Bit of a setback...

We've had a little setback with the bald kid. 

He was working too hard to breathe on the high flow oxygen cannula. Even though his sats were staying in the high 90's, he wasn't comfortable. 

So....back on bipap he went.  And it was obvious how much more comfortable he is on the bipap because his heart rate immediately dropped to the low 40's once it was on. 

And my little insomniac has only had 2 hours of sleep since Friday. Not for lack of trying. Or lack of medicating. 

Something is wrong and something is hurting him. He whimpers and cries. And his crp-inflammatory marker-jumped significantly overnight. Now we are playing 'search and destroy' to find the culprit. 

Chest X-ray, abdomen xray, blood cultures, urine culture, and pelvis, hip and knee films looking for an angry joint. 

His chest X-ray is showing patchy infiltrates and still looks very wet. 

They are giving him 3x his home dose of Lasix to get the fluid off. Fortunately his belly film does not show an obstruction, so they are starting some food back up at 10ml/hour. Really, really, slow. Which is really, really good. 

He also has hyponatremia-or his sodium concentration is too low in his blood. This can cause all kinds of problems and they are working to correct those. 

They also consulted with Allergy/Immunology and guess what? Momma's not so crazy after all. He will be getting an IVIG infusion of his immunoglobulin today AND his home subQ infusion tomorrow and another one next Saturday. Hmmmm...I will take an 'I told you so' on that one. Actually I don't care, I just don't want him any worse so let's get this done! 

They are giving him a couple more hours on the bipap before they reconvene and consider other options. They are talking like Pulmonology is probably going to have to get involved at that point. 

Pray for decreased work of breathing, and some sleep for our little guy.  He's pretty miserable right now. 

Slow and Steady

After I posted on FB Friday that the PICU doc wanted to try Ethan on some hi-flow oxygen again later, they decided not to. He hadn't been resting very well, and his heart rate was still up.   I left Brian and my Dad and Teresa with him and went to work at 7pm.  By the time I pulled in the garage at the hospital Brian was texting me telling me Ethan had spiked another temp. They got him some Tylenol quickly and felt it was still this darn RSV causing it. But when I talked to his nurse again at 2:30am he had spiked another temp so they did a chest X-ray. This one now looks like he may have more of a consolidation in his right lower lobe of his lung and some fluid on his lungs. They wouldn't come right out and say "pneumonia" or "pulmonary edema". But they did increase his Lasix, start him on an antibiotic, and draw more blood cultures.  

Saturday I slept at home due to the fact that my work 'week' started at 7pm that night. Hailey and Brian went to spend the day with him.  It seems they were able to get him down to 30% on the Bipap and decided to switch him over to the High Flow Nasal Cannula Oxygen at 11 liters. This is a humidified, special type of nasal cannula, as you can't shoot 11 liters of o's downs a regular cannula. 

And as long as he's on this type of oxygen, he stays in the PICU. He's got to get back to regular nasal cannula oxygen or room air before they boot us out of PICU Suite 16. 

You can see its fancy schmancy specialized coiled wires:

And he's done so great on it-I think the Bipap mask is gone for good!  That sure made him happy. 

So they tried to feed him a little, 100ml over two hours, and he didn't like it too well, so they decided to hold off on any more feeds tonight. It also appears he's got some elevated inflammatory markers-CRP and Sed Rate, which would not be surprising with the stress his body is under right now. 

He still doesn't seem to be resting very well, so he's received some Ativan, and last night it helped him get some sleep-tonight-not so much.  They got an X-ray of his belly, which showed he needed to poop-which he promptly did for his nurse. And they are planning to get another one in the morning to see if he has developed a little ileus or obstruction. 

I'm more than a little upset he didn't get his immunoglobulin infusion today.  Especially since I've told them since Tuesday he gets it on Saturdays.  The Vascular Access team has to administer it and guess what?  Yep, you guessed it. They don't work weekends. So the brilliant plan was to just do it Monday. Except we were always told you can't miss the original date by more than one day-or you just have to forgoe that week's dose. And since he didn't get it Friday, and the Vasculat Team won't be in until Monday....yep, that's more than a day. And more than I'm comfortable with. Especially since I sent all his meds and supplies down today to do the infusion and they won't let me do it. I'm ok to do it every single week in our home without the watchful eye of a doctor, but not in the hospital. I may not have RN after my name, but I do have MOM. And I think that should qualify. Besides, last time the Vascular Access team did it, they only had short needles, so we had to ridiculously tape them down to hold them in his stomach, and they still leaked. AND I had to show them how to prime and work the pump. I know it's just because they don't get a lot of experience doing it-again, all the more reason they should just let me do it.  They know I'm not happy and planned to call Allergy/Immunology to find out what their recommendations are. But I can ensure you, if he doesn't get that dose Sunday I'm going to be even more angry. 

On an awesome note, I got a phone call from E's amazingly sweet pediatrician Dr Russell yesterday!  She called and left a message and left me her personal cell number to call her back. One of her residents had let her know E had been admitted and when she found out he was transferred to the PICU she was very concerned. Wanted to make sure we got an echo, and to make absolutely sure I was letting them know that I know him best (of course I am-she knows me well) and if I had any trouble, questions or concerns to call her. She wants me to keep her updated on his status and finally just wanted to see how I was doing. Caregivers often get overlooked and she made my day when she told me to "hang in there". "You're doing a fantastic job-always do!"  She knew I needed that. 

It's funny, Ethan's had RSV before, he's been in the PICU before. He's fought like hell for years with illnesses and two failed pulmonary valves and surgeries to fix those. And we thought we had run out of luck and time with him in 2013. But as I was standing in his room on 6 Henson, watching him tank and having the Rapid Repsonse team called and his room fill with dozens of people it hit me hard. I started crying. And I don't cry. I mean I DON'T CRY IN SITUATIONS LIKE THAT.  I'm strong, I keep my emotions in check and get shit done. Get him well. Get him where he needs to be. Nod and smile and answer their questions. I'm not the crying mom. That night, I was that mom. And it was surreal. 

I've always said Ethan would beat the big stuff and in the end we would lose him to some crappy respiratory virus, and at that moment, I felt like it could be happening. 

But he's not done fighting yet, so keep him in your prayers he kicks this thing, cause it's really stressing me out!  

Gonna spend some time with the bald kid when I get off work at 0700 and try to get him to sleep and see what the plan is for Sunday.  Will update when I know more. 

And good luck to Hailey Jayne and Pride VB as they play today in Gardner Kansas!  Bring us back a medal!!

What a day.

I am about as emotionally drained as I am physically drained. 

And my poor, sweet boy is the one going through all this. 

At this point, all the issues he's having are purely the nasty side effects of RSV.  My concern about his BNP possibly pointing to heart failure were put to ease today when Dr Carlson with Cardiology came by. His echo looks as great as his last one in August. Mild leakage of his Melody Valve-which is new, but no problem. Otherwise right heart function is fantastic. The BNP  drawn on Tuesday that is 388 is not the same BNP test that was done in May 2013 when it was 422 and he was in failure. The 422, and all the others before that were 'send out labs' that went to Truman to be ran called a BNP.   The test done on Ethan's blood Tuesday is a NEW test that Mercy has decided will be their new standard for measuring heart failure. It's called the NT-proBNP and is done in-house. And it's ranges are different. Way different. As Dr Carlson explained; the 388 from the NT-proBNP is like the 38 Ethan had when not in failure a few years ago. A typical number of a kid in failure would be in the tens of thousands with this test-so his 422 would equate to about 40,000.  Clear as mud right?  Like comparing apples to oranges. And if the jackhole resident who argued with me about Lasix last night would have just explained that, I wouldn't have had to get all crazy heart mom on everybody. 

I finally left to go home Weds night about 2:30am because I had an appointment at KU at 9am on Thursday. My sister Kate went to stay with Ethan this morning until I could get there. Well, I never made it to KU, he started going downhill first thing this morning. Fever spiked, heart rate went up, sats went down.  Team ordered another chest X-ray-unchanged from previous and decided to stop all fluids going in-IV and feeds. They also decided to start him on some IPPB-or Intermittent Positive Pressure Breathing. It's like C-Pap for kids. It is used to forcefully push air into the smallest air spaces in the lungs in the hopes of popping them open-whereas the RSV causes them to be really closed off. He was to do 20 min every 4 hours. He did well with the first set, then rested nicely and actually we both napped for a few hours.  Then he did his second 20 min, and did ok through most of it. Got a little fussy at the end. 

At about 5pm all craziness broke loose. Ethan spiked a temp of 100. (He only runs about 96.4 because of his immune deficiency-so 100 is like 104 to us). And he got a little mottled in his feet and hands and had an increased work of breathing that was visible in his abdomen and neck area. Team came up to see him within minutes and decided to give Tylenol, start some fluids to combat the temp and try some nasal suctioning.  Team left. Within 15 minutes Ethan began retching like he was going to throw up, temp spiked even higher to 103 and his sats wouldn't come over 83 on 15 liters of oxygen by non re-breather face mask.  Nurse Jessica called the Team, called the Charge nurse, called Respiatory Therapy and shit got real. Real quick. Ethan became really lethargic and slow to respond, aside from being slow to recover with the increased oxygen. A decision was made to call the Rapid Response Team to get an attending Dr and ICU nurses present. Shit got even more real.  

That is the most calm panic I have seen surround my boy in a long time. 

It kinda makes you weak in the knees as a parent. 

He was then put on bi-pap and moved to the PICU.  And here we are. 

Bi-pap is BiLevel Positive Airway Pressure-which is what CPAP is.  At 70% Ethan is being forcefully given 70% oxygen. The normal air we breathe-room air-is about 21%. So he needs that much more to keep his oxygen level at 90 or above.  They will try to wean down to 30% tonight, and if he can go down to 30% and keep his sats at 90, we will switch to a nasal cannula. Unfortunately Ethan has thrown up in his mask twice and we've only been able to get down to 61%. And without the bi pap at all, he just simply has no oxygen reserve left and his sats dropped to 73. 

We also got another chest X-ray, and this one now shows some right lower lobe funkiness consistent with RSV.  He had also had a few really stinky, loose stools so he is being checked for c-diff if we can get enough to send for culture.  

It has been one heck of a day, and Ethan once again has proved our age old motto about him;

"Ethan is fine. Until he's not."

Right now, he's not. 

Thanks for all the prayers and offers of help. He's in the best place he can be right now in the PICU, and like I always say "it's not what you know, it's WHO you know" and knowing three of the PICU nurses working  tonight got us the bombdiggity PICU suite complete with its very own bathroom and couch bed. Now to try and get some zzzzz's on that awesome thing!  Nevermind. Now he's throwing PVC's because it's just not gotten exciting enough for him yet. 

If I had a dollar every time a Doctor said that to me....

"I just don't believe that would happen"

"It's just not typical"

"Kids don't just go into failure like this"

"So highly unlikely..."

And my all-time condescending favorite;

"I can appreciate that you know him best Mom, but....."

Rewind to Monday:

Ethan is ok. Just ok. Not fantastic. Not terrible. Just ok. 

Spent most of the day being held, or in his bed listening to his music because he was tired of being held.  Then Brian text me at 8pm- he has a fever of 99.9 and has the chills so bad he's violently shaking almost seizure-like.  Dose of Tylenol and plans for a trip to the ER Tuesday morning. 

By the time we get him to the ER, he still has a fever of 101.2 after two doses of Tylenol, oxygen sat is 86-88, still has the chills and now coughing. NOW he's terrible. 

ER Resident comes in and does the same old song and dance of let's do some tests and see what we find. I expect IV start, labs, blood cultures, chest X-ray, flu swab and virus panel. 

We get a chest X-ray, a flu swab and a dose of Tylenol. Both X-ray and Flu are negative. 

So we sit. And sit. And sit. And sit. And Ethan's heart rate is in the 110-130 range. Yep, the kid who is notoriously known for LOW heart rates.  His BP is 128/56, his sats are hanging in the high 80's-they never felt the need to put him on any oxygen, and now temp is 103.7. 

I had a little mini meltdown and his ER Nurse agreed she felt we were missing something. 

She talked them into putting him on some o's and with that they decided to admit him. 

She also asked for some fluids and viral panel, bloodwork and cultures.  To which she got s big fat NO from the ER. So she paged the Purple Team he was being admitted under and they ordered all that  the ER wouldn't.

Thank goodness for Nicole J and her advocating for our sweet bald kid. By the time we got to the floor we knew he had RSV. Which is a nasty virus. And it gets worse before it gets better. 

The Purple Team docs visited with us yesterday afternoon and didn't treat me like the crazy mom we all know I am as I pointed out E's puffy feet, hands, and face.  With his history and Dr Shubert's familiarity with E (having taken care of him before) she agreed an echo and BNP were warranted. 

BNP is a blood test that indicates congestive heart failure. Less than 100 means no failure. Ethan's is 388. Which according to the night resident is no big deal since he had a normal echo. 

Hmmmm, I vaguely remember being told something similar in 2013 as Cardiology booted us out the door convinced his heart was ok. And with a re-admission 3 days later and a BNP of 422 they changed their tune. A mere 34 points higher than it is now and he was considered in failure.

I saved my been there, done that speech for an attending today. 

In talking to Dr Sweeney today-the Purple Team attending, I repeated our two previous incidents of failure and what led up to them with him.  He agreed a Cardio consult could be warranted and will ask them to weigh in tomorrow. He also recommended running a BNP when E doesn't have a viral illness to see if the results will be different. I don't know enough about the BNP being affected by a viral illness other than when he had Coronavirus before, his BNP was only 39 so I'm guessing it won't make a difference and we are heading towards failure again. But who am I???

Ethan had a pretty good day. Until about 5pm.  His heart rate had come down to the 80's-90's, he was only on1/2 liter of oxygen and keeping his sats at 93. He even tolerated half a feed. Then he went downhill from there. Puffier feet, hands and face, coughing, really wet sounding lungs, heart rate climbed back up to 110's.  His day nurse was sharp and called the team.  Night resident showed up and ordered a chest X-ray-unchanged from yesterday. And tried to fight me on giving him a dose of Lasix to help with the fluid. I won. But he tried to force more fluid and a full feed on him to prevent electrolyte imbalance and I nixed that shit too. He's getting a 1/2 feed I gave in to and now he's on 3 liters of oxygen to stay above 91. 

We seem to be moving a tad backwards here and it's frustrating. And if one more Resident tells me they are the doctor and though they appreciate my position, their years of experience tell them they know what is better for him, I'm going to need bail money.  

Appreciate my position? I'm his Mom jackhole. And far better versed in all things bald kid than you. 

Your years of experience?  You're like 28 with no kids, let alone one like this one. And you were probably still in high school when the bald kid was born. 

I may only be his Mom, but I've done this a few times before.  And I'm getting out in front of it this time. 

So work with me, or move out of my way. Cause I've kept my crazy in check for far too long.  

Gotta go, now he's trying to vomit. 

Struggling

I'm at a funky place in my life and in my mind right now. 

Actually, I feel like I have been for a while. 

Like, months worth of a while.  

I can't put my finger on it, can't describe it in easy to understand words, can't quantify it or compare it to any other 'place' I've been in my life. 

I'm not unhappy. 

I'm not angry. 

Im not sad. 

I'm struggling. 

I don't feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be at 43 years of age. I don't feel like I've missed out on anything; I have a wonderful husband, great kids, a job, a house and car. Food and money to provide for my family. But it just feels like it's not enough. 

And I don't mean financially or tangibly.  And I feel like writing that makes me sound ungrateful for the life I have. 

I sometimes find myself looking at people, people I know well and feeling like I don't really know them that well at all. And in turn, they don't know me. 

I'm quite vocal with my feelings usually, and most people don't have to question where they stand with me. But as I've gotten older, I've realized that hasn't always served me well in life. People don't really want honesty. They don't want problems and issues pointed out. They don't want solutions. They want to wallow in dead-end jobs or self-pity.   And I'm happy to freely offer advice, usually solicited, with no intentions of hurting someone's feelings. But I'm becoming aware that even though someone may ask, they don't really want the truth.  And in the end, I'm the bitch. I do end up hurting someone's feelings. 

But I don't get to have feelings. And they sure don't get to be hurt. And if they are, I don't get to make a big deal out of it or I'm the bad person. 

I guess my biggest dilemma is I feel like I'm a crossroads in my life where I have to decide if I want to become the 'yes' girl. 

The 'keep my mouth shut and nod and smile' girl. 

The 'ignore what's right' girl. 

The 'don't rock the boat' girl. 

And stop 'standing on my principle' kind of girl. 

Most of you reading this, and know me even slightly, know that is really hard for me to do. But I've found myself doing some of these things lately. And I feel like I've shortchanged myself for doing so. 

And in doing this, I've conformed to what someone else; society, people, co-workers, family and friends, think I should be/do/say. 

That is what I'm struggling with. 

Do I nod and smile and be who someone else thinks I should be so as not to rock the boat? 

Or do I call out the bullshit and be that girl again?

Do I sacrifice who I am?  

Do I apologize for being good at my job, better than some even?

Do I apologize for being smart?  Witty? Funny? A bitch? 

Hmmmm. Hard call. Easy for some. Not for me. 

So, in reality, I guess I am unhappy, angry and sad in a way. 

I carry tons of guilt with me already. Shit, I was raised Catholic. We've been served up guilt on a communion wafer since 3rd grade. 

I'm a mother. A working, tired, sometimes lazy; feed my kids out so I don't have to cook, throw dirty shirt in the dryer with a scented fabric sheet to freshen it up because I didn't make it to that load of laundry yet, kind of guilt Mother. 

I'm a wife. A don't pay enough attention to, compliment enough, yell at when I'm mad and take stuff out on a doting husband kind of wife. 

I'm a special-needs Mom. Ahhh, I can't even begin to describe the guilt. Do I pay enough attention to my other kids, husband, extended family and friends guilt.  The self-pity for the tough days guilt. The jealousy watching other 10 year olds do the things my son never will guilt. And the wishing things were different guilt. 

I'm a survivor. Fuck. Need I say more?  Happy not to still be sick guilt. That's a doozy. 

But I guess I'm ok with all that guilt. I kind of feel like most everyone reading this can associate with at least one of those types of guilt. And you're probably nodding right now. 

So I really can't figure out why I am feeling guilt over being me. 

That's what I'm struggling with. 

Is it because I'm afraid people don't really know the real me?  

And if they did, would they like me? 

Or is it because I'm not sure I really care? 

And that's where I feel like I need to do something with my life. 

Make a difference. 

Count. 

Do other people feel this way?

Am I having a crazy, mid-life, freak-out kind of moment?  

A need to make my mark on the world moment?

An I haven't lived up to my potential kind of moment?

Cause most days, it's a crawl back in bed, pull the covers over my head, ignore the world kind of moment. 

And I'm struggling with being able to conquer that. 

Wow, the difference a year makes. That and a working heart!

One year ago, almost exactly to the minute, I was just getting comfy in an almost empty waiting room inside Boston Children's Hospital. 

Waiting room. 

What an appropriate term. 

I was waiting for news Ethan had been successfully intubated and was doing well in his cardiac MRI. 

I was waiting for news he was now getting his echo. 

I was waiting to hear they had moved him to the cath lab, gained access, and begun the cath. 

I was waiting for my husband and sister to arrive from KC. 

I was waiting for answers. 

And I was a nervous wreck. 

When Nurse Kate called and excitedly blurted out "they got it in!  Meet Dr Porras in the consult room", my waiting was over. 

I think I finally breathed. 

One year ago I handed the bald kid over to a bunch of strangers who were attempting to do something that had never been done before.  Something that doctors that had known the bald kid all his short nine years of life-and before he became known as the bald kid-said they couldn't, wouldn't, attempt to do here. 

One year ago we left KC with the thought in the back of our minds like a huge pink elephant in the middle of the room that we would travel to Boston as three, and return as two. 

We made arrangements for our other kids to get to Boston in a hurry if needed. 

Arrangements for a transfer back to KC and a doctor who would accept him for compassionate care if needed. 

Arrangements for the bald kid's funeral. 

We went to Boston not knowing what, if anything, they could do to help him. And though it sounds morbid to some, the only thing I knew I had control over were making those arrangements. 

We left with so many what-ifs. 

And returned with a miracle. 

A year later the bald kid still has a perfectly functioning Melody Valve. 

A normal functioning right heart with great pressures.  No leakage, no pulmonary edema, no pulmonary hypertension and no need for oxygen. 

He has gained 11 lbs and grown 2.5 inches in one year.  The kid who weighed 36 lbs for 4 years gained 11 in 12 months. 

He's sitting up unassisted for longer periods of time. 

He's staying awake during the day, all day. 

He's happy and healthy and only had one hospital admission in the last year. 

He's a miracle, a success story to rival all success stories, he's amazing. 

And he's still here. 

Thank you to everyone who helped us along this journey and kept the bald kid in your thoughts and prayers. 

It's amazing what can be done in a year with a heart that works. 

Ferguson, Missouri...my thoughts

I've avoided posting on social media about the ordeal in Ferguson, MO, but that doesn't mean I haven't been following it. I've read and read and read articles and blogs and comments from both sides.  And I've been deeply saddened by the lack of humanity regarding it all.  My mind has been all over the place since it happened.  My heart hurts and I've cried over it all. 

I've prayed for and asked for peace for everyone involved.  

So, as I write out my thoughts and my opinions and my feelings on this incident, remember this: they are Mine. No one is forcing you to read my blog, but if you read it and agree or disagree, and wish to maturely and appropriately respond I welcome it. But if any comments become rude or nasty, or petty name calling begins I will remove them.  If a threatening tone is taken, I will block you.  This blog post may not be well received by everyone, and I'm ok with that. Because it's what I feel and what I feel I need to write. 

Most of you reading this know enough of my background, but for those who don't, bear with me, as I provide a little.  I am married to a Police Officer.  I was the President of our Police spouse's association for 7 years, having recently stepped down in January of this year to spend more time with my family.  

I have 3 children; a 17 year old daughter, 15 year old son and a 10 year old child with medical and special needs. 

I am an X-ray/CT Technologist and have been for 21 years.  

I'm a breast cancer survivor. 

I have a large, extended family of step/half/real siblings and parents. They have always been my sisters and brothers and moms and dads, not my step or half siblings or parents.  3 of my siblings are half Hispanic.  All of them are crazy.  Some more than others, and I'm sure they would say the same of me.

I spent my middle school years and first year of high school in a small Kansas town that was predominantly white and Hispanic. 

I graduated from a Kansas City, Kansas (yep-in the Dotte) high school that was more culturally diverse. My graduating class was pretty evenly split black and white. 

We all got along. For the most part-other than your typical high school drama, I don't recall any race issues.

I've been engaged three times and only married once. 

My three kids have two different dads. 

I've been a single mom. 

I've lived in a trailer park and mopped floors at my Mom's restaurant for cash for diapers and formula because my paycheck ran out after paying rent, utilites and a car payment, but still had a baby to feed and clothe. 

I have a $500 certificate degree education from which I earn about $60K a year on. 

We've filed for bankruptcy and we've had to short sell a house. 

We receive government assistance for our son; he is on a waiver, but let's call it what it is; he receives MO Health Net, or Medicaid, as secondary coverage after our private insurance pays what it will. 

Few of you know all of those things about me.  

Many of you probably don't know half of them. 

I'm not embarrassed by any of it, it's who I am. 

I've had to live with the consequences of my actions; some good, some bad. 

All were my choices to make. 

I'm a pretty open book, yet many of you are probably surprised at not knowing some of the statements above. 

And more than one of you reading this just judged me based on those statements. 

The assumption is that I'm from a white, middle-class family with a good job and perfect life. 

Which is as much as a stereotype as the ones formed when you realized I grew up in the 'Dotte, or was a single mom, or filed for bankruptcy or received Medicaid for my son. 

As I have stereotyped groups of people myself. I won't sit here and pretend I've never judged someone by the clothes they wore, or car they drove or neighborhood they lived in or job they held, 

or color of their skin. 

I would be lying if I tried to say I hadn't. 

And America is lying to themselves if they believe prejudice and racism doesn't exist today. 

That that was then and this is now. 

And I won't disrespect Black/Hispanic/Asian/Indian Americans and say that I have any idea what it feels like to be the victim of prejudice or racism.  

But I also won't apologize for being white. 

I will apologize for being apathetic. 

I will say that as much as I believe Officer Darren Wilson did not set out to shoot and kill a young, black man that day, I respect that many of you believe that is the intent of all cops.  

I believe that how we are raised directly determines our attitude towards law enforcement. 

And I can admit I had a great childhood with little to no involvement with the Police other than getting caught 'borrowing' a shopping cart from Dillons and pushing my younger sister home in it, or the occasional party gotten out of hand and being broke up by the Police, or a random speeding ticket here and there.  

Until I met and ultimately married my husband, a cop, I never really thought much about other people's attitudes towards the Police.  But over the last 12 years, I've seen and heard and read some terrible things people think about cops. 

They stick together. They beat and cheat. They lie and cover for one another.  They are egotistical assholes. They were bullied as children and became cops to get back at how they were treated. 

A dead cop is a good cop. 

Yep-we police families stick together. Nobody else understands the crazy hours, missed holidays and kids events, shift changes and fear like a fellow police wife. 

My husband has never beat or cheated on me. 

My husband is a rule-follower and would never lie or cover for someone shady. 

My husband is not an egotistical asshole, but with the things he's seen and lies he's heard in 20 years on the job he may seem indifferent and uncaring to some. 

My husband was never bullied. He was just the opposite and got suspended in high school for defending someone being bullied. 

And personally knowing a police widow, that last statement makes my blood boil. I wish widowhood on no one.  And if you agree with a sentiment wishing such, please unfriend me. Now. 

My husband has been shot at, spit on, been in filthy situations, car chases, foot chases, on murder scenes and suicides and fatal car wrecks. He's made death notifications and solved murder cases. He's put bad guys in jail and good people who make bad choices in jail. He's held the hand of a daughter who found her elderly mother deceased in her bed, and he's helped a family down on their luck living in their car with a place to stay and food to eat.  

He puts on a uniform and badge and gun and walks out my door every day to do a job he loves that one day could prevent him from coming home to me and our children. 

He would lay down his life for any one of you in the course of a regular work day if need be. 

Not too many jobs have that potential. 

I know mine doesn't. 

And though the "He" I refer to in these specific statements is my husband, it is also 98% of the hard working, honest cops I know personally. 

I can count on one hand the number of cops I know that are the poison fruit on the vine of law enforcement.  Because just like in every profession, assholes get through every now and then. 

The truth will eventually come out. It always does. 

If Officer Wilson and the Ferguson PD are covering up a bad shooting, I will be the first to demand just punishment.  Because one bad cop makes all cops look bad, and the Police I know have too much respect for their brotherhood to let that happen. And the good guys don't deserve it.   

The protesting I understand and respect.  And I will happily walk and stand beside you against blatant police brutality and violations of our constitutional rights. In a peaceful manner. 

The rioting and looting I don't understand.  I will never understand destroying someone else's property and stealing someone else's possessions.  But the raw anger and emotion behind it?  I do get that.  I'm an emotional person myself. And sometimes they get the better of me. 

And I fear the truth is being overshadowed by emotion. The facts need to speak for themselves. 

I know that I don't know what I can do to help, but I'm willing to do something.  Because I firmly believe that if you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem.  And that if we don't raise our children to love and respect one another as humans, humanity doesn't have a chance. 

And I've said this before; it all starts in your own home, church, school, job and community.  

And I believe that community includes every human being. Regardless of color. 

In the case of Michael Brown's death, I know this, and this only;  I wasn't there. And neither were you.

I stand on the side of what is right and true.  Those involved will have to live with, or died because of the consequence of their actions. 

I know a community is changed forever, a man will have to live with his actions and a Mother will never hold her son again. Ever. 

And all of it makes my head and heart hurt.