“Ow!” Exclaimed my daugher, who was playing with her 4-month old son. “He loves standing up, but he’s grabbing my glasses. Or my hair. And that hurts mummy, boo-boo.”
She’d already given up wearing earrings. But it was going to be a while before the lad could be taught “touch gently” for petting cats or family members.
“Well,” I offered, “you could always try Incompatible Behaviors.” In the world of behavior modification, this is usually used in the sense of rewarding the preferred alternative. But I was thinking in the more concrete sense, meaning, if you’re doing one thing, then you can’t do the other (undesired) thing. “If you give him something else to hold onto, then he can’t grab your hair.”
This has proven so useful, she has wisely taken the idea to other situations. At nap time, the lad is still so wound up that he gets agitated from playing with his hands. So she gives him a stuffed animal or blanket to hold onto, and the babe’s able to calm down.
Now she’s discovered the joy that is watching a child learn new skills, especially as he practices sitting up and playing with the extra plastic measuring cups stored in an old plastic ice-cream tub. “Today he learned that if he knocks the cups against the tub, they make noise!”
I chuckled, knowing what was coming up next, and we chorused in dismay, “Today he learned that if he knocks the cups against the tub, THEY MAKE NOISE!”
“And that’s why I never give anyone’s kids toys that make noises,” I nodded sagely.
“I’m going to just pass along some of those things that were handed along to us,” she confided.
As all parents know, if you give your children quiet toys, they will have to work imaginatively to figure out how to make noises with them.
( A follow-up on my shaky employment status, as described in a previous post, The Catch.)
So now I’ve twice seen the ENT (Ear, Nose & Throat doc, not tree-folk), to figure out if the vertigo, worsening tinnitus and hearing difficulties are related to Ménière’s, or “just” migraines. At those visits I also spent time in the audiologist’s booth: “Huh? Sorry, I can’t see what you’re saying.” “Oh,” he replied jovially, “this isn’t a vision test, it’s a hearing test.” Ha, ha. Very funny.
(Have I mentioned that lately one of the cable channels is messed up, and maddenly, we’ve not had any closed-captions on episodes of CSI ? Listening to TV is hard enough with fussy babies who want bouncing, much less auditory processing glitches and tinnitus.)
And then something wonderful happened:
The day after my first ENT visit, it occurred to me that it might be useful to ge an official letter from the doc to give to my various bosses. So I called in my request to the office nurse and picked it up from the receptionist and passed out copies to my supervisors and those got fowarded to Human Resources people and —
I was saved by bureaucracy.
(I mean hey, it’s gotta happen sometime, right?)
Because apparently being treated for Ménière’s disease (note the careful legal waffling on diagnostics) falls under the umbrella of an American labor law known as the The Family and Medical Leave Act of 1993 (FMLA). Basically, taking care of sick family members, birth, adoption, or one’s own illness (covered by the Act) is protected so the worker can get unpaid sick leave without worrying about job security.
I cannot be dunned for absences related to bouts of vertigo.
My principal was of course very polite and helpful in the process of explanating this unexpected coverage. I was asked about accommodations that might be helpful. Alas, none of the things suggested by the Job Accommodation Network are applicable to my job (but that’s a great site if you need ideas for accommodations for most any sort of affliction or difference).
However, I was giving some 60 days of sick leave for absences related to — and only to — Ménière’s. Despite my initial relief, my job status still feels as wobbly as my gait some days. Stay tuned for further developments.
My daughter just remarked, “Swords, teapots and rubber duckies — wow, that Bon Ami is great stuff!”
Grocery stockers are well-familiar with the sight: random empty boxes that are the hidden leftovers to stolen goods. Cold medicine. Hair coloring. Condoms. Diapers. Candy.
A couple days ago I found a different wrapper stuffed behind the tidy stacks of soap bars, a small cylinder of fish food, with the plastic lid missing and the foil seal compromised. About a teaspoon of flakes were gone.
I showed it off to my coworker, Becky. “Don’t you just hate it when those damn goldfish come into the store and steal things?!”