We made it to UIHC and back again. The girls both have perfect vision (as much as you can tell on a three year old, in Melia’s case) and have a clean bill of health. So far, so good.
They were troopers too. The appointment was for early afternoon and it lasted until 5. So, for no naps and no snack we did well. I got some questions answered. I had to tell our story again to a room full of doctors. I get the feeling that what happened to Stephen is really an anomaly. I mean, the condition is fairly common, one of the more common genetic disorders. But what happened with him really is rare.
Rare. It’s rare that you know someone who has won the lottery or was on Wheel of Fortune. But you don’t want to be the guy with the rare disease. You don’t want to have your MRIs plastered all over the tumor convention (true story). And you really don’t want pictures of your personal battle with hammer toe or psoriasis or face presentation birth to appear in a book somewhere. I just don’t want to be rare.
Unless…maybe my girls can be the other end of the spectrum rare. Yes, they are short. Yes, they have huge heads. Yes, they have the birthmarks. But what if they are the rare case that never goes beyond that. Dare I say it? Dare I even think it?
Other things that are rare: clean counters, low calorie cheese bread, a cash surplus, two kids sleeping at once, a never married thirty something man who doesn’t live with his mother but who does shave and vacuum once in a while. Vacuum tracks in the carpet are sexy. As are tight forearms. Like I said, rare.
Off topic, I have exactly a month until I pack a truck. Yikes. By the condition of this place, you’d think that we are settling in for another winter.