Growing Pains...Nora's Off to College

Twelve years ago I sobbed like a child as I hugged my baby sister outside of my college dorm.  She was six, I was seventeen.    I knew I was supposed to be overcome with joy because I was officially free of my parents and all that good stuff, but instead it felt a little like my heart was being ripped in two.  She was my sidekick, my favorite little girl.

And now, it's Nora who is leaving me, it should be easier this time, right?

I know it's cliche, but my sister is my best friend.   The term "best friend" makes me laugh because I think every woman has had about 10 "best friends" in her life time.  You know, the "best friends" we made in grade school, junior high, high school and college.  Some people were even cool enough to have a summer camp "best friend" (oh, how I was jealous of you).  Some of these people have left our lives, and others still linger, but there is nothing like the staying power of a true "best friend." 

And for me, that's my Norie.  She is amazing for 101 reasons, but mostly because she gets me.  Yes, she's an amazing person who has made me proud in the shave-your-head-for-cancer kind of way.  But she understands me like no one else can -- she can crack my code and speak my language.  She knows when I need her to laugh with me.    She knows when I am in need of a babysitter, always offering her time.  She knows when I need to vent.  She knows when we just need a trip to the creamery.

Today, my baby sister/sitter is on her way to college.  She's already had a 5-week stint at DePaul, so she knows how this college thing works.  She's strong and independant, and I know she will do great.  However, I just can't shake my saddness.  For the past four years we've been nearly inseperable...and for the past month we've seen each other nearly every day.  I am not looking forward to the withdrawl symptoms.

Since I hugged Nora outside my dorm twelve years ago, MUCH has changed in our lives.  Technically speaking, now we are both adults.  We have lost family members, literally and figuratively.  I have been her teacher and coach, she has been my student and athlete.  We have moved a time, or two.  She has learned to drive, I have been her passenger.  We have gained a step-father and step-brother.  Her boyfriend is a soldier.  She is an aunt, I am a mother. 

Our lives have been transformed; we are barely who we were back then, but one thing has remained constant.  She has always been, and will forever remain, my sidekick...my wonderful, sarcastic, compassionate, knowing, witty, brilliant sidekick.

Crickets and Cataracts

It is 12:24 a.m.  There is a cricket in my house, and I just made shadow puppets against the wall.  I have skimmed facebook and read several chapters of Eat, Pray, Love.  There is an apple pie on my stove that I'd love to devour (but I won't because I joined Weight Watchers today).  I am tired, distracted and anxious and I can't sleep because Faith has a cataract.

Yep, a cataract - a congenital cataract, which means that she was born with it, which means that it could have been corrected as soon as it was discovered...but, when was it discovered?  Monday. 

On Monday we saw an optometrist for the required kindergarten vision screening.  Faith was SO excited by the possibility of getting glasses that I thought she was fibbing about the vision in her left eye as the exam progressed.  Nope.  She fidgeted and squinted saying she couldn't see anything until a 6-inch letter popped up, "Um, is that an R?"  The tests continued and I just assumed it meant Faith got her wish...she was going to get those pretty pink glasses she tried on before the exam. 

So, imagine my surprise when I heard "cataract."  Wait, isn't that what makes grandpa's eye all blue and glassy?  Then the doctor says "congenital."  I'm sorry, what?  She was born with it?  Usually detected at birth...Fairly large....Serious vision impairment...Specialist...Correctable with surgery.

That's where I choked, did Faith hear that?  It's like the Chef Boyardee commercial where the mom doesn't want anyone to tell her son that there are vegetables in his "delicious" bowl of soggy ravioli.  Faith loves to play doctor, and surely the word surgery would pique her interest or cause alarm.  Nope.  Instead, she marvels at the exam equipment while I wish I had a notebook to start writing things down; all I could find was a crumpled Target receipt.  Fail.

I leave with a referral form in hand and a school eye exam form telling me that her vision is 20/200.  Faith wraps up the conversation with the doctor, "So, do I need glasses?  No?  Well, do you have any suckers or stickers?"  So easily satisfied.

Today we saw the "Specialist."  It was laughable really.  The opthamologist told me the exact same thing as the optometrist, but added a few more scary details and a heaping pile of mom-guilt before referring me to a Pediatric Opthamologist.  Scary details: lazy eye, probable surgery, more difficult recovery, should have been caught sooner.  Mom-guilt: you didn't notice this sooner, your pediatrician didn't notice this sooner, wish we could have treated this sooner.  [Please note: I am NOT a professionally trained opthamologist.]

I leave with a post-it note in my hand, written on it is contact info for the new "specialist" who will call me soon to give me an appointment time.  The doctor tells me, "If they don't call you soon, call them."

Two hours later, I call.  The soonest appointment is September 8th.  Um, If time is of the essence, shouldn't we get moving here?  I call another doctor...late September.  Then I call a third.  This receptionist scoffs at me when I tell her today's doc said it should happen ASAP, "Ma'am, you are treating a 5-year-old for a condition which she was born with."  Seriously?  Now this stranger adds to the pile of guilt?  Finally, I start beginning my calls with, "Do you have an August appointment for a child who needs a congenital cataract treated?" [I thought that sounded more desperate, more needy...which is EXACTLY how I feel right now.] 

Finally, I find a cancellation (thanks for the referral, Jenny Reid).  Tomorrow at 10:55, Chicago Ridge?  Yes, we will be there.  After a few moments of can't-believe-you-didn't-notice-sooner, the receptionist arranges the appointment with comfort in her voice and assures me that "Faith will be in good hands."
We'll know more tomorrow, and I'll share what we learn.

So, with a head full Internet "expertise" and a heart full of anxiety, I am still listening to that damn cricket...g'night.