 1 CRE when there was a little kid with recurrent pneumonia and the answer was....OBVIOUSLY..the he had aspirated a peanut. Needless to say, I got the question wrong.  Which is probably why it always crosses my mind when  a kid is repeatedly sick or, in this instance, when Toby gets this ridiculously DRAMATIC reaction to RSV and has a radiographically evident right middle lobe pneumonia after weeks of choking on foods in his eager-I-have-ONE-tooth-so-give-me-the-good-stuff ways.

Anyway -- I digress.  Toby does cough now and then, but in general he's doing well.  And we've slowly introduced the foods he used to eat back into his diet.  We know he's not allergic, but we figured we'd wait a bit to introduce "chewing" foods back into his diet.  He was such a cowboy with ONE tooth -- I'm a little afraid of what he's going ot convince us he can take on now that he has THREE teeth.  Yesterday, my mom came up as a last minute request as both Rob and myself found ourselves needed at work, and when we got home Toby was happily eating a mum-mum.  (A baby cracker that is chemically designed to dissolve and be choking-friendly...TOTALLY organic...)  He was gloatingly-not choking on it -- so we avoided the inevitable introduction.

This morning we gave him another mum-mum seeing as he'd had one yesterday.  Unfortunately, it was the last two in the package and they were in pieces so we just dumped the whole thing on his highchair table and let him feed himself.  THe little monster grabbed 2 GIANT pieces and proceeded to stuff his face with them, alternating his little hands in and eating frenzy.  (This is 20 min after he'd finished his lunch, by the way- - he wasn't hungry.  He just loves to eat.)

Being the newly-anxious-parents that we have become, we thought it wise to advise our son to finish chewing what he had in his mouth BEFORE shoving his other hand's mum-mum into it.  This didn't go over so well.  He COMPLETELY disagreed with us and vocalized it.  So we took BOTH of his beloved mum-mums out of his hands and made him wait until he was finished chewing his mum-mum filled mouth.  Again -- disagreement.  So we removed ALL the little mum mum bits from the highchair table and reassured him that WE were in control and we did not want him shoving ANY more mum mums into his mouth until he was FINISHED with his first mouthful.

As we looked at each other in contented agreement, the little bugger - -mouth STILL full to the brim with  mum-mum bits- - slowly gave us a devilish grin as he reached down into his high chair and produced a HUGE piece of mum-mum and, with a flourish, THREW it into his mouth before we could protest.   Apparently he had one hiding under his legs.

The end of the story goes like this - -Toby finished every little last bit of his broken mum-mums and we topped it off with his first real piece of banana.  He didn't choke on a thing and is now officially well on his way to resuming both his monster-ish-ways AND his real food eating abilities.  There's no stopping our little guy!

Benadryl - -more than meets the eye

People have been telling is it will be difficult to resume normal "parenting" in the face of what has happened. I was expecting to be more anxious with the next cold -- down the ROAD, but hadn't anticipated how quickly that anxiety would surface.

Last night after putting Toby down he coughed TWICE around 10pm. This is 24 hours after we'd stopped antibiotics. We didn't say anything about the cough to one another -- but he hasn't coughed in a few days and as we went to bed I could tell that Rob had noticed it. He kept our bedroom door open and didn't put the fan on. When I asked him why he said, "He's coughing again". That clinched it for me.

I lay there for hours anticipating the return of his pneumonia, going back to the doctor's, facing the ER again - - everything. All over again. Needless to say, I got myself a little worked up. And I couldn't sleep.

Finally, sometime after midnight, I decided I was being ridiculous. He hadn't coughed again and was sleeping soundly. So I got out of bed and went over to my trusty medicine cabinet and guess what I found? Aha....our good friend Benadryl. I've never taken benadryl to help me sleep but I had some that my mom gave me "just in case" for those first few nights in hospital with Toby. I looked at the package - -they were 25 mg tablets. The dose I'm used to giving in ER is 50mg so they looked a little wimpy. I then noted the expiry date - -April 1999. They had expired last CENTURY. Harmless. But hey, I am a firm believe in the placebo effect. So I decided to take one.

8 hours later.

I suppose I got back into bed after taking my fine 10 year aged low dose benadryl. I also suspect that I turned off the light and pulled the sheets over me. I don't remember. All I know is that I had a mighty good sleep. HOw Toby managed to stay awake DESPITE a dose of benadryl at 3am while in hospital is beyond me -- that is some GOOD STUFF.

I admit, I was a little groggy this morning. As I lay awake but dopey in bed, I happily listened to the sounds of of Toby laughing with Daddy as he ate his yoghurt. Which was shortly followed by screaming Toby who was DONE with breakfast and desperately wanting out of his high chair. Which was then followed by the CRASH of him having pulled down his stereo system from the shelf in his bedroom. I decided it was time to get out of bed. There were no more coughs, just the continual sounds of a healthy, happy Toby well on the way to recovery.

PS - -this is for Vivian - -Toby is doing very well, thanks. He is making lots of sounds and chatter and back to cruising around the furniture. Every day he reminds us of the little things he used to do before he got sick. Like pulling my glasses off my face in the morning, trying to feed himself but getting yoghurt in his hair, and dancing to Shania and Dance,Baby,dance. Its all coming back and reassures us that our old Toby is just around the corner. My favourite was the other day -- I was lying on the floor talking to my mom on the phone when Toby remembered how to give kisses. He came crawling over and slammed his face into mine and I got a huge one right on the mouth. It was wonderful....

The Lady of the Spa

I don't wax my legs, I don't go for regular massages or pedicures, I haven't had a manicure in years -- but the one girly thing that I do is get my eyebrows waxed.  Its one of those things that once you start doing you just can't stop.  I mean, its not like you can hide your unwaxed eyebrows under your pants all winter long- - they stare right back at you and yell "PLUCK ME OR WAX ME" everytime you look in the mirror.  Despite all we've been through these past few weeks, my eyebrows didn't stop growing, and as things started to return to normal, the evil eyebrow hairs started to yell at me in the mirror again.  So yesterday was the day.  Toby was having a good nap, Rob was catching up with every CSI episode that was taped on PVR while we were away, and I bit the bullet and drove into Collingwood to get my hairy eyes dealt with.

I don't go to a fancy salon or anything -- I go for convenience.  In fact, the reason I picked this particularly grungy salon is the there is NEVER anyone in there.  I can walk in at any time of day -- weekend, holiday or weekday and there is always the same nice girl sitting at the desk just waiting.   I always humour her by saying, "do you have time for an eyebrow wax sometime today?" to which she checks the book and then says, "Why yes -- I can take you right now!"

ONE time- - I think it was a Saturday in the summer - - there was another customer in the room getting her feet soaked. When I asked for a waxing she didn't even have to check the book, "No - -sorry. We're SWAMPED today."  That was the one and only time I was turned down.  Usually, its like my own walk in waxing centre.

So I went in yesterday and the same cheerful girl was there.  This time when she saw me though, her politeness went out the window.  She took one look at my eyebrows and GASPED.   "Oh my GOD!  LOOK at your EYEBROWS."  She ushered me into a room quickly and shut the door.  "How LONG has it BEEN!!?!?"  I couldn't remember exactly.  Sometime before Christmas.

She was NOT impressed.  She warned me that it was going to HURT.  She then applied a coat of wax on my horrifying-ly-hairy eyebrows and then paused,

"I'm going to have to put TWO COATS of wax on or its just going to STICK to your FACE"

So she put more wax on.

Then she paused again,

"Are you SURE you're ready for this?  Its REALLY going to HURT."

(WHat choice did I have, now, with TWO coats of wax on my horribly-horrifically-hairy "face"?)

So I braced myself.  And it hurt.  But this is all in the context of I-just-spent-the-last-two-weeks-sitting-vigil-over-my-son-in-the-icu-at-sick-kids so  it really wasn't all THAT bad.  I think she had been hoping for more of a reaction.

She then waxed between my eyes and told me I was REALLY LUCKY that I didn't grow hair BETWEEN my eyes or I would have had a UNIBROW and look like MEDUSA.

I thought medusa had snakes coming out of her head. But maybe tiny hairs is the equivalent when you're an aesthetician.

After much huffing and puffing on her part, she finally finished my eyebrows.  I'm surprised she didn't charge me extra for all that I had put her through.  And as I was leaving she yelled after me,

"I sure hope you've learned your lesson!"

I smiled on my way out.  Every stranger we met at Sick Kids - -even the parking attendants - -seemed to walk on eggshells around us and treated us with an excessively polite manor.  How nice it was to be yelled at.  It was a little reminder that life is going back to normal, again.